Tag Archives: Poetry

Henry Miller

Posted on April 18, 2018 by John Biscello

Some men rattle their chains and wonder, some sing them. Then there are others who spraypaint their chains rainbow siege and dance a jig like a peacock on fire, and when someone asks Isn’t it hard to dance around with … Continue reading →

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Sway

Posted on April 18, 2018 by John Biscello

To sway, with corset no more to bind, hips parlaying grace, to rivet greening desire.

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N.

Posted on April 17, 2018 by John Biscello

Sssshhh, gently now, gently, Love, the slippered guest, the tender trespasser, enters the house of wet leaves, softly, finger pressed to asking lips, no more questions, just this: the sound of rain, pealing, to bless storied thirst.  

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Daisies

Posted on April 17, 2018 by John Biscello

To have, to have not, in the end, it’s all the same– thrill to wet daisies.

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Feathers

Posted on April 15, 2018 by John Biscello

Song, caught in her hair, something about torn feathers, running, blue to form.

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Intent

Posted on April 13, 2018 by John Biscello

Hold me, to dignity, to respiring intent, to nothing beyond this moment, arcing to bend.

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Third to First

Posted on April 12, 2018 by John Biscello

Third person, first, first person, last, it’s time he and I met for real.

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Secrets

Posted on April 12, 2018 by John Biscello

Keeping secrets from yourself is like talking behind someone’s front.

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There

Posted on April 12, 2018 by John Biscello

Your soul’s country is much bigger than you think. Find every last you there.

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Praise

Posted on April 12, 2018 by John Biscello

Every last word, placemat for breath to perish, to fade, syncing praise.  

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