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
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.
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,
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.
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
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?
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.
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
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,
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...
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.
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,
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.
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,