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Meta
Tag Archives: seasons
Winter
I say my mother’s grief was white on white … I say this, but this is not true all the time. The colors change. My mother’s grief has been pink, blue, red. Yet, more and more, when I am … Continue reading
Here, Now
All is a mutable feast, a panoply and paragon of lore and dropped beats, of here, and not here, all at once— effect upon the cause are the visionary takes of the radiant children, sampling source-feed from stunning slates of … Continue reading
Posted in Poetry
Tagged beat goes on, children of the moon, into the mystic, moonstruck, music, poem, Poetry, seasons, visionaries
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Conjugal
Hoarfrost mingling with spring dew– Hunger, sated to bloom.
Keeper of Bones
Now again I have become my mother’s keeper. Once I saw her sitting out in the yard staring out blankly and when I asked her what she was doing she said she was taking care of the world. She said … Continue reading
Posted in Poetry, Prose
Tagged bones, mothers, Prose, seasons, sorcereesses, story, turn turn turn, words
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Vouchsafe
“Once it had been the other way around: one summer, while daydreaming a winter story, he had reached into the tall grass for a snowball, wanting to throw it playfully at the cat.” — Peter Handke, The Afternoon of a … Continue reading
Posted in Books, Poetry, Prose
Tagged imagination, intimacy, John Biscello, peter handke, poem, seasons
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Love Is
I miss you already, the sun-kissed daisy whispered to the migrant flake of snow, which clung like a hopeful bead to the daisy’s delicate petal before dying a lover’s death and melting.
Posted in Poetry
Tagged daisy, John Biscello, love, poem, seasons, snow, summer, Winter
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Love Is
I miss you already, the sun-kissed daisy whispered to the migrant flake of snow, which clung like a hopeful bead to the daisy’s delicate petal before dying a lover’s death and melting.
Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized
Tagged flowerbeds, it's a love thing, John Biscello, Poetry, seasons, snowflake's fancy, spring kisses winter
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Juice
Slow kind of winter, Spring, mainlining taproot juice, hastens light to mold.
Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized
Tagged cycles, God, haiku, John Biscello, Light, nature, poem, seasons, spirit, spring, Winter, writing life
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Soma
It is, at winter’s finite edge, that we glean the bent, palsied bloom, somatic in its turn toward Spring’s inevitable host.
Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized
Tagged Beauty, bloom, flower, John Biscello, poem, Poetry, seasons, soma, somatic, spirit, spring, Winter
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First Snow
Upon first snow’s feathery kissing of bare limbs, interlocked, we will know ourselves as Nature, never truly apart, the sheer force of dream on white too powerful to sever.
John Biscello 