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Tag Archives: John Biscello
Inspiration’s Track
Inspiration is not a matter of chance, or waiting, or a magic spell that demands bated breath and fretted suspension— it is the fact that you pick up a pen, your fingers growing warm and intimate with its weight and … Continue reading
You Are Here
To venerate, the privilege of air inside the ceremony of lungs and chance, where you, as an honored guest, get to ripen and breathe the adventure of your name into a free-range universe.
Awakening
Did I look down, or peer within when I saw the golden grass waving like liquid tendrils of light? At the soft, rounded edge of dream, a beckoning to fall, to endear charm to the fool’s play calling your truest … Continue reading
Throb
It is the caste of throb in which words, palpitating, line up to serve a poem’s desirous need to know your longing as an open source.
Firsting Impression
It happens fast, this life— the first trembling chapter of an impending sneeze, the half-slitted stutter of a lid’s ambition to wink– We are, timewise, less than these things in the gaugeless cosmic scheme. And yet beyond these words, and … Continue reading
Red Balloon
A red balloon says so much about the sky, and the weightless wonder of children, when desire, bated aloft by the sun, gives free-spirited chase to the play of light on basking reams of nimbus and lore.
Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized
Tagged free play, John Biscello, migration patterns, poem, the unbearable lightness of balloons
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Send to Returner
At the edge of a weathered postcard, the faintest glisten, by which memory holds true and offers proof–There were people, a trip, a sea, clouds, fragile patterns, mist. There was this life, where we dreamed, where we loved, and so … Continue reading
How the Heart Sings
The heart, a nocturnal flower, with light on its lips, holds in tenderest esteem every single thing under the sun, budding to perish, to seed praise without fetters or distinction.
The Moon and Me
I never learned the secret delicious recipe of making a poem from moon, or the bluest glacial moon-cheese, from any of my teachers. It wasn’t their fault. They might have regarded the moon as something alien and distant, something belonging … Continue reading
Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized
Tagged fly me to the moon, good night moon, in praise of, John Biscello, lunar dreamscaping, poem, trip to the moon
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