-
Archives
- February 2021
- January 2021
- December 2020
- November 2020
- October 2020
- September 2020
- August 2020
- July 2020
- June 2020
- May 2020
- April 2020
- March 2020
- February 2020
- January 2020
- December 2019
- November 2019
- October 2019
- September 2019
- August 2019
- July 2019
- June 2019
- May 2019
- April 2019
- March 2019
- February 2019
- January 2019
- December 2018
- November 2018
- October 2018
- September 2018
- August 2018
- July 2018
- June 2018
- May 2018
- April 2018
- March 2018
- February 2018
- January 2018
- December 2017
- November 2017
- October 2017
- September 2017
- August 2017
- July 2017
- June 2017
- May 2017
- April 2017
- March 2017
- February 2017
- January 2017
- December 2016
- November 2016
- October 2016
- September 2016
- August 2016
- July 2016
- June 2016
- May 2016
- April 2016
- March 2016
-
Meta
Tag Archives: season
Room Service
Love, in its ripest season and deepest proof, does not steal or seize your breath, but rather brings more oxygen and room in which to breathe.
Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized
Tagged breath, devotion, John Biscello, love, oxygen, poem, season, space, spirit
Leave a comment
Winter, a Love Story
Winter’s brides, wearing long white scarves of sleet and song, touching pale sky to blue lips, breathing memory and frost; their sorrow and spectral want grows hands that enclose me, a robust crush, matrimonial in its grip, until I am … Continue reading
Snowflakes
Dark holy silence, the fattest snowflakes are popes– no pulpit required.
Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized
Tagged cold, dream, frost, haiku, John Biscello, poem, Poetry, pope, season, snow, snowflakes, spirit, streetlamp, Winter, winter daydream, woods
Leave a comment
Snap
It was the cold snap of the glyphic branch that awakened him to the grave misunderstanding between fall and winter and the nature of dreams unlived.
Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized
Tagged autumn, dreams, forest, John Biscello, nature, poem, Poetry, season, Winter, woods
Leave a comment
How Fall Happens
Plunging climate of needles and memory, a plaited sorrow. I listen, with mute intent, for the fetal cortege of leaves, turning then falling fast into the maternal crook of an outgoing wind.
Posted in Poetry
Tagged autumn, fall, John Biscello, Literary, memory, Poetry, season, sorrow
Leave a comment