Select New Poems are exactly that - they are select, which means that I put the poems here that may indeed fall into other categories, but i feel belong here as well. So perhaps then these poems are dipped twice - once in one section, then repeated here.

There are poems here that date back several years, and that keep on coming. Many have been published in print or online, but wherever they have been, it has always been an honor, and most of all, it is an honor to have you read them here now.

This is the best i can offer you now. I hope they read to you as music and that they have a cadence and a rhythm all their own. Perhaps sometimes i hit, that they register with you. This is the most any poet can ask.

winter, 2007-08, Sadi Ranson-Polizzotti


15 love

I should have left.

Graciously excused myself, said my goodnights.

This would have been appropriate.

All night you have your back turned.

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3:30 a.m | sweet

Such exacting words:

One exchange on a grey bittersweet day, things we.

Love comes at inconvenient times.

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a hard rain

The soft rain streaks the windshield.
Makes of it a lens through which the world is a vivid, unclear watercolor.
Today the further shore is further.
I cannot see from here to there.

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a private stigmata

The waters are murky. A green pond, pollen-cloaked rich.

Through it all, I seek some clarity.

Some mathematical equation that will dole out the variables –

cut knife-like through the thickness of this moment,

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a season of hell

Nothing is safe from these. they choke all. A tap root reaching ever deeper, dives for the source, suck the bone

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a winter's tale

Words do not come easy.
What to do about summer’s love undone.
Splitting laughter has turned to winter’s spitting wind.

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access denied

Do you have all that you need?
Or do you still feel the bleed of the cut?
Blood rich-thick iron-rich; it will kill you in the end.
The end never does come tho; the future indefinite.

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Nothing changed.
I hardly expected,
though part of me wished.
Sentimental to the death.

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All the silent dears

sadi ranson-polizzotti, poetry, new and selected, "All the Silent Dears." You are gone. Such surprise; I am not lost without you. The tide still comes, retreats each afternoon I see the sea. She licks each ankle in turn. The sun still sets, yet rises. She?s ordinary like that. Her fat, round

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If you keep telling such stories ~ how then to stay so angry?

I count your 18-plus and so softly-spoken apology

Each sentence lands duck-tail, curved as a feather.

Does my quick and spreading blush give away my forgiveness?

So you are mine… am I yours?

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and so it is written

Honey, just a spoonful:

You are not even here to remind me.

It is as if you have vanished into the ether –

why, it is as if some other had come quite literally inbetween!

a block, a football stock between us, practice, practice, practice.

So you do. You practice the keeping away and you succeed – at least for now.

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another poem

with so few words nightly you bring me to the cusp
of where i begin; such place that i have you warm
still on my tongue, the salt-cilantro taste of you as i chart
each curve, turn, spiral balanced on the tip of just this
for now, for now, for now

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It has been more than a month.

One month since I have seen you,

One month that I have felt this awful yearning

I moon about – a teenager with whom

no one who speaks the language.

So when the day comes. I arrive early

at the airport. Watch as each plane lands,

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automatic writing - unedited

So i was seething because he hadn't shown up, but after a while even that gets as boring as olives in martinis and predictable too and i never figured myself for predictable. if anything i've been or he tried to derail me anyway, and quite successfully for a few months when i wore way too much black and i truly mourned and sat shiva for more than the requisitite number of days and sometimes i still do... can you sit shiva off and on...? What would Shiva do? Head to the Mitzvah (Mitzve) and purify, purify, purify. I drink purified water and wonder if i cleanse the insides too, does it work that way? Or do you have to really shave everything off and clip your nails to the quick and be dunked so that the water runs up your not so jewish nose because really, you're only half and you've got that slight hook but not enough that most people notice, except these two guys in Paris who once guessed and you wonder if it was a bet between them. That the one would say to the other, She is! Mais non! Mais oui! Who knows; qui sais...

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because you bothered...

So predictable. You come around at the usual hours

leaving your anonymous missives; words barbed-wire

thick that long ago lost spike and bite.

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black dream

Me now in my blacks pouding the avenue with my ballet-slippered feet.
They lead me nowhere through the deluge –
-    A widow lost in the city; an out of place orphan on the page.
One swipe of the red-pencil and I am erased.

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The day is vacant;
Where you ought be there is only emptiness
this and the howling pain of a sharp stone driven in again and again.
I stumble, I fall, I trip.

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blank sheet

Your S.O.S. is bright but not blinding. When I draw near it blinks off,
A light unsure of itself, as if there never was any emergency.
How to speak then of the frustration of the ship that draws near –
that comes bearing those sustain life-sustaining gifts and you ~
you spend your time casting hand-shadow foxes on a low-ceilinged sky,

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blue melisma no. 1 | in the moment before

So easily you string it together; quickly shedding off syllables.

What will you do? What now that they have fallen to ground, irretrievable.

This could be the moment before the big boom.

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blue melisma no. 2 | what you fear

It’s a blue note: a one-two on the trip-slip of the lip

that glides a smooth, silver-flash harmonica–

It is an embellishment. A melisma unnecessary,

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