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Meta
Tag Archives: John Biscello
O’ Keefe, Yellow Flower
The sex of yellow, its pealed strife and resin. Or how a specter, a sensual crumple and crepe, butter-tongued, makes time with a pair of honeyed tonsils, coercing a holler, a yodel, aria raging blonde over brood, the Belle’s Seduction, … Continue reading
Posted in Artwork, Poetry, Uncategorized
Tagged art, flower, Georgia O' Keefe, John Biscello, Literary, Poetry, sensual, sex, Yellow, yellow flower
2 Comments
Husk
The quiet net of one’s fingers, mute and aggrieved, yet lapping volumes of light, a measureless brood husking the dark to derive a glean, its rivet bound to the commonest plight.
Craft
A chipped blue vase, void of flowers, holding so much perfect air, how we, abiding a course of reform, charge particles with intent to respire, craft bred by labor’s lighted resolve.
Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized
Tagged craft, flowers, John Biscello, Literary, Poetry
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Raking the Dust for Review
Bloggers, scribes, bibliophiles, word-warmers, and miscellaneous creative kin: In exchange for a free digital version of my new novel Raking the Dust, I am seeking honest reviews to be posted on Amazon, Goodreads, and one’s own blog/website. If interested, please … Continue reading
Posted in Books, Press, Prose, Uncategorized
Tagged Brooklyn, erotic, John Biscello, New Mexico, New York, Raking the Dust, Review, Surrealism, Taos
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The Hero’s Early Journey
Joe Campbell, age two, teething on his toy Muse– in a sense, Bliss.
Posted in Poetry
Tagged haiku, hero's journey, John Biscello, Joseph Campbell, Literary, myth, Poetry
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Almost Found in Translation
If, by chance or mistake, I have given you inscrutable glyphs, it is only because I, the translator, struggle mightily and mostly fail to translate the parts of me gone missing.
Posted in Artwork, Poetry
Tagged absence, Abstract Expressionism, Jackson Pollock, John Biscello, Literary, Poetry
2 Comments
Far End of the Bar
I could write circles around him, Joe said, sipping his whiskey. Look at him, sitting there, Mr. Smug, Mr. Infallible. I should go over there and give him a good what-for. He’d knock your block off, Bob responded … Continue reading
Posted in Prose
Tagged Hemingway, John Biscello, Literary, men, Prose, story, writers
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How Tomorrow Moves
It was a matter of helium-speak, and tomorrow-talk, and bright ribbons of noise amounting to nothing. We, hanging out on the street-corner, conducting ping-pong volleys and raps, ferocity and verve, building ourselves up—who we were and were not, what we … Continue reading
Posted in Prose
Tagged Bensonhurst, Brooklyn, John Biscello, Literary, Prose, storytelling, street corner, train station, urban
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Gondola
Distance, the middle ground between lovers locked in psychic undress; a ritual burlesque exposing wounds, we reverse course and seed safe harbors at the expense of metaphor and masks; intimacy skinned to savor a new course, near to grace, unfiltered.
Posted in Artwork, Poetry, Uncategorized
Tagged gondola, grace, John Biscello, Literary, love, lovers, Man Ray, mannequin, Poetry
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After Hours
Lenny Bruce, seated on a chipped wooden stool, cigarette dangling from his lips, slumping forward, shoulders slack. His mouth puckers, the cigarette jumps to attention, he draws in fiercely, then exhales a series of bluish halos that float and dissipate. … Continue reading
Posted in Prose
Tagged comedy, hell, John Biscello, lenny bruce, Literary, New York, pardon, Prose, Surrealism
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John Biscello 