Tag Archives: poem

I’m Here

Posted on March 6, 2018 by John Biscello

Day after day after day modeling ripe, fugitive blankness, to the siege of passers-by who smiled sweetly and pointed at the coat, the dress, the bow, yet none of them saw what wasn’t blatantly advertised, the age-old curse which kept … Continue reading →

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Owl

Posted on March 5, 2018 by John Biscello

Owl, owl, burning white, your gaze, peerless, and sublime, bearing braised volumes of silence within fathomless archives– Who dares to confront the suddenness of history, all at once, unblinking? Who dares to initiate the sorrow of millennia, in a single … Continue reading →

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Twins

Posted on March 5, 2018 by John Biscello

Side by side, dress by dress, stitch by stitch, cuff by cuff, we will respire as echo, endlessly, in the funereal symmetry of one, Diane Arbus.   (Photo by Diane Arbus)

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Georgia

Posted on March 5, 2018 by John Biscello

The fingers, shroud and baffling, in temper and Sphinx, the hands, workmanlike, choreographing majesty in sync with the eyes which saw and praised, in rapture, the inner lives of flowers.   (Photo by Alfred Steiglitz)  

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Mercy

Posted on March 5, 2018 by John Biscello

She, unmoving, has remained the same for millennia, mercy on a tether. As for the tombs, the plots, the names engraved on headstones, those are always different, change, the truest source of sorrow replenished.

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Storm

Posted on March 5, 2018 by John Biscello

At night, Rorschach wraiths, born of light’s role play with rain– Woman, wet, enclosed.   (Photo by Anthony Distefano)

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Rain

Posted on March 4, 2018 by John Biscello

Mist leavening mood, Noir, by any other name– In rain, lovers prey.   (Photo by Anthony Distefano)

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Hallway

Posted on March 4, 2018 by John Biscello

This could be titled John Biscello Doesn’t Live Here Anymore, could be titled Romancing the Ghosts, or perhaps no title at all, just a flickering reminiscence trapped in a photo snapped by a childhood friend who swears that he occasionally … Continue reading →

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Doll

Posted on March 4, 2018 by John Biscello

She keeps strict vigil over Childhood in action, every fragrance and nuance, every lost tooth and blown-out birthday candle, every romp in the grass and Goliath slain, she keeps conscious watch, so later, when the box and the dark come … Continue reading →

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Follow Me

Posted on March 4, 2018 by John Biscello

Upon returning, the man claiming to be Jesus knew the perfect place to kickstart his new wave of miracles, as the parishioners of social media congregated into a mob and followed him down a crooked alley to a street often … Continue reading →

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