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New Poetry




PUBLIC GARDENS
(Boston, 2012)

by B.Z. Niditch



Your crystal eyes
in slanted sunshine
submerged by swans
under friendly elms
murdering a croissant
and blood orange
in September's sleep
of parking acorns
by a loveless bench
reading faded cards
to a runaway student
standing in for memory.





OUR PRESENTMENTS


Approaching sundown
your friend's fingerprints
edge the clouds graffiti
after her last affair
the buzz uptown
expects the suffocating
break-ups
like all the others
to last a headache full
of a week's
memory to wash over
on walls of rumors
to capture lovers
misadventures,despair
reeling in words
like diphthongs
of departures.





TULIPS


Walled
in waters
of a silver vase
rescued from Paris
during the war
by my uncle
jailed for resistance
by belle lettres
in a flash
I remember him,
honored by a stamp
a few years ago
in my absence
dreaming of warming
in the spas
by shadowed fires
of a cause
never lost to memory.





JOY STREET


Memory so close
to earth
through the eyes
of hundred year
evergreens
up on the hill
of poets,
Plath, Lowell
Sextant,
all passed by
eclipsed by legends
and the open air fervor
of nameless heat
over narrow attic voices
from red brick buildings
uncovering the hatless
of maddening psyche
over the academic
and streetwise sounds
of mouthpiece traffic
dodging the void
in each seasonal circle
and landscapes
change in Boston
along the Charles river
unforgotten tone.





NOBODY LANDS


Sea voices
shadow domes of elms
along flooded rivers
on nobody lands,
too early for dawn's escape
perched under the sun
on the last isle,
as bird flight and song
cover a landscape's fluting
opening a map's voyage
to unknown memory,
here with intense fruit
wrapped in berry boxes
on long picnic tables
gathers for its guests
as fibrillating rays wash
on the windward Cape
between sky and dawn
crossing our leafy eyes
on tall wild grass
by dunes
and ditch water sands
of a greensward shore,
far away from everything
except for the glitter
of a deaf time
in all its Fall disguises
taking leaves by shade
in a morning blush
of reddened visibility
from mirrors of nature's
unexpected recognition.





NOT YET


Not yet
the high grass
in the soccer field
where marathon
runners pass
this initial morning
one guy, an architect
unusually drops out
right away
at the starting line
of the race
with the dust up
of his conscience
saddened by
the dilapidated houses
round about him.








B.Z. NIDITCH is a poet, playwright, fiction writer and teacher. His work is widely published in journals and magazines throughout the world, including: Columbia: A Magazine of Poetry and Art; The Literary Review; Denver Quarterly; Hawaii Review; Le Guepard (France); Kadmos (France); Prism International; Jejune (Czech Republic); Leopold Bloom (Budapest); Antioch Review; and Prairie Schooner, among others. He lives in Brookline, Massachusetts.





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New Poetry



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ISSUE:
F A L L
2013

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