Tag Archives: poem

Balloon, Sun

Posted on March 18, 2018 by John Biscello

The Red Balloon of storybook legend, after having reached its pinnacle of fame, decided to reinvent itself as a crimson bauble of a sun, reigning supreme over a private world of geometry and symbols, a realm of pure spirit and … Continue reading →

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Mercy

Posted on March 18, 2018 by John Biscello

Always a mother, always gentle enclosure– Between palms, mercy.

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Haunt

Posted on March 18, 2018 by John Biscello

Make me an offer, they shoot pretty girls, don’t they? Leave haunting to me.

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Marguerite Duras

Posted on March 16, 2018 by John Biscello

Mapped, in glaring veins, cut, to secrete lucid text– Yes, love, I bleed light.

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Candles

Posted on March 16, 2018 by John Biscello

One for each of us, happy born-day, dear sister– Beyond human reach.   (Artwork by Dorothea Tanning)

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Freeze

Posted on March 16, 2018 by John Biscello

Ice skating past dark, on a frozen pond, alone– Where they swam, last spring.   (Artwork by Mark Rothko)

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Moonman

Posted on March 16, 2018 by John Biscello

Moonman, when will you return? The world has gone to trembling, and scattered its once-proud feathers, we are presently undergoing a plumage crisis and are in dire need of luminous mending. Your glyphic signature remains in the palm of my … Continue reading →

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Edie

Posted on March 16, 2018 by John Biscello

Too many small hours pimped out to wraiths on parade– Heart, in real time, breaks.

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Beginning Now

Posted on March 15, 2018 by John Biscello

Craft. Tactile homage, and respect to craft, its inviolable depths and integrity, to approach craft as you would a fertile god, to practice, radically, at its altar, to consecrate with marked intent, and to know in your heart’s heart that … Continue reading →

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Chair

Posted on March 15, 2018 by John Biscello

No sitters to tend, solvent to its own winter, if these floors could talk.   (Installation by Izumi Yokoyama)

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