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Meta
Tag Archives: Poetry
Dark
I. I have begun to name and catalogue the different types of dark. It helps. Warm-dark, cave-dark, void-dark, womb-dark, sleep-dark, Eros-dark, blank-dark, siege-dark, and there is the anonymous dark that gets in your head and behind your eyes and in … Continue reading
Posted in Artwork, Poetry, Uncategorized
Tagged Artwork, black, black painting, boxes, Cy Twombly, dark, John Biscello, painting, poem, Poetry
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Dance
I get so sleepy and restless and roiled and charged. If only they knew what they called world was simply a clusterfuck of particles dreaming of dance partners.
Posted in Artwork, Poetry, Uncategorized
Tagged Artwork, dance, dream, Gustav Klimt, John Biscello, painting, particles, poem, Poetry, sleep, Stars, woman
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Arclight
Bidden by tatters, and gravity’s mutable arc, the palpitations guide me. They are subtle, duly engaged, a milk-slow run of shivers. Bracing the rim, I peer out of cavedark: everything is sudden, color-soaked, a ferocious din and melt, fringed shawls … Continue reading
Posted in Artwork, Poetry, Uncategorized
Tagged abstract, Abstract Expressionism, birth, dream, eptiaph, fire, God, John Biscello, Light, Mark Rothko, poem, Poetry, red, Yellow
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Deluge
It is both pleasure, and an epitaph to pleasure, at the same time. When the phenomena occurs and the colors run and slash and slit down upon me in ravels of deluge. Spring-green, shell-pink, sky-blue, bled-red, egg-heaven, grief-yellow. I, a … Continue reading
Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized
Tagged 1950s, abstract, Abstract Expressionism, Artwork, deluge, Jackson Pollock, John Biscello, painting, poem, Poetry
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Draft
There are no mirrors here, yet everywhere I see myself, a bated draft of furls, each bearing the right to exist, and respire ably.
Posted in Artwork, Poetry, Uncategorized
Tagged avant-garde, Cinema, dream, experimental, film, furls, John Biscello, Maya Deren, Mirror, poem, Poetry
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Godot Vs. God
In Godot’s waiting room, Heaven-rent, the vacancy sign had been converted into a living epitaph for people choking on bated breath: Here tomorrow, gone today.
Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized
Tagged breath, eternity, God, Godot, Heaven, John Biscello, poem, Poetry, rent, samuel beckett, today, tomorrow, waiting
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Arc
It is the mouth birthing a blood-new kiss that begs gravity’s pardon and raises lips to an impossible arc.
Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized
Tagged art nouveau, Artwork, erotic, Gustav Klimt, John Biscello, kiss, lips, love, lovers, lust, painting, poem, Poetry, sensual, spirit
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White Bird
She, full of secret pines, shadow-limbed beneath a pale disc of winter sun, waltzing solo in snow-caked hills, blood-red quill tucked behind her left ear, just in case the urge to climb spires and trace spheres via a fierce run … Continue reading
Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized
Tagged bird, Goddess, hymn, John Biscello, love, nature, poem, Poetry, praise, snow, trees, voice, white bird, Winter
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Winter Adagio
Nightwalk in a small town. Moonbleached adobe set against the snowglobular shakedown of flakes, as if dandruff from the itchy shaved scalp of God was falling, a phosphate rhapsody. Along the road, mudskinned snowdrifts, like albino coal-miners, crouching, or dispossessed … Continue reading
Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized
Tagged adagio, God, John Biscello, night, nightwalk, poem, Poetry, snow, snowdrift, snowflakes, solo, Taos, town, wandering, Winter
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John Biscello 