Tag Archives: writing

Course

Posted on October 16, 2017 by John Biscello

Parched voices quicken, defying Time by true course– words ripen slowly.

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Kingdom

Posted on October 1, 2017 by John Biscello

Keys to the kingdom, one graceful peck at a time– No wings required.

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Jack Kerouac

Posted on September 8, 2017 by John Biscello

The sea of white noise fathoming secret wavelengths– scribe tuned to angels.

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Ribbon

Posted on September 6, 2017 by John Biscello

The furls of music, In vitro seeding of keys– ribbons mused upon.  

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Floe

Posted on August 31, 2017 by John Biscello

The slow dignity of an iceberg’s quiet melt– words preserved in floe.

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Naming Desire

Posted on March 26, 2017 by John Biscello

Whoever I am, I have always depended on the kindness of words— such strange company these solitary verses.

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Memory Babe

Posted on March 12, 2017 by John Biscello

(In honor of Jack Kerouac’s birthday, March 12th, an excerpt from my Greyhound travelogue, “Stray Passages”)    I discovered Kerouac, by chance, when I was nineteen and as a wide-eyed babe greedily suckling Kerouac’s vision-engorged tit, that  which he had … Continue reading →

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Endanger

Posted on November 11, 2016 by John Biscello

In the Beginning, when all was scrim and nostalgia to be, there was the Word, a dark sensual organism prefiguring Symbol, and in the mouths of babes desperate to dream aloud and chasten their hunt for meaning, the Word became … Continue reading →

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Homecoming

Posted on November 8, 2016 by John Biscello

Listening to the dark for years on end, the slow and vested maturation of a writer’s craft and homecoming.  

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Fort

Posted on November 6, 2016 by John Biscello

It has become my last refuge, a solitary outpost upon which the broken bit of sun seared into my palm, mirroring stigmata, has given my name as refutable evidence and signature.

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