Tag Archives: poem

Weight of Writing

Posted on December 7, 2020 by John Biscello

A row of teethmarks in the spine of a pencil– Stressing a sentence.

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Net

Posted on December 4, 2020 by John Biscello

No mantras for this– Fingers, a most delicate and provocative net, cast to capture the spreading pulse of someone else’s longing mirrored in your breath.

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Parting

Posted on December 4, 2020 by John Biscello

Hiding in plain sight, a lost kiss, unremembered to the parting of lips.

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Cadence

Posted on December 4, 2020 by John Biscello

Symmetry, as a caulk to the voracious appetite and carnal din of passion– Where the stitches tremble and falter, follow your pulse to the origins of cadent scarring.

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Performance

Posted on December 4, 2020 by John Biscello

Guttural streams of dream-rock in an amphitheater for the five senses and beyond– Here, at the liminal edges, you will find fire-kissed wildflowers applauding the performance by opening their volumeless mouths wide and swallowing whole the cathedral of sound, in … Continue reading →

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Peony

Posted on December 4, 2020 by John Biscello

This peony is an empty house/ In which each of us recaptures night. —Jean Laroche In the panting still of night, a peony, trembling, fragrant, blushing bright against the dark matted vines of memory, in which lovers, tangled and throbbing, … Continue reading →

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Housewarming

Posted on December 1, 2020 by John Biscello

“The already human being in whom I had sought shelter for my body yielded nothing to the storm. The house clung close to me, like a she-wolf, and at times, I could smell her odor penetrating maternally to my very … Continue reading →

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Sanctuary

Posted on December 1, 2020 by John Biscello

“It is on the plane of the daydream and not on that of facts that childhood remains alive and poetically useful within us. Through this permanent childhood, we maintain the poetry of the past. To inhabit oneirically the house we … Continue reading →

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Tongues

Posted on December 1, 2020 by John Biscello

“To meditative minds the ineffable is cryptic, inarticulate: dots, marks of secret meaning, scattered hints, to be gathered, deciphered and formed into evidence; while in moments of insight the ineffable is a metaphor in a forgotten mother tongue.” — Abraham … Continue reading →

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Slow Burn

Posted on December 1, 2020 by John Biscello

“He who has realized that sun and stars and souls do not ramble in a vacuum will keep his heart in readiness for the hour when the world is entranced.” — Abraham Joshua Heschel, I Asked for Wonder With or … Continue reading →

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