Lisa Zaran

Rookie (September 26,1969 / Los Angeles, California)

Lisa Zaran Poems

1. Homeless 7/4/2010
2. Dedication To Those Unfairly Undone 12/14/2008
3. The Troubled Boy 7/21/2006
4. For A Girl 7/4/2010
5. Confession 7/4/2010
6. Subtraction Flower 7/21/2006
7. Punishment 2/21/2015
8. Fractions 2/21/2015
9. The Unnameable 2/21/2015
10. Grief 2/21/2015
11. Where's Your Tambourine Now, Sleeping Bear? 7/19/2005
12. Sanctuary 4/27/2007
13. Lingering 3/5/2006
14. Go On 4/27/2007
15. The Men In My Dreams 5/30/2005
16. Tenderness 4/27/2007
17. The Great Ones 7/20/2005
18. Love Is Believable 7/21/2006
19. A Dream Of Her Concern 3/5/2006
20. The Blues Are All The Same 7/19/2005
21. The Best Thing 6/13/2004
22. Girl 7/20/2005
23. Hair 6/13/2004
24. Rivers 7/19/2005
25. Absolving The Eye 6/13/2004
26. How We Are 5/30/2005
27. Talking To My Father Whose Ashes Sit In A Closet And Listen 7/20/2005

Comments about Lisa Zaran

  • Natalie Tsacoumangos (7/31/2009 8:03:00 AM)

    Liza Zaran (that's how it was spelled on a pamphlet at Danville Community College) came to the local community college here. She read a few of her short poems and talked a little about how she began writing, and what it has meant to her. You could tell that she is very emotional about what she writes even if it is just a little one or two line statement. It has a very heavy meaning for her, and for many who read it. She encouraged me to be a little more brave about sharing things that I write. Now I just need to figure out how to get it out there for people to see!

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  • Max Reif (7/19/2005 9:14:00 PM)

    I'm surprised to find no comments here. I find your poems fascinating. 'Intriguing', I was thinking, and the next second, came across that word in 'Hair'.
    You have a great facility for creating lines.
    Your poems go a bit beyond my rational ability to put them together, sometimes, but I feel it's a good stretch for me.
    I hope you'll post more as time goes on.

Best Poem of Lisa Zaran

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

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.


I stand at the closet door, my hand on the knob,
my hip leaning against the frame and ask him
what does he think about the war in Iraq
and how does he feel about his oldest daughter
getting married to a man she met on the Internet.


Without eyes, my father still looks around.
He sees what I am trying to do, sees that I
have grown less passive with his passing,
understands my need for answers ...

Read the full of Talking To My Father Whose Ashes Sit In A Closet And Listen

The Men In My Dreams

All the men in my dreams
are featureless.
I turn away and there they are.
Staring at me with their spotless faces.
I wish I could say
what color their eyes are
or whether they have straight teeth.
At first I think I am in love with them.
That perhaps they are my lovers.

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