-
Archives
- April 2026
- March 2026
- February 2026
- January 2026
- December 2025
- November 2025
- October 2025
- September 2025
- August 2025
- July 2025
- June 2025
- May 2025
- April 2025
- March 2025
- February 2025
- January 2025
- November 2024
- October 2024
- September 2024
- August 2024
- July 2024
- June 2024
- May 2024
- April 2024
- February 2024
- January 2024
- December 2023
- November 2023
- October 2023
- September 2023
- August 2023
- May 2023
- March 2023
- February 2023
- January 2023
- December 2022
- November 2022
- October 2022
- September 2022
- August 2022
- July 2022
- June 2022
- May 2022
- April 2022
- March 2022
- January 2022
- December 2021
- November 2021
- October 2021
- September 2021
- August 2021
- July 2021
- June 2021
- May 2021
- April 2021
- March 2021
- February 2021
- January 2021
- December 2020
- November 2020
- October 2020
- September 2020
- August 2020
- July 2020
- June 2020
- May 2020
- April 2020
- March 2020
- February 2020
- January 2020
- December 2019
- November 2019
- October 2019
- September 2019
- August 2019
- July 2019
- June 2019
- May 2019
- April 2019
- March 2019
- February 2019
- January 2019
- December 2018
- November 2018
- October 2018
- September 2018
- August 2018
- July 2018
- June 2018
- May 2018
- April 2018
- March 2018
- February 2018
- January 2018
- December 2017
- November 2017
- October 2017
- September 2017
- August 2017
- July 2017
- June 2017
- May 2017
- April 2017
- March 2017
- February 2017
- January 2017
- December 2016
- November 2016
- October 2016
- September 2016
- August 2016
- July 2016
- June 2016
- May 2016
- April 2016
- March 2016
-
Meta
Tag Archives: John Biscello
Hale
To sharpen one’s teeth against solvent pages and grated silence is the bite in the air the old poets crowed about, and the wind saliently scales, as if reverse were a condition and not Memory fasting into childhood’s hale.
Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized
Tagged childhood, hale, ink, John Biscello, Literary, pen, Poetry, poets, soul, writing
Leave a comment
Mantra
Hurry Slowly was the tictoc mantra of the one-armed photographer, Josef Sudek, who praised and made lasting secret love to his Muse and ghost-veiled bride, Prague, vowing his fugitive eye to her and her alone.
Posted in Uncategorized
Tagged ghost, John Biscello, josef sudek, mood, photography, Poetry, prague, streetlamp
Leave a comment
Yes
It is those, in writing, who quietly almost sublimely say fuck you & yes while trafficking, with fierce row, in silence whom I most admire.
Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized
Tagged amen, John Biscello, Literary, Poetry, writers, writing, yes
Leave a comment
Where is He?
On the day I landed on Asteroid B-9 and wandered around for a short eternity without a sighting, I asked the Silence if it had said seen the Little Prince to which the Silence responded not at all. The Little … Continue reading
Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized
Tagged asteroid, badlands, bisti badlands, desert, John Biscello, Literary, little prince, Poetry, wandering
Leave a comment
Map
Mapping the bluest eye through a cave-dwelling perspective alighted.
Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized
Tagged badlands, bisti badlands, cave, dwelling, John Biscello, Light, map, Poetry
Leave a comment
Kindle
Anatomy of an Ab-Ex blueprint for anarchic matter, or, how the viral network of Jackson Pollock’s warlock nerves & bones masquerade as kindling for future paintings and tomes.
Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized
Tagged Abstract Expressionism, badlands, bisti badlands, desert, Jackson Pollock, John Biscello, kindle, photo
Leave a comment
Shudder
Bracing the slide angle, where powerlessness begets a rim, a fingerhold at best. We play on, ordering encrypted light on dark notes, braving blights and chronic fade, we bless, jointly, by shudder and pale, with gospel caulking the sudden seams.
Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized
Tagged brave, dark, fade, gospel, inspiration, John Biscello, Light, Literary, mortality, Poetry, prayer
Leave a comment
Pour
So much light poured in, so much passive worth.
Eden
It was no longer Eden, but the bones of Eden. They looked around, they glummed and chimped, they moped and wondered. Then what they did, ably penitent, refugees in their own backyard, they screwed to no avail. They screwed and … Continue reading
Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized
Tagged desert, eden, Erotica, John Biscello, Literary, lost highway, Poetry, sex, spirituality
Leave a comment
Deluge
It is both pleasure, and an epitaph to pleasure, at the same time. When the phenomena occurs and the colors run and slash and slit down upon me in ravels of deluge. Spring-green, shell-pink, sky-blue, bled-red, egg-heaven, grief-yellow. I, a … Continue reading
Posted in Artwork, Poetry, Uncategorized
Tagged abstract, Abstract Expressionism, art, colors, epitaph, Jackson Pollock, John Biscello, Poetry
Leave a comment
John Biscello 