Tag Archives: poem

Reap

Posted on November 12, 2020 by John Biscello

By the light of the autumn moon, she became, as always, a legend true to her own scythe and reaping.

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Tale-Spin

Posted on November 12, 2020 by John Biscello

There’s something funny, and a little lonely, about being the idiot protagonist in the tales you endlessly narrate to yourself, as if you were somehow plagiarizing the stars to round out your silence with immaterial gains amounting to destiny, if … Continue reading →

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This Side of Arson

Posted on November 12, 2020 by John Biscello

It is an emptying-out, a daily maintenance of purge which, in its favored form, testifies to the lore of secrets held within revelations, or, delineates just cause for an arsonist’s burning.

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Lovers

Posted on November 11, 2020 by John Biscello

Between true lovers, a throbbing flight of totems, carved from moon and ash.

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Crow Talk

Posted on November 11, 2020 by John Biscello

I close my notebook, and everything that goes with it, and listen to the crow cawing outside my window. I get confused. Is he saying Winter is coming soon, or, It’s time to dream rightly, as I do, with zero … Continue reading →

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Swoon

Posted on November 11, 2020 by John Biscello

In the small hours, and secret world, where nocturnal flowers call for tenderest glances and esteem, blooming occurs at the inevitable pace of dreams, and swooning resolve.

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She Weeps

Posted on November 11, 2020 by John Biscello

Victory is the epilogue to squabble. And its prelude too. That is, when your bayonet plunges into the ribcage or spleen of another version of you, the moon weeps slow silver rivers of tears, unconsoled by the glitteringly indifferent stars, … Continue reading →

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It’s A Moon Thing

Posted on November 11, 2020 by John Biscello

Here, then, is the poet’s most holy and vocational duty– to clarify, beyond the rabble and ill communication, something flowingly equivalent to the reflection of the moon on dark rippling waters, sated, briefly, in savvy communion with what lies beneath.

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Comic Relief

Posted on November 11, 2020 by John Biscello

“God is a comedian playing to an audience too afraid to laugh”–Voltaire Philosophy, like the proverbial weasel, goes POP, as God, sporting a Groucho Marx get-up (you know, the glasses, the eyebrows, the cigar) delivers gags and zingers, turning the … Continue reading →

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Come Wander With Me

Posted on November 10, 2020 by John Biscello

At the break of day, wandering softly within– you, from a distance.

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