Closed

I am no longer publishing new poetry on my Saadia's World Blog. Please visit me at Adventures in Drinking or at SaadiaOnline.

Thank you!

Lost

misplaced between
fall and winter
hours burned up
like fallen leaves
vivid and unforgettable

following
the wrong star
across route one
leaving memories
at each stoplight

connecting these
defining moments
like dots
on a child's
puzzle

kissing
toward seventeen
this careless clinch
embracing oblivion
while watching the clock

Business as Usual

while conference calling
he speaks with
such gravity--
each word presses
against my temple
important, heavy

he talks about
vested contributions
as I melt into mink
held captive
in the passenger seat
wishing on a fallen eyelash

his chants,
a businessman's mantra:
tax implications of
stock versus options
I wait for my dividend
of misplaced attention

Poem Written on a Train

the cafe car
offers half bottles
of young Cabernet
rough, risky, raw,
red--riding with me

just a few sips
and my brain bumps
chuffs, puffs
not unlike the way
this train trips

on old tracks
laid by steel driving men
Southbound, I see
farmland lights
far between, few

pinpoints
on this prairie
like stars
in a cloudy sky
shy and alone

hustling, shuffling
the conductor
leans in close
Hang on, he tells me,
You're almost home

Nominated!

My friend and mystery writer Jeff Markowitz, author of A Minor Case of Murder and Who's Killing Doah's Deer?, has nominated me for best poet and my poem, 'Before,' for best poem in the annual Preditors & Editors Reader's Poll. Needless to say, I am flattered and honored that Jeff thinks so much of my work.
Being an online poll, I am asking that you all take a moment of your time to vote for me. (PLEASE!!!??) You may vote only once and the poll officially ends on January 15th. The links are below for your convenience. Thanks in advance!

Vote for Best Poet
Vote for Best Poem

Milestone

this trip
I take
from country club
fairways to
back door traffic
(my journey, alone)
where men
run wild
with unregistered
s m i l e s
feral and primitive
(native, homegrown)
my shiny truck
unlocked, in the
middle of the ghetto
a beacon
(my cover, blown)
my friend walks
toward me, his hand
extended--a warm
and willing welcome
to his world
(my essence, on loan)

Textually Active

taboo texts
v i b r a t e
beside my bum
back pocket business
insistent, intense
telephone trembles
SMS shivers
real relief
textual healing
quick comments call
finding, feeling
right as rain
is it,
I think,
turning toward
the treetops, this
same sky
which wraps
his world?

*I have attempted to use alliteration in the above poem. I'm pretty sure you all know what that means, so I won't insult your intelligence by posting a wordy definition. :)