Because his middle name was Valentine, a V-Day tribute poem to that “boy from Brooklyn,” Mr. Henry Valentine Miller, from my book Arclight. Some men rattle their chains and wonder, some sing them. Then there are others who spray paint … Continue reading
Today, February 11, marks the death-date of the brilliant poet, Sylvia Plath. A tribute piece, from my collection Arclight. To be a mother, and to double as a dark sorceress, a cleaver of dried bones, could not have been easy. … Continue reading
Arclight has officially been released. Available in print and digital editions. John Biscello is not simply a novelist and poet, but an alchemist of verses. In Arclight, Biscello captains a voyage that transcends the physical world with graceful introspection, and philosophical … Continue reading
Dear Citizens of the Blogverse: My debut poetry collection, Arclight, will be released in mid-February by Indie Blu(e) Publishing. I am offering a limited number of advance digital copies to readers who may be interested in reviewing the book (on … Continue reading
Poem from Arclight. Coming this February from Indie Blu(e) Publishing. I do not want to see the face of God. I want to see her mask, where and for whom it cracked, the causal history of lines and fissures, want to … Continue reading
Cover reveal for my debut poetry collection, Arclight. Coming this February by Indie Blu(e) Publishing.
Review of Yelena Moskovich’s debut novel The Natashas. “You enter a dark, deserted warehouse on the waterfront. One that smells of cats and kerosene, and whose walls are covered with dusty calendars from bygone eras. Or perhaps you find yourself … Continue reading
You, Moon, told me a secret when I was a child– Make wonder your compass, your true north, abide by its magnetic tow, and you will never get lost, not truly, and your soul will make for warm, favored company. … Continue reading
At times, the savvy and elaborate architecture of words, the stunning and complex tapestry of language, its magisterial tunings to sound, is, in its beggared haunt and infancy, rooted in the unscabbed core of a pinking utterance, a single quiver … Continue reading
We are mostly made from absence, a light-stitched band of particles, aspiring, in concert, to harmonize daring feats of love, or how we dream, in fits, aligning our nodes to perish.
