love, like life, can be so painful at times that it twists and turns and we yearn. it confuses and bends and stretches. it comes unexpected, it leaves if neglected, sometimes not. sometimes it thrives regardless, like the weed (which is just another name for a flower that some would say is 'unwanted'.) But whether we want to love or not, or to be in-love, we are stuck with it regardless and there is no getting around it. One can be like Penelope from the Odyssey, waiting for her lover hanging on to only hope where perhaps there is no sign of it for as long as twenty - an endless tableaux and a folly to a love that is perhaps impossible - or not. Who can say. What i do know for sure is that where there is love there will be happiness, there will be joy, and there will be grief.
late march, 9.42 a.m., 2008
Entries by sadi ranson-polizzotti (266)
early morning words
sadi ranson-polizzotti
It was long. This is the first thing you tell me come daybreak.
The phone waits impatiently with secret digits, each aching to be touched -
- some formula that answers the We of We.
Every day at this hour I itch with the anticipation of your voice -
- accented, foreign, yet so very familiar: I have known you before.
the write way | nonsense poem, no. 2
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Les choses que je veux te dis sont easy;
plus facile but silent she
fearing he would not comprehend,
"Encore!" she said. "C'est le voila!"
So further she explained:
thursday morning
So it is I cannot stop
the repeat strobe of
your eyes unblinking almost overwhelming pale grey
everything
I did I did not want I did want
to dream what I dreamt have been dreaming
back and forthteasing with your help
So casually you enter lightly my thought
my bed my bed my bed
the last time
The last time was on the corner of the highway and your street.
You wore a blue-ringed t-shirt, a pair of denim cut shorts,
changed because you came
to see me off,
poem for ohev
Indepdentdent thought gets you everywhere,
leads deliciously to cobbled roads of nowhere:
A farmhouse in Borgetto Sicily –
42 seconds of you
So many black and white photographs of only you.
Hundreds by now –
What is it I search for?
begin march
Don't say that you don't because you do.
Say that you won't all you will and yet still
I can sense the flight of the bird as she heads northward
a missive in her fragile-boned beak it reads, "Man is in love...and loves what vanishes."
unsent letter no. 2, february 22nd
Dear,
Today the weather is changeable – first blue, now grey.
The sky tears occassionally – sleet on the window.
The goddess has become a real ice-bitch marking
the morning the sky cried sheets of rain and I thought of you.
first kiss
This tale relaxes to a soundtrack –
Bach’s solo cello, G-major.
The sound and feel of your kiss – the surprise and magnificence of it
~~ the poetry in the moment.
the secret that i am
You tell me, “I never was good at keeping secrets.”
I wonder what this means then of the biggest –
sent, typed, tapped, Trebuchet
Of that we will never write again, you say.
We must only speak, you-me alone.
what you will never know
Just as you forget I remember
a criss-cross of promises, gleaming plait,
secured at the ends with a silk-indigo ribbon.
a steady course
Only you would be here –
running toward, not from, the body’s bright-red flare.
It screams of some emergency.
Such white-light signals – the brain snaps, crackles,
hisses spit-fire lightning.
the poet going the other way
It is a childhood rhyme;
Hiawatha didn’t bother too much
About Minnihaha and his tender touch
So he took her to the silver stream
And he whispered things like she’d never seen…
time indefinite | nightstars fallen
Time does not end.
The indefinite future is predetermined - and me, no Calvinist, yet...
There is no way to rewind to this or that moment –
The X – Variable where I am sure I did it all wrong
only to get to the Y because I do not understand.
I have turned this over & over –
madison & 35th
It wasn’t what I expected of you.
The day a miserable fog of Manhattan misery.
I bought for myself a gold ring to break the spell of you.
Hours spent cutting knife-like across the page:
I shred you to bits – tore our love to pieces
until there was nothing left but disjointed words
meaningless and true
4:32 a.m., august
One day and your whole life changes.
One day and that’s it.
Some snap judgment concerning this or that thing.
You’re so sure you are in your love; my lover, you say.
Secrets whispered through the wires, codified, you are electric
parallel lines
Euclid is laughing now. Me and my geometry.
My vectors on a plane. Two, that day, I tried to explain.
My naivte, you knew it all along – me and my insistence.
Those parallel lines, then run ad infinitum, I said.
as you like it
Quick, Shhhhh, do not say it.
Do not hit that panic button
the one that seeks an I love you
the quick carriage return, the mirrored signal flash back
between my balcony and yours
two words | brick hijab
For you only I drop this hijab: for you only, I let it all go:
modesty, privacy, morality? Is what we do
then lacking in all value. What would Kant
make of this? Would he too partake or would he
say Do unto others as they do unto you –