Tag Archives: Poetry

Doll

Posted on March 4, 2018 by John Biscello

She keeps strict vigil over Childhood in action, every fragrance and nuance, every lost tooth and blown-out birthday candle, every romp in the grass and Goliath slain, she keeps conscious watch, so later, when the box and the dark come … Continue reading →

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Symmetry

Posted on March 4, 2018 by John Biscello

It is the filigreed static, and effluvient roar of the water nymphs choral concert, which numinously orders the light and stones to conspire, and function as delegates of symmetry.

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Remainder

Posted on March 4, 2018 by John Biscello

Sometimes, the children who have gone underground, the chance orphans who choose spelunk or burrow or blackest pitch out of necessity and survival instinct, leave behind tangible remnants of their former lives, sacrificed to sights and gods unseen by morally … Continue reading →

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Not Nietzche

Posted on March 4, 2018 by John Biscello

If you gaze long enough into a lighted window at night, eventually the lighted window goes dark. (i.e., Common Sense for Uncommonly Complicated Philosophers Who Hang out at Starbucks and Read Immanuel Kant While Hoping That the Nerdy-Cute Barista Finally … Continue reading →

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Playground

Posted on March 4, 2018 by John Biscello

In the end, as in the beginning, we shall find that the whole cyclical shebanga was a mischievous riot, a fool’s paradise of child’s play upon fluorescent plasma, or to parrot the enlightened pearls of Mister Voltaire, “God is a … Continue reading →

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Distance

Posted on March 2, 2018 by John Biscello

Fringing the stark shadow of a lucid twig, two fallen leaves court from the distance of metaphor.

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Opaque

Posted on March 2, 2018 by John Biscello

Rebirthing, within fathomless hues, beyond the opaque rim, and vanishing, someone waits to claim your life anew.

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Rumors

Posted on March 2, 2018 by John Biscello

Within the licorice hush and mottle of Dream’s darkening brood, we cede, slowly, to faintest rumors on a paling cusp, to gainly renew.

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Wisp

Posted on March 1, 2018 by John Biscello

Stray leaf, prey to numinous strands of web, Ephemera’s passage, frozen, discreetly, to divine wisp from perish.

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Ssshh!

Posted on March 1, 2018 by John Biscello

Solitary bench, modeling its full silence– lovers secrets, ssshh!

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