Tag Archives: writing

Because I Dreamed

Posted on September 10, 2025 by John Biscello

I never say the babies’ names, because there is danger in that. I know that their names spoken, details given, things brought too much into the light, means we can be found. Their ears own so much: text, air, radio-waves, … Continue reading →

Posted in Poetry, Prose | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Fable

Posted on September 8, 2025 by John Biscello

I have become moonless in my grief, a paled comparison. But to what? To who I used to be? What I expected to become? I feel as if I’ve been laid out an operating table, and Time, as a methodically … Continue reading →

Posted in Poetry, Prose | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Night

Posted on September 7, 2025 by John Biscello

At night I go out, scorched and empty. I pool inside myself all day, every day, a sipping and flooding, and then I carry this out with me into the night. There is a hissing that I can hear out … Continue reading →

Posted in Poetry, Prose | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Beket

Posted on September 5, 2025 by John Biscello

My name is Beket. That’s my first name, and my last. My mother was going to name me Becky, after some character in a novel she loved, but when she saw how silent I was as a baby (she said … Continue reading →

Posted in Poetry, Prose | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Bed

Posted on September 4, 2025 by John Biscello

I lie in wait. Hell is supposed to come anytime now. That’s what the others started calling that which was scheduled to come: hell. You would think that humans wouldn’t want to coordinate or administrate hell, but it seems they … Continue reading →

Posted in Artwork, photography, Poetry, Prose | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Knife

Posted on September 1, 2025 by John Biscello

My sister says she doesn’t have many memories from childhood. When she looks back, there’s nothing there: a blank screen. I never asked her if she saw black or white in her absence of memories. One of her earliest memories, … Continue reading →

Posted in Poetry, Prose | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Dinner

Posted on August 31, 2025 by John Biscello

   I waited. We waited. A storm was coming. It had to be. He had returned from rehab several days earlier, after having been gone for two months. My father had always born pouchy bags under his eyes, but there, … Continue reading →

Posted in Poetry, Prose | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Voices of Taos

Posted on July 30, 2025 by John Biscello

It was good times getting to sip coffee in the radio booth with Lynne Robinson, as we created our “on-air cafe” and chatted about theater, movies, working with youth, the writing life, Patti Smith, and the scheduled release of two … Continue reading →

Posted in Audio, Books, Cinema, photography, Poetry, Press, Prose, Publications, Theater, Uncategorized, Video | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Company

Posted on June 22, 2025 by John Biscello

I have always depended on the kindness of solitude to acquaint me favorably with the company of words.

Posted in Poetry | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

Glare

Posted on June 22, 2025 by John Biscello

We are dreamwalkers punctuated by reveries and long listless spells of want. Conjugal in our misgiven symmetries, our lives readily become us by frayed skeins of intimacy and sensual haunt.

Posted in Poetry | Tagged , , , , , , | Leave a comment