January 29-February 4, 2007: Lisa Allender and Howard Miller

week of January 29-February 4, 2007

Lisa Allender and Howard Miller



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Lisa Allender
originalsylvie@bellsouth.net

Bio (auto)

Lisa Allender lives in the northern ‘burb of Atlanta known as Alpharetta, and has become addicted to writing
Her website www.lisaallender.com features her Blog, updates on her poetry, her performing (her one-woman “Show & Tell” will have premieres in Atlanta, Tampa, Indiana, and L.A ) In 2006, Lisa was included in “Java Monkey Speaks Anthology, Volume II”, which Creative Loafing Newspaper called one of the “Top 5 Best Books”
In “Outside The Green Zone”, a Chapbook edited by C Cleo Creech, Lisa and other GLBT poets respond to what is happening to gays in Iraq Recently, this chapbook received a favorable review by The Pedestal Magazine

Lisa enjoys her two doggies– “Frisco” and “Louie”, and is active in a Peace and Social Justice group
Oh–she also loves her family–Mom-Demetra, Dad-John, Sis-Tina, Niece-Breaz, and her honey, Hansoo

The following work is Copyright © 2007, and owned by Lisa Allender and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.

Sus Scrofa

There you are
large-eyed
floppy-eared
pink,
white You are clever,
bright as any child Disposition of a three-year-old human
Inquisitive,
you can learn to play video games Some of you have rescued humans from drowning
When you dream,
you dream of sun
of rolling,
to cool yourself, in mud Things you will never see,
things you will never do You are trapped in a dark warehouse
no fresh air
you must stand in ammonia
and your own waste You are trapped,
your fate decided
before you were born
because humans
“just love” you,
love to raise you:
You are first separated from your mother,
then,
tied to a bar,
unable to sit,
to lie down,
or even turn around Your legs will hurt, constantly You’ll do whatever it is
that animals do
that feels like praying Each time you see a human,
you’ll think
“Maybe he’ll let me move,
I want to move “
And you’ll have teeth pulled,
so in your frustration
you won’t hurt yourself The humans will pull out some of your teeth,
with no anesthesia—
this is their solution
for a better life for you If you’re a male,
they’ll castrate you,
with no anesthesia All of you will be fattened for the kill,
and when they come for you,
hormones will race through your bloodstream You’ll feel fear You’ll scream,
but no one will hear you You’ll see others, just like you,
strung up,
some still conscious,
skinned alive You’ll cry the tears
an animal cries
and think
“How can I escape?”
“I cannot get away “
Soon after,
after your soft hair and smooth skin
are sliced off, and your body
chopped, chopped
they’ll eat you They will comment on
how tender and sweet
you are
and never see the irony August 6th, 2004.


Grief

There are photographs of
a sweet-faced, ratty mother dog
her pups and me,
my hands on all of them My mother told me
how when we returned to Indiana
there were no puppies How a great-grandfather
packed them up
like oranges
in a sack
weighted with bricks
or maybe it was rocks,
bricks would have been too valuable I hope that mother dog
was not witness
when Pap-Paw tossed the sack
full of three month old puppies
they probably screamed
whatever screaming sounds like
when puppies scream
as they descended down
to the bottom of the pond After that
the mother dog
would walk to the pond
stare at it
circle the edge
perhaps she knew
or guessed
or simply caught their scent
This is the poem I’ll write
when I lose my mother
I’ll see myself
there
at the bottom
lost,
water rushing in.


Howard Miller
descartes14@cox.net

Bio (auto)

Howard Miller recently retired after 36 years of college teaching and has taken up poetry writing again after a 30-year hiatus He has had work in 3rd Muse, Writer’s Hood, Prairie Poetry, Laughter Loaf, and The Adroitly Placed Word, and forthcoming in The Science Creative Quarterly He currently lives in Macon, Georgia.

The following work is Copyright © 2007, and owned by Howard Miller and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.

Getting Lucky

I saw the old moon in the riverpark tonight,
sitting on a bench beside the path He wore
a scruffy Tigers cap and a tan raincoat. He seemed
to be waiting for someone, but not the young lovers
who walked by; he ignored them, as he did the boy
pulled along by his Labrador, and a number of others Then I saw her jog briskly around the bend
toward him; he stood, opened his raincoat, and
flashed her She paused, looked intently, smiled,
then took his hand and led him off, to her apartment,
I’m sure, where he spent the rest of his last night —
the old moon, wrapped warmly
in the new moon’s thighs.

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