HPIM1137.JPGparis | september | 2004, 2005, 2006

sadi ranson-polizzotti | chants & poems
poems written in Paris, 2004, 2005
& poems that relate back to Paris |


You can also check Chants & Poems Archive
to select poems by title. Note, that some
of these poems have been published
in various journals and publications.

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please visit tant mieux paris

Many new poems are in France, More - so do check there. Those poems are more recent, and as ever, thanks for visiting.

sadi ranson-polizzotti, 2007

Monday
Dec262005

juste une poesie pour un ami

Quand je pense à toi, je pense à moi.

Aux rues pavées, à la manière dont je me sens

quand je suis là-bas, en France, mon Europe, mon pays, ma terre.

C'est difficile à expliquer mais le cœur veut ce que le cœur veut.

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Saturday
Sep252004

listen you, don't you go thinking

Listen you, don?t you go thinking You know. Always it gets us into Trouble. Some rum-tum rubble of What you thought I?d be, think

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Saturday
Sep252004

misperception

stupidly contented. Safe in my cloud of fragrance, Sweet and honeyed as a newborn. Breasts milk

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Monday
Sep272004

Mourning to Morning | gift to m.

sadi ranson-polizzotti - poetry - Okay. I will renounce them. This I do for you. Shed my dark cloak, my flowing blacks, my invented She dark rutting bitch of poetry

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Saturday
Jan142006

my declaration

Yes, the year clicks by, the second hand, second time.

You say, Everything is the same: Nothing is the same.

The pavement glitters with promise. I try hard to catch my stride

and while perhaps not today, tomorrow I decide I will be beautiful.

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Thursday
Dec162004

native son

This is where you walked. Pont neuf, rue Mazarine. This is where you taught. This is where you sat. This is where you slept

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Monday
Jan092006

Paris , Visa - Shark and Sadi R-P Collaboration

Serious, yes, head-tipped, paris visa.jpgpouted lips sealed, parted slightly

ripe for young kisses, near misses.

All those girls in silks with their

long stick-like legs, how easily

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Monday
May302005

paris | return again

One year. It is too long. Why when we do not watch do the years slip by, the pace quickening, yet when we long, when we yearn a year is a lifetime.

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Wednesday
Nov102004

paris return

Tonight the seine flows Steady, and I am far. There, It is early. The morning Croissants, baking before

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Saturday
Jan142006

pere la chaise & fixed stars

The silver pen must write.

It is beyond all control

Has some inner-world all its own

And a logic unbeknownst to me

Yet comprehensible to the last.

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Saturday
Jan142006

pigeon poem, retake

Oh Mark, you are so much like a pigeon.

Greyed and feathered with your funny distinct walk.

I’d recognize you anywhere. In you there are algorithms,

things others do not see. The x. the y. z. of your language.

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Saturday
Nov202004

pressigny afternoon

Oh God, is what i said, Perhaps screamed, at that moment your warmth split me. Full again, i felt love.

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Saturday
Sep252004

recipe for the broken

What would I be, dear Without you, this ring, these things, They shout, You are loved!

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Saturday
Sep252004

ritual

Why do I disappoint. I have sought and found All the unguents, foreign Vessels of the lovely.

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Saturday
Jan142006

room number 21

Surely since we have been others have occupied this room.

But have they occupied it. Really taken it all in

and noticed the verdant green of the curtain swag and pull

never undone, the milky white soft silk of the curtain, how it

filters the Paris light and all the sounds of the city as it unfolds

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Saturday
Jan142006

rue Mazarine

So here I am again.

The old neighborhood –

rue Mazarine

with its old ghosts and haunts,

still yours, now mine

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Monday
Sep272004

the abortionist

All the weeks of gentleness of thinned fabric fluttering kissing bare knee, skirted

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Sunday
Jan152006

the benefit of others

Always I arrive light & always you tell me, Here

you turn dark. So much had I wanted to come

to the country; the white wash, the dusty roads,

the stone houses, verdant fields, yet the land

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Sunday
Jan152006

the bracelet | signs

Is it really a sign, this bracelet.

As I stood still, the man from Senegal held

my finger and tied the thread, a trick.

What would the Magot think of this?

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Saturday
Sep252004

the deceit

Rich blood orange love you give Now soon replaced by false fallow Tart, so saccharine . Yes, I know: These days are ours. Cherish these, dear For on return they are halved. Parcel Out the truths, divvy up your sex, the Parched kiss, as if I wouldn?t know

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