Tag Archives: Muse
Thank you, is the simplest and most profound prayer I know, borne along on a sea of breath, it returns to itself, the divinest echo from God’s muse to my lips. Advertisements
How I, my ego-fiend-self, craves and wishes and desires to take ultimate credit for the words and poems attaching themselves to their mortal host, John Biscello, thinly grafted to his signature and persona, but deep down I understand all … Continue reading
To sculpt, with just the right amount of brandish, and restraint, how you, art to your own crumble and chasten, exact marvel, slowly, at the Muse’s favored bidding.
Form-fitted to God, the Muse brought in her posse– Room for improvement.
Thistles, structuring a feral paragraph in open space, as the stray feather, cruciform to fence, parlays the canticle of Muse, unfettered.
Rapt, in gratitude, the writer fasting on silence, and slimmest wisps, to gain Beauty’s favor and superlative bask, beyond recognition.
To caper at the edge, where the seething lyric happens, poetry with slits and fast teeth, where the hours of phenomena are boiled and reduced to a single quivering instant, an umbilical knot of light upon tenderest scraps and coils. … Continue reading
Birdless solitude, Winter’s song, slow, deep, solemn– Musing upon spring.
To write a poem that demands nothing from anyone else, truly asks for nothing, except to become, is the purest placeholder for the Muse’s proferred balm.
Bardic task at hand, to bask, in solitude, bare– Light passing over.