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Meta
Tag Archives: poem
Wait for Me
There is no waiting, not really. Only bated suspension between commas, axles and imports; the spaces between lovers lie in fertile fields fed by small gods and nameless faeries who, by sacred squalls of weeping, consecrate the soil’s underlying reap. … Continue reading
Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized
Tagged courtship, dream, John Biscello, love, love poem, lovers, poem, Poetry, romance, suspension, time, timeless, wait
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Star
By solitude’s star, on any given night, a twinning may occur to praise phenomena, our bodies, alight, infused with never-ending gospel.
Lightning
your body, charged and opening, receives me in tenderest vein and history, recalling rain-faced flowers as petals glisten and bend.
Perish
Sincerity, with the price tag of ephemera, in passing, promises flash, scar, and then perish.
Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized
Tagged bond, divine, haiku, John Biscello, love, mortality, perish, poem, Poetry, promises, scars
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Ghost
Classic ghost story, you have haunted your own life– No man’s epitaph.
Posted in Uncategorized
Tagged death, epitaph, ghost, gold and grey, haiku, haunting, james macneill whistler, John Biscello, life, nocturne, painting, poem, Poetry, sorrow
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Cake
Bride, groom, wedding cake, frosted take on instant dreams– Honey, hold still, please!
Cosmos
With center in place, growth happens behind our backs– the cosmos abides.
Posted in Artwork, Poetry, Uncategorized
Tagged bliss, center, cosmos, growth, haiku, henry miller, John Biscello, love, poem, Poetry, serenity, stillness, watercolor
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Melt
Summer night, Brooklyn, girl’s desire for ice cream– Melting, time’s passage.
Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized
Tagged Brooklyn, haiku, ice cream, ice cream cart, John Biscello, joy, poem, Poetry, ritual, summer, walter the ice cream man
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Walt Whitman
Of myself and stars, he sang in forked, unsigned tongues– Words his place-holder.
Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized
Tagged celebration, earthy, haiku, I sing of myself, John Biscello, life, poem, poet, Poetry, Stars, uncle walt, walt whitman, whitman's wild children
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Mist
There will come a day when, unplugged and remote, you dissolve and slip gently between the veils, so much mist needed for mourning’s soft focus into grave clarity.
Posted in Artwork, Poetry, Uncategorized
Tagged art, Artwork, ether, fugue, John Biscello, mist, moody, poem, veils, Voulangis
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