Tag Archives: Sylvia Plath

Because the Night

Posted on March 27, 2025 by John Biscello

In lyrical, abetted praise of Patti Smith, white witch torchbearer of punk mettle and lightning bones— She, wildly grown and gutter-starred, remains in love and swelling thrall to the Romantic timbre and clash of Rimbaud’s unrelenting wake, or Plath’s penning … Continue reading →

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The Sorceress

Posted on November 11, 2024 by John Biscello

To be a mother, and to double as a dark sorceress, a cleaver of dried bones, could not have been easy. Especially in the 1950s. They burned witches then, as well as reds and blacks and faggots, and other things … Continue reading →

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Sylvia Plath

Posted on November 29, 2022 by John Biscello
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Sylvia Plath

Posted on December 15, 2021 by John Biscello

To be a mother, and to double as a dark sorceress, a cleaver of dried bones, could not have been easy. Especially in the 1950s. They burned witches then, as well as reds and blacks and faggots, and other things … Continue reading →

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If Sylvia Plath and L.L. Cool J. Had Gotten Down

Posted on March 27, 2020 by John Biscello

  Spoken word (John Biscello), Bass (Ben Wright).

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Sylvia Plath

Posted on November 24, 2019 by John Biscello

To be a mother, and to double as a dark sorceress, a cleaver of dried bones, could not have been easy. Especially in the 1950s. They burned witches then, as well as reds and blacks and faggots, and other things … Continue reading →

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Sylvia

Posted on February 11, 2019 by John Biscello

Today, February 11, marks the death-date of the brilliant poet, Sylvia Plath. A tribute piece, from my collection Arclight. To be a mother, and to double as a dark sorceress, a cleaver of dried bones, could not have been easy. … Continue reading →

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Kiss

Posted on June 3, 2018 by John Biscello

In the resident smolder of lips, a seared prelude, announcing blatant recourse to the sheerest intent.    

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Sylvia Plath

Posted on April 4, 2018 by John Biscello

To be a mother, and to double as a dark sorceress, a cleaver of dried bones, could not have been easy. Especially in the 1950s. They burned witches then, as well as reds and blacks and faggots, and other things … Continue reading →

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Sylvia, Triptych

Posted on March 25, 2018 by John Biscello

Perhaps, Miss Sylvia, if there had been more sand on your beach, more sea to wash away the dead skin of pallid thoughts, more moonstruck nights rattling close to your fingers as you typed out the country of your heart, … Continue reading →

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