poems about autumn, seasonal poems

circuit breaker

sadi ranson-polizzotti — Thu, 08 Nov 2007 15:00:35 +0000

See she whose head spits spark and fire.
Behind her iris, blue bolts of lightning – a thousand volts of recognition.
See her seize, such fits!
Hands reaching; they touch nothing.
A girl wired to an E.E.G. machine;

proof

sadi ranson-polizzotti — Thu, 08 Nov 2007 14:59:41 +0000

The morning’s mourning dove cares little of this sorrow;
grief arrives in small packages –
a five minute phone call, black and white serifed letters, typed,
your now capped initials.

the moral why ground

sadi ranson-polizzotti — Thu, 08 Nov 2007 14:58:38 +0000

So now you are an armchair philosopher!
Throw you Plato’s Meno at the crux of midlife
and you feel so very grown up!
Gunslinging ethics and virtue, Aristotle –
concepts you really just do not understand.

when the ships come down

sadi ranson-polizzotti — Thu, 08 Nov 2007 14:54:46 +0000

You tell yourself such easy comforts.
Love unrequieted, requited.
impossible – circumstance, bad-timing.
Ships that pass in the night – such guff …

the measure of loss

sadi ranson-polizzotti — Thu, 08 Nov 2007 14:50:18 +0000

The bedsides are padded, barred.
All these wires that connect – they only stretch so far.
Why I am a prisoner to machines.
They reassure the officiants in their uniformed whites –
blips, beats, waves.

southbound

sadi ranson-polizzotti — Thu, 08 Nov 2007 14:47:27 +0000

There’s everything reassuring about the journey southbound.
No matter the home I’ve left behind.
Some fast starling freedom as the trees fly;

the heavy swell

sadi ranson-polizzotti — Thu, 08 Nov 2007 13:25:51 +0000

This is my wide Atlantic.
Each day I visit; tend to my sea,
my sea-change eyes reflected back its rippled greys.
This is the safe-harbor where I would bring you.
Love, the current shifts, now hard and fast.
The undertow of grief, disbelief.

Zoom – Re-Zoom

sadi ranson-polizzotti — Wed, 13 Dec 2006 14:37:22 +0000

That's the way it is ~ the focus shifts this to that:

We are different in that we do not.

We say this as if this were some great revelation as we pass

vacances

sadi ranson-polizzotti — Tue, 12 Dec 2006 23:10:34 +0000

How is your holiday anyway?

Your quiet quiet-so-quiet domesticity

Are you enjoying casseroles of mixed beans, baked in their juice?

the occasional fried pork-chop, side of red-boiled onions.

la reve no. 4, in sepia

sadi ranson-polizzotti — Wed, 06 Dec 2006 15:18:27 +0000

Are you invited or invited.

By now, I cannot say, only that you are there.

This much is undeniable.

They tell me, dreams are dreams are dreams, yet some prescience here.

I see you there, sheets twisted about your waist, a summer mess, window fan churning, churning.

Twenty-four Changes Everything

sadi ranson-polizzotti — Fri, 24 Nov 2006 20:07:00 +0000

The days now are brief.

Strange how they seem to lack now in hours, despite the usual twenty-four.

We slip so easily beneath the heavy quilt of winter,

Seeking in the darkness some warmth, a refuge or shelter –

to keep & to cherish (from this day forward)

sadi ranson-polizzotti — Tue, 21 Nov 2006 01:19:32 +0000

He says No.

Not to, impossible to go. It’s all a matter of practicality.

Who can argue with his convenient logic.

No matter that it is inconvenient for me –

stalemate

sadi ranson-polizzotti — Mon, 20 Nov 2006 16:52:04 +0000

The steady hum of my car –

just a vehicle - here to there.

It only hammers– I am here;

I am yours, only not there to show.

divest

sadi ranson-polizzotti — Sat, 18 Nov 2006 20:55:58 +0000

Are you really Proud to be?

or is it just me who sees that you have nothing that you want to offer –

not that you’d give me anyway.

for you baby blue

sadi ranson-polizzotti — Wed, 15 Nov 2006 22:35:09 +0000

Are you really Proud to be?

or is it just me who sees that you have nothing that you want to offer –

not that you’d give me anyway.

but hey, ain’t this how we play?