Tag Archives: Poetry

Anne Sexton

Posted on November 24, 2019 by John Biscello

It begins with a stopwatch, and a glass of water. The stopwatch belonged to her father, or to her father’s father. The glass of water is a joke. Imagine trying to remedy all that desert within, all that scabbing red … Continue reading →

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John Fante

Posted on November 24, 2019 by John Biscello

Inferiority might have been your first memory. Though you were born on American soil, Denver, CO, April 8th, 1909, the chinked chains of immigration had you by the throat and bowels, pinched your nerves as you butted your head against … Continue reading →

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Galactic Bulb

Posted on November 22, 2019 by John Biscello

Teaser poem from the upcoming collection, Houses of a Crystal Muse (Wild Embers Press), an astro-poetic collaboration/dialogue with Antoniette Nora Claypoole. Featuring images by Issa De Nicola and Anthony Distefano. 

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Ow, She Said. And Wow.

Posted on November 7, 2019 by John Biscello

She stared at the solitary gull perched on a craggy rock. The sea, like undulating slates of purplish steel, or bruised rust, while a glaring wound of a sunset poured scarlet ribbons from its Martian gash. The gull flies away, … Continue reading →

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October’s Bones

Posted on October 21, 2019 by John Biscello

In honor of the 50th anniversary of Jack Kerouac’s “death-day” departure for roads unknown. When I was a young man, a budding scribe eager to blossom white fire, and scabbed lotuses, you meant the world to me. You exposed me … Continue reading →

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Free Play

Posted on October 7, 2019 by John Biscello

We live in a world of alchemy and swing, a freeform board game for sounding and experiment, and anyone that tells you any different has simply forgotten how to engage the play of their lives, or sow the grit, resin … Continue reading →

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Homing Device

Posted on October 7, 2019 by John Biscello

The soul doesn’t calculate, it syncs itself to the legend of its origins, the glyphic runes and white-hot bones of constellational remains, where we, in costumed exile, linger and tow the fasting freight of dreams, upon which our lives are … Continue reading →

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Raspberries

Posted on October 4, 2019 by John Biscello

  Mariko knew a lot of interesting things about space. For example: astronomers theorized that, based on its chemical make-up, the dust from the nebula that gave birth to our sun would taste like raspberries. And that the closer you … Continue reading →

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Visitation Rites

Posted on September 27, 2019 by John Biscello

There is no separation, she said. That is such an illusion, the longest-running con-job this side of the moon. Do not believe the shit that comes out of the pipelines of splintered masses. (She knocked on my forehead three times, … Continue reading →

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The Gospel According to John

Posted on September 26, 2019 by John Biscello

“You’ve got to look at old things and see them in a new light.” Bound, as a parishioner to ancient-newness and freeform alchemy, these words issued from the worn, trembling lips of a man called Coltrane, who, with steady bough … Continue reading →

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