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Meta
Tag Archives: Poetry
How Fall Happens
Plunging climate of needles and memory, a plaited sorrow. I listen, with mute intent, for the fetal cortege of leaves, turning then falling fast into the maternal crook of an outgoing wind.
Posted in Poetry
Tagged autumn, fall, John Biscello, Literary, memory, Poetry, season, sorrow
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The Horse’s Mouth
Audio track of the spoken word piece, “The Horse’s Mouth” (for Dylan Thomas), with Ben Wright on bass, published in the September issue of the Virtual Artists Collective. Listen here.
Posted in Audio, Poetry, Publications
Tagged Ben Wright, Dylan Thomas, John Biscello, Literary, Poetry, Spoken Word, virtual artists collective
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Usher
August, its days nearly numbered, summer’s pink noiseless fade and exit (how cicadas bury their voices in hollows of silence), autumn’s fresh jags of Memory, reaping, with finite sorrow, the climate-cracked shells of seeds (how tiny birds bury their songs … Continue reading
Bearing
Friends, and loved ones, I know that so many of you are struggling with shadow-play right now, that your hands are busy knitting in the dark, negotiating long-held absences and haunts, humanly attempting to massage muddle and confusion into clarity; … Continue reading
Posted in Poetry
Tagged camellia, grace, John Biscello, Light, Literary, Poetry, shadow, unity
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Beat, Bop & Abstraction
It took place in an amnesiac haze and fury, numberless nights of lightningspeak and opiate rabble, rocketfuel and anti-freeze, bright ribbons of noise amounting to worry stones indenting the soft pink center of palms, on and on and on, fugitive … Continue reading
Posted in Artwork, Poetry
Tagged Abstract Expressionism, beat, bop, charlie parker, jack kerouac, Jackson Pollock, John Biscello, Literary, Poetry, saturnalia
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Bedsores
In the permanent flophouse Love reigns supreme— A tried and torn migrant ready to drop from chronic fatigue.
Meaning of the Mob
The Meaning of the Mob. I say, the Mob, meaning the Definitely Uncertain, Fixed—a liberal form of physics— or the clotted swarm wallforming brick by brick, a mosaic pattern. Pick a number, any number, it’s a given. A given what, … Continue reading
Posted in Poetry
Tagged Brooklyn, John Biscello, Literary, mob, Poetry, Spoken Word, street corner
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Torch Song
The aureate secrets of silence, stuff stars are made from, and us, cocooned in gauzy slumbers, wink and blink and nod till well-scored we become cinders in a torch song, long-since faded.
Posted in Artwork, Poetry, Uncategorized
Tagged impressionism, John Biscello, Literary, night, Poetry, Starry Night, Stars, Van Gogh
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Frame-Up
(Written in response to Josef Sudek’s “Winter at the Window of my Atelier”) Winter frame-up of god’s run-on fingerprints, evidence of weary sorrow, mounting, unfinished.
Posted in Artwork, Poetry
Tagged God, John Biscello, josef sudek, Literary, Poetry, prague, window, Winter
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Sunday’s Children
(Written in response to Joe Sorren’s “While the Trucks on the Highway all Howl”) While the trucks on the highway all howl, beneath a milk-bottle sky, Sunday’s children, curious and bulb-headed, lay vigorous claim to Paradise. Non-profit architects, they sit … Continue reading
Posted in Artwork, Poetry, Uncategorized
Tagged Artwork, beach, children, Joe Sorren, John Biscello, Literary, paradise, Poetry, sand-castles, sunday, trucks
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John Biscello 