Tag Archives: Poetry

Turn

Posted on March 7, 2018 by John Biscello

Nowhere else to turn, restless child seeking lighted way, shadows hold court, monopolizing space and time.   (Photo by Henri Cartier-Bresson)

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Quartet

Posted on March 6, 2018 by John Biscello

On this side of the mirror, it begins with a light, courtesy kindling promise, yet on the other side, the smoke is already mood-thick and rising, suggesting second lives engaged in the slow burn of mutual arson.   (Photo by … Continue reading →

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I’m Here

Posted on March 6, 2018 by John Biscello

Day after day after day modeling ripe, fugitive blankness, to the siege of passers-by who smiled sweetly and pointed at the coat, the dress, the bow, yet none of them saw what wasn’t blatantly advertised, the age-old curse which kept … Continue reading →

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Owl

Posted on March 5, 2018 by John Biscello

Owl, owl, burning white, your gaze, peerless, and sublime, bearing braised volumes of silence within fathomless archives– Who dares to confront the suddenness of history, all at once, unblinking? Who dares to initiate the sorrow of millennia, in a single … Continue reading →

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Twins

Posted on March 5, 2018 by John Biscello

Side by side, dress by dress, stitch by stitch, cuff by cuff, we will respire as echo, endlessly, in the funereal symmetry of one, Diane Arbus.   (Photo by Diane Arbus)

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Georgia

Posted on March 5, 2018 by John Biscello

The fingers, shroud and baffling, in temper and Sphinx, the hands, workmanlike, choreographing majesty in sync with the eyes which saw and praised, in rapture, the inner lives of flowers.   (Photo by Alfred Steiglitz)  

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Mercy

Posted on March 5, 2018 by John Biscello

She, unmoving, has remained the same for millennia, mercy on a tether. As for the tombs, the plots, the names engraved on headstones, those are always different, change, the truest source of sorrow replenished.

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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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