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Tag Archives: poem
Darkroom
In the darkroom of your own solitude the slowly developing photographs of your life can be recollected forwards, as if chronology were a fugue, and you its vigilant timekeeper, twice removed.
Posted in Poetry
Tagged darkroom, John Biscello, photography, poem, Poetry, solitude, time travel, your life
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Signed, Sealed, Delivered
You can, if you wish, file a million and one embittered complaints to the Universe, but none will bring the strange and mysterious results that a single shred of glimmering gratitude can, its kiss the tenderest seal upon symmetry’s origins.
Posted in Uncategorized
Tagged gratitude, John Biscello, open up, poem, universal lore, wonderwheeling
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Love Is
I miss you already, the sun-kissed daisy whispered to the migrant flake of snow, which clung like a hopeful bead to the daisy’s delicate petal before dying a lover’s death and melting.
Posted in Poetry
Tagged daisy, John Biscello, love, poem, seasons, snow, summer, Winter
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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
Tagged John Biscello, clouds, Light, childhood, poem, floating, red baloon
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Icy Hot
Between worlds, vying for merger, the reigning glacial celibacy of stars, and the marvelous frisson of pure mortal throb— Where you are not, find your ghost’s bluest breath of want upon a mirrored caste of longing.
Posted in Poetry
Tagged immortal means, John Biscello, liminal, poem, Poetry, soulplay, starstuff
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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.
Posted in Poetry
Tagged craft, Desire, John Biscello, longing, poem, the source, word-pray
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Weathervane
In the climate change of one’s heart, a weathervane, doubling as compass, pointing to true north, as we, the wandering homesick orphans, are called forth to brave the wilds of a new breaking dawn.
Posted in Poetry
Tagged climate change, heartstuff, John Biscello, orphans, poem, Poetry, true north
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