Tag Archives: Poetry

Claim for the Meek

Posted on January 19, 2022 by John Biscello

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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Shutter

Posted on December 16, 2021 by John Biscello

Witness to a claim, Pandora’s box-cutting gaze– hope at the bottom.

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Cadenza

Posted on December 15, 2021 by John Biscello

Some death is musical, a candied apparition scalding the bones of Venus in soft chambers of silk and notes of smoldering silence.

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Silent Night

Posted on December 15, 2021 by John Biscello

Start with the glacial base, the hunk of unforgiving crystal on which the tree is mounted, then trace the filigreed limbs of the tree, its shadow a twin belonging to the woman modeling Winter as a softly fringed species of … Continue reading →

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Sylvia Plath

Posted on December 15, 2021 by John Biscello

To be a mother, and to double as a dark sorceress, a cleaver of dried bones, could not have been easy. Especially in the 1950s. They burned witches then, as well as reds and blacks and faggots, and other things … Continue reading →

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Solitude

Posted on October 14, 2021 by John Biscello

Sometimes there is no sound more lonely and beautiful than that of a pen scratching upon a page with a world of silence as your neutral accomplice.

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Waves

Posted on October 14, 2021 by John Biscello

At the faltering edge, where possibility meets a stolen glance, and guilt whispers discreetly to us the manner in which we must transgress, we traded breath for flame, and burned through every last vestige of decency, beneath our bodies shameless … Continue reading →

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Fly by Night

Posted on October 14, 2021 by John Biscello

Longing does not require a precedent, or even a known catalyst. It is, in its purest form, the solvent call of homesickness, which is why our hearts, in their cause and breaking, claim the smallest birds as stars, and the … Continue reading →

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There Was a Time

Posted on October 14, 2021 by John Biscello

Coiled within the echo and ceremony of longing, I tremble between memory’s flitting tease of my belly and hers, how they almost touched, erring a slow burn course by which the word made flesh could stalk itself, from a favored … Continue reading →

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Posted on June 8, 2021 by John Biscello

Cosmic Lay Slick astronomy, moonlight drips between her thighs– The lay of space, mine.

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