Tag Archives: seasons

Seasons of the Mask

Posted on October 7, 2026 by John Biscello

The mask lifted. Autumn lisped. Lost, and lisping about a mausoleum of hours, days. It was a dry Marienbaddish summer. Which gave way to fall. You have to imagine it giving way: Summer, holding up its illustrious red velvet cape, … Continue reading →

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Winter

Posted on November 17, 2025 by John Biscello

   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 →

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Here, Now

Posted on April 2, 2025 by John Biscello

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 →

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Conjugal

Posted on February 19, 2025 by John Biscello

Hoarfrost mingling with spring dew– Hunger, sated to bloom.

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Keeper of Bones

Posted on November 3, 2022 by John Biscello

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 →

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Vouchsafe

Posted on November 19, 2020 by John Biscello

“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 →

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Love Is

Posted on October 27, 2020 by John Biscello

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.

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Love Is

Posted on January 30, 2020 by John Biscello

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.

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Juice

Posted on March 29, 2018 by John Biscello

Slow kind of winter, Spring, mainlining taproot juice, hastens light to mold.

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Soma

Posted on February 24, 2018 by John Biscello

It is, at winter’s finite edge, that we glean the bent, palsied bloom, somatic in its turn toward Spring’s inevitable host.  

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