Tag Archives: poem

This is No Ism of Any Kind

Posted on June 1, 2022 by John Biscello
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Stars

Posted on June 1, 2022 by John Biscello

To glean, unerringly,the ripe maternal geniusof soil,she took lucid stockof her originsas a glamorous peasantfrom the cursive fiestaof stars–Words, as sacrosanct bond,became her,if only to negligeethe remote and hidden contoursof her fable unending.

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Fleur de Lis

Posted on May 31, 2022 by John Biscello

This world,beyond this world,splitting into festive atoms,called upon this woman,beyond this woman,to air with no discretionthe favored breathof blue rosesfalling.

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On the Nature of Writing

Posted on May 31, 2022 by John Biscello

Begin at the beginning. Who am I? Who is the voice asking who am I? Who is the who observing the voice asking who am I? Who is the who eternally taking notes on the who observing the voice who … Continue reading →

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High Priestess

Posted on May 31, 2022 by John Biscello

In the lost country of typewriters,and heresies of ink,lived a writer named Clarise,who, longing to syncthe pulse of Godwith sentient spates of text,broke offand plunged soulfirst into a wonderlandof intimately recursive lengths.

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To the Lighthouse

Posted on May 30, 2022 by John Biscello

Here it is, finally. A séance for the living, real-time cinema for possessed bones and sad visionless ghosts, who are on the cusp of claiming their spacious reams of empty, and time-locked vagrancy. The door behind the door has never … Continue reading →

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Postcard from the Edge

Posted on May 25, 2022 by John Biscello
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Nipples don’t Kill

Posted on May 8, 2022 by John Biscello

In the feral country of nipples,where she-wolves raisetheir pups to howl unashamedlyat the moon,many many men,unconsciously ensnaredin puritanical roots,fear, scorn and revilethe mystery of the female nipple,its organic promise of milk and eternitytoo vagrantly radiantfor many many men’s eyes to … Continue reading →

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John Fante

Posted on April 4, 2022 by John Biscello

April 8th will mark the 113th birthday of Mr. John Fante. His delightful landmine of a novel, Ask the Dust (published in 1939) along with the other three novels which chronicled the exploits of his feisty alter-ego, Arturo Bandini, remain … Continue reading →

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Tatters

Posted on March 23, 2022 by John Biscello

For many years I asked Grief to wait outside my window, a peripheral guest chancing obscure, fugitive details, and lighted tatters. Have I been a poor host, stranger to my own ghost and remnants?

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