December 1-7, 2003: Lisa Allender and James L. Smith

Lisa Allender and James L Smith

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Bio (auto)

Lisa Allender is an actress who lives in the Atlanta area, and is Host of several Open Mics She began writing seriously in 1996, and was published immediately She will direct the”Three-Day-Jam-A-Thon”(or, for the terminally hip, the”3D Jam”) which will happen from Friday, January 9th-Sunday, January 11th, 2004! 48 Hours, NONSTOP, of POETRY!! Open Mic, featured authors, speakers, workshops, Theatre Pieces, Music, Artwork! Lisa wishes to thank her family for all their encouragement!

The following work is Copyright © 2003, and owned by Lisa Allender and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.

The French are Famous For We walked amid tourists at the tower the one he called “ugly, infamous “ “Let’s go to St Denis “ “It’s dangerous,” he warned We arrived A model, Monique showed no fashion sense Vanilla ice cream dream woman needed no clothes blonde rain fell over her shoulders spilled down her back as I instructed her in weak French to watch us as we watched her “Deux,” she whispered “Two?” I asked “Use two,” he explained Two fingers went inside of me She was speaking more French my vulva understood all her pretty words She fell back upon her yellow blanket fondled those sighing breasts gentled two fingers into her own inner flesh, and I, so American, asked to see “More, More “ I shuddered and watched her dress tight against her ass imagined her naked again and asked for her real name and if she wanted coffee? We walked her to the metro I waved goodbye and ran to hold Van Gogh in my eyes “The blue room at Arles” at Musee d’Orsay It was dark as we reached Montmarte There were no warm towels, just an inattentive staff the French are famous for no service but only in the hotels.

James L Smith
Johannaparis@aol.com

Blank page Trying to see further Through a consensus of right and wrong Looking for a truly blank page Your mascara drips between my legs You are focused Deadly inspiration Emily Writing notes to yourself On cocktail napkins On you’re way to San Francisco In your new red Convertible You said it was our duty To see all we can And show others through art We were alone when we talked Clamoring glasses and bruting voices Replaced with every word you spoke You read my poem You had to leave soon You were springtime on a bar stool Drinking bourbon