Tag Archives: praise

Song of Hope

Posted on August 30, 2019 by John Biscello

They kill poets in these parts don’t they? When I got here I saw Walt Whitman’s wizened head out back impaled on a stake flies buzzing round its concomitant rot and stench I heard one of the locals say it … Continue reading →

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The Gospel According to Skin

Posted on November 27, 2018 by John Biscello

Today I woke to the pulsing ribbed memory of that night you wore nothing except a knotted bodice of white flags, and my mouth, prey to your body’s religion, submitted gospel as a savage flagrant reform to amen.

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Cinemagical

Posted on July 31, 2018 by John Biscello

Running everywhere, wildly, excited to fill his bucket with moonlight, the young, eager disicple turned to his mentor and said, with a crushing sense of zealous overwhelm– But it’s everywhere! So so much yet none of it stays in the … Continue reading →

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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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Unlearned

Posted on January 18, 2018 by John Biscello

We are God’s longing to know herself on intimate, unfettered terms, human to the radiant touch and tenderest basking, infinitely unlearned.  

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Of Time and the River

Posted on January 3, 2018 by John Biscello

   One thing we cannot recover is time.    Perhaps that’s what I have been trying to do.    Perhaps that’s what every writer, as a fugitive stalker, as a heartsick orphan, as the fool-hero in their own movie is … Continue reading →

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Yes

Posted on January 1, 2018 by John Biscello

The tenderest means to a true center is through loss accepted gracefully and yes praised.

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Praise

Posted on December 24, 2017 by John Biscello

Quite simply, the curlicue flake of snow kisses the child’s lashes, and winter’s slow hidden pink marvels in its own tender praises.

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White Bird

Posted on December 9, 2017 by John Biscello

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 →

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In Praise of Dark and Light

Posted on November 5, 2017 by John Biscello

Everyone’s dark is coming up and it isn’t going to be pretty, as well it shouldn’t be. Beauty, as a rugged force, as thorny swaths of dream-thistles, blooms through night-fasting, and respiring enclosures of dark. Beauty marks the hidden faith … Continue reading →

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