All Poems

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For Lew Welch In A Snowfall

© Gary Snyder

Snowfall in March:
I sit in the white glow reading a thesis
About you. Your poems, your life.

There Are Those Who Love To Get Dirty

© Gary Snyder

There are those who love to get dirty
and fix things.
They drink coffee at dawn,
beer after work,

You Are The Mountain

© Lisa Zaran

At one end of the couch
you sit, mute as a pillow
tossed onto the upholstery.

The Blues Are All The Same

© Lisa Zaran

~for Jackson C. Frank
It seems almost too far fetched really,
too difficult to believe.
This unassuming moon shining like a copper plate.

How We Are

© Lisa Zaran

My father's voice in the back of my head,
saying, forget that I'm dead and if you
can not do that than pretend.

Tenderness

© Lisa Zaran

I am afraid
that when I go mad,
my father will bow his downy head
into his silver wings and weep.

Love Is Believable

© Lisa Zaran

love is believable
in every moment of exhaustion
in every heartbroken home
in every dark spirit,
the meaning unfolds...

Subtraction Flower

© Lisa Zaran

You could die for it--
love,
or refuse it altogether
and know nothing
except the urgency
of youth. Men

Lingering

© Lisa Zaran

it is late afternoon by the time you arrive,
the storm has already been through here.
you are not in your own element.
you are a runaway.

Leaves

© Lisa Zaran

I went looking for God
but I found you instead.
Bad luck or destiny,
you decide.

Girl

© Lisa Zaran

She said she collects pieces of sky,
cuts holes out of it with silver scissors,
bits of heaven she calls them.
Every day a bevy of birds flies rings

Talking To My Father Whose Ashes Sit In A Closet And Listen

© Lisa Zaran

Death is not the final word.
Without ears, my father still listens,
still shrugs his shoulders
whenever I ask a question he doesn't want to answer.

Go On

© Lisa Zaran

Born woman. Go on.
It's farther than it seems,
but okay.

Dreams

© Lisa Zaran

It is later than late,
the simmered down darkness
of the jukebox hour.

El Cafetal

Cafetal: a coffee plantation
tamag?s: a venomous serpent
guanaco: a pack animal, used insultingly to indicate the native laborers
ceiba: a tall tropical hardwood tree

I Hardly Remember

I hardly remember your voice, but the pain of you
floats in some remote current of my blood.
I carry you in my depths, trapped in the sludge
like one of those corpses the sea refuses to give up.

Not Fear

Not fear. Maybe, out there somewhere,
the possibility of fear; the wall
that might tumble down, because it's for sure
that behind it is the sea.

Lord when the wise men came from farr,
Led to thy Cradle by a Starr,
Then did the shepherds too rejoyce,
Instructed by thy Angells voyce:
Blest were the wisemen in their skill,
And shepherds in their harmlesse will.