Biography of Salvatore Ala
Salvatore Ala has published three collections of poetry: Clay of the Maker, Straight Razor and Other Poems, and Lost Luggage. His poems have appeared in journals and anthologies. He has also published six broadsides of his poetry.
Salvatore Ala's Works:
Clay of the Maker, Mosaic Press
Straight Razor and Other Poems, Biblioasis
Lost Luggage, Biblioasis
Salvatore Ala Poems
My America is all Detroit, Motown, dancing in the streets, my girl, Tropical heat waves and what becomes of the brokenhearted after a riot.
I could not save the final shot. It flew beyond mind and body;
Who am I? I am Pele. I am the Black Pele, The African and Caucasian Pele, The Asian and Semitic Pele, Pele of north and south, east and west;
The Piano Tuner Tuning The Piano
A country doctor commencing on a cure. A chiropractor stretching the spine of his patient. An ornithologist listening for particular birds. The dance of lonely awkward people.
Ellis Island Passenger ships slip time in fog, Their displacement forever in motion.
Young Love In Ancient Place
I'll share this photograph of my parents with you. It's like an old wine overflowing time, still new. They're eighteen and twenty-four, in their best poor clothes, Posing under an olive branch on a Roman road.
The Soccer Ball
Head without a will of its own, Blindfolded and bandaged eyes
Fishing With My Father
I could fish for hours, Lose myself in a marsh
The Blue Hour
Neither complete reason or revelation But falling in love again when we can't help it Ambient composite blue transparent to the stars Between dawn and sunrise sunset and dusk
I saw a young Arab woman, A spring wind was blowing her pale blue burqa So that her body rippled through it like water And the veil made her face appear.
The Fig Tree
(for my parents) In autumn they bend the bare branches into loops,
In The Beauty Of A Lower Heaven
Autumn in Paris is like summer in a lower heaven. Sycamores and chestnuts paint the air, Pencil-thin branches sketch the city like Utrillo, The Seine sets leaves in moon-glass.
Crow Feather Totem
I saw a crow's feather on the road And the sun shining in that precise shape. I was drawn to a crow's feather on the road Until I was far from home.
St. Lawrence River 1
The Botany Of Words
A sentence is like a vine
That produces good red wine.
Phrases grow out of roots
And words have shoots
Flowering in the mind
Like memories that are kind.
Words are epiphytes
With jungle overwrites,
And the earth is rich and deep