Tag Archives: poem

Between Despair and Hope: A Song

Posted on February 24, 2020 by John Biscello

Unnamed, deep, dark, the immaculate root-base from which the muted call to home signals an exile’s longing to claim merger, absolute.

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Starfishing

Posted on February 23, 2020 by John Biscello

In the hazy evening smolder (somewhere there is a fire, sirens sounding alarm) you dream of her as a jellied starfish suctioned to your face until breathing becomes a revised species of flirtation and you relinquish your lips to the … Continue reading →

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Waiting for the Punchline

Posted on February 21, 2020 by John Biscello

The mind, locked in Time’s vice-grip, operating as a splicer and instrument of quartering and dissection, as if there really were isolated strips amounting to calendar-flipped years— 1923, 1932, 1974, 1980, 1999— as if Time were somehow real and not … Continue reading →

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Self-Love Supreme

Posted on February 14, 2020 by John Biscello

A true valentine crafted by Derek Walcott, titled “Love After Love” The time will come when, with elation you will greet yourself arriving at your own door, in your own mirror and each will smile at the other’s welcome, and … Continue reading →

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This Side of Burlesque

Posted on January 30, 2020 by John Biscello

And then came the day when he realized he was free, always had been to enjoy the abstracted stage-play of his thoughts and their formations, something of an idiot’s delight, same as the scabbed-glass opera of the world without, its … Continue reading →

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Fool’s Play

Posted on January 27, 2020 by John Biscello

To marvel dumbly, and trespass, with a sense of the infinite backlighting a wink– this, the way of the Fool, or sacred is as sacred does, when trusting the air in its holy relationship to plunge.

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Calling

Posted on January 26, 2020 by John Biscello

The crow, weighing on the snow-skinned branch, caws with dark religious insistence, like a sailor homesick for love, or its remaindered sibling. There is an unremitting hoarseness to Eternity that disguises its calling in still feathers and winter’s light.

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Inspiration’s Track

Posted on January 21, 2020 by John Biscello

Inspiration is not a matter of chance, or waiting, or a magic spell that demands bated breath and fretted suspension— it is the fact that you pick up a pen, your fingers growing warm and intimate with its weight and … Continue reading →

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You Are Here

Posted on January 21, 2020 by John Biscello

To venerate, the privilege of air inside the ceremony of lungs and chance, where you, as an honored guest, get to ripen and breathe the adventure of your name into a free-range universe.

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Shadowplay

Posted on January 20, 2020 by John Biscello

How lovely the metaphors that drop from your lips like feted pellets of rain, and yet lovelier still, the way their shadows leave warm wet stains wherever my skin opens to catch you.

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