born: Medellin, Colombia, South America email: LYZANDER@yahoo.com dob: 21 Feb. 1981 Education: Rivier College ('99-'01) and the University of New Hampshire ('01-'04) major: dual major: 1. Philosophy, 2. Communication Recent free reading: Adorno, Levinas, Gaadamer, Simmel, Heidegger, Meyrowitz, Jhally, Dalai Lama, Marx, Kant, Derrida, Plato, Aristotle, Paz, Neruda, Garcia Marques, Tolstoy, Orwell, Huxley, Garcia Lorca, Kafka, Dali. published/recorded in: Aegis, "Harmony Conspiracy: A Poet's Proposal" (anthology spoken word CD), Main Street Magazine , Take One (the Rivier College collection of freshmen writing), WRIToracle other accomplishments: First place winner of the Rudy Duzek 2002 Philosophy of the Arts Essay Contest, Member of Crooked Verse Poetry Slam Team 2003, Director of Film Documentary "Liz Parmalee: Remember the Tall Grass", currently head researcher for NHPTV film documentary on Franklin Pierce.

*Spoken word featured in "Harmony Conspiracy"*
*Featured Poet October 2003*

Poetry A Cold Day in Moscow, 1847 Arthritic Fingers Bookworm Disowned Early Morning Reading Fingerprints Heavy Words In Passing Jealousy The Bare Shoulders of My Heart The Sun Awakens Untitled 127

Feature Articles Harmony Conspiracy: A Poet's Proposal "Gypsy" by Caitlin Flynn Joshua Jones "The Great Man" by Sal Contreras Writ Reviews Pablo Neruda - Los Versos Del Capitan

Fingerprints

As I awaited his next move while we played chess
I watched his hands instead of his eyes,
for his fingers walked with purpose,
leaving behind the footprints of his thoughts.

I fixed my ear to the sound of his walk,
listening
for an unnatural stutter 
or a hesitant stumble...
Placed both my hands on the table surface where we sat,
feeling for the vibrations
and the convictions left behind the placement of his footing.

The depth of his footprints 
spoke of the comfort he felt at each site.

I took mental note of his nervous twitches,
his careful brushes against his knight's tail,
and his strolls to the rook's end of the kingdom.

As his fingers moved,
he spoke 
even though his voice remained silent.

My eyes recorded it all.

Their lashes became note takers
as they observed my opponent's unrehearsed choreography,
using the dark pools of my eyes as the inkwells for their words.

And upon the blank canvas of the inside of my eye lids wrote
the conclusions of my partner's contemplative stroll.

I closed my eyes to read in privacy...
trying to understand the purpose behind his next move. 

In Passing

Walking along the spine of the mountain,
one lone star recognized me

Floating like an island
on the pond of night,
the Moon soaked her feet at the dock's end.

In Passing,
our eyes shook hands with a glance,
I looked down at her palms
and carefully placed within their hold
a mere glimpse
of what she could embrace.

she blinked,
my grip lingered.

Heavy Words

As I held the pen
in contemplation, 
my finger's back broke;
for it carried the weight 
of all my unspoken thoughts
on its shoulders.

Jealousy

Stars
are mere peepholes
placed upon the blanket of night
by the Sun,
so while off the clock
he can check 
on the fidelity
of his wife.

Untitled 127

Her upper lip was Yin,
Her lower ---
        Yang,
Her kiss ---
        A contradiction.

Arthritic Fingers

Through my window
the silhouette of a dead tree
could be seen praying to the sky.

I could relate,
for I too was hopeful.

Intrigued,
I walked over,
sat beneath it
and wrote a letter to God.

A week later,
while I sketched the tree’s arthritic fingers,
(which surprisingly resembled mine),
the mailwoman could be heard walking upon the spines of brittle leaves.

When she finally reached me
I was handed an unmarked envelope ---
(He had written back saying he didn’t exist).

A Cold Day in Moscow, 1847

The wind wears a coat today,
for it has caught a cold.

In the middle of a Moscow winter
even the snowflake shivers.

The puddles of clouds freeze at dusk
creating ice rinks in the skies.

Bookworm

the worm, 
slowly   moves   across   the   page, 
with   the   patience   of   a   meditating   monk, 
and   the   sincerity   of   a   lover, 
experiencing   every   moment, 
salivating   on   every   syllable, 
bringing  together 
HeartandSoul 
with every movement 
of his entire being.

Disowned

The once ocean sky,
suspended above the Sahara
and the Amazon jungle,
has browned

drowned in an attempt
to put out the fire
below.

It now rests
decomposing
in the heavens.

Its bluest eyes---
     dried like lakes,
no more cry with pity,
simply mirror the 
dying 
image
below. 

The sun,
whose glance was once spotted
back-stroking up the Nile,
trying to stay warm atop Mt. Everest,
and drunk off aged wine 
in the vineyards of Italy
with archbishops from the Vatican City,
now sweats,
calls in sick 
for the first time since genesis,
and becomes agnostic to religion,
pre-destination,
and fate.

The Great Lakes,
once still
and undisturbed,
now ripple
with wrinkled memories.

The moon,
once forgiving,
turns her back to the Earth,
disowning
her only child.

The Sun Awakens

The sun awakens,
takes off its nightcap,
scratches its head,
yawns,
tousles its mane,
spreads the fibers of its fine hair
      across the pillow...
 
Every morning 
fallen hair is discovered
      scattered about the bed.

The Bare Shoulders of my Heart

The bare shoulders of my heart 
quiver vulnerably 
before your unswerving eyes. 

Imprisoned within your constant glances
the multihued palms of your palate and canvas
hold me hostage. 

A meter from your easel,
silent,
on a wooden stool, 
my thoughts are humbled
by the fervent strokes of your brush.

Though my tongue sits motionless,
in my chest
my heart is in the process of 
shedding its twenty-three year-old skin.

Early Morning Reading

Before the blooming of dawn
she was expected to walk by my fruit stand,
greeting us with her,
    "Good Morn'n Gentlemen!"
We would cordially tip our hats. 

As she passed
a litter of footprints on the snow followed her to work.

Though she spoke in italics
and waved to us with an accent
she walked in cursive.

I would lose my thoughts
in the odd-numbered pages of her eyes
but would again be discovered hiding
in the corners of the heart-shaped iris of her smile…

Those were the days
when I first laid eyes on your grandmother.

I remember observing her then,
every "Morn'n,"
in slow motion,
resisting to blink
so she could be seen without interruption.