Tag Archives: Poetry

Awakening

Did I look down, or peer within when I saw the golden grass waving like liquid tendrils of light? At the soft, rounded edge of dream, a beckoning to fall, to endear charm to the fool’s play calling your truest … Continue reading

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Throb

It is the caste of throb in which words, palpitating, line up to serve a poem’s desirous need to know your longing as an open source.

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A Prince’s Welcome

To remix a bit of warmed-over lightning from the immortal good advice of one Mr. James Brown—Now is the time to jump back and kiss yourself, and become best first mate to your own extraordinary soul. The Spiritually Roaring 20s … Continue reading

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Invocation

We are here, but briefly, shadows of candle-light dancing between dust and choir, day and night, so consider today a good day to begin, or to continue unwrapping yourself, and giving you to you as a gift, your soul rightfully … Continue reading

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Zuzu’s Petals

  A father’s pocket, containing secret petals— the meaning of love.

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Still Life W/Selfie

(From Houses of a Crystal Muse, Wild Embers Press, December 2019) How I, my ego-fiend-self, craves and wishes and desires to take ultimate credit for the words and poems attaching themselves to their mortal host, John Biscello, thinly grafted to … Continue reading

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Waking Life

“Childhood’s Wake” (from Houses of A Crystal Muse, being released this week) You can feel it in the air, a razory sheen, all the childhoods that were lost or stolen or seized or buried to model catacombs and secret lairs, … Continue reading

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After Party

She, Lazarus, back from the dead, with a musical vengeance— A beat, Christ, please, she asks of her martyred D.J., half-light, half-man, and out climbs her voice, grinding through rubble, a dark velvet toy wound up for centuries, released, on … Continue reading

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Immigration Laws

We are immigrants in our own skin, flash-fire refugees who get by with falsified papers, fake IDs, and forged signatures. If caught and found guilty of a trespass or transgression, we pardon ourselves in our native tongues, language a placeholder … Continue reading

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Claim for the Meek

I do not want to see the face of God. I want to see her mask, where and for whom it cracked, the causal history of lines and fissures; want to trace, with blind mute innocence, the light quartered and … Continue reading

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