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Tag Archives: summer
Pigtails
There was that day you wore your hair in pigtails. You were thirteen. Pigtails and a pale blue summer dress. I think the dress was new. My mother had died three days earlier. You and I … Continue reading
Posted in Prose, Uncategorized
Tagged Benhonhurst, Brooklyn, friends, girl, grief, John Biscello, love, mourning, pathos, pigtails, Prose, stoop, story, summer
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Melt
Summer night, Brooklyn, girl’s desire for ice cream– Melting, time’s passage.
Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized
Tagged Brooklyn, haiku, ice cream, ice cream cart, John Biscello, joy, poem, Poetry, ritual, summer, walter the ice cream man
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Summer Wind
Tar, vinegar, piss, crossing of urban perfume– Those summer winds, tracked.
Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized
Tagged 18th avenue, Bensonhurst, Brooklyn, haiku, John Biscello, New York, poem, summer, train, urban
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Legend
Summer in Brooklyn, hydrant dreaming in graffiti– legends of childhood.
Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized
Tagged Brooklyn, childhood, decay, graffiti, haiku, John Biscello, love, poem, Poetry, summer, urban
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Summer Song
At the edge of a remote island, (sirens in the distance) modeling jigsaw scars, cracked veins, and an oily sheen, a fast fade dream, a scorched mirage, occurs every evening like clockwork. Walter, jangling his bell, shouting: Good Humor Man, … Continue reading
Posted in Artwork, Poetry, Uncategorized
Tagged bliss, Brooklyn, gospel, ice cream, John Biscello, Literary, poem, street corner, summer, walter the ice cream man
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Vivaldi in Love
Spring, tender bud raising gravity in the center of a palm. Summer, drawn and quartered shafts of light mouthing the sea. Fall, fetal leaves curling in on themselves— inversion banking on faith. Winter, hospitable merger of bare limbs relishing arson … Continue reading
Posted in Uncategorized
Tagged fall, John Biscello, Literary, music, Poetry, seasons, spring, summer, vivaldi, Winter
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Usher
August, its days nearly numbered, summer’s pink noiseless fade and exit (how cicadas bury their voices in hollows of silence), autumn’s fresh jags of Memory, reaping, with finite sorrow, the climate-cracked shells of seeds (how tiny birds bury their songs … Continue reading
Tango
Summer, how butterflies tango in upward-moving flux
