| StarPoet Newsletter Vol. VIII, No. XXX |
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| News - Newsletters | |
| Written by Lisa Jain Thompson | |
| Sunday, 22 July 2007 | |
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The
Starpoet
Newsletter
Vol. VIII, No. XXX
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^^\/\/\/\/^^ <><><><><> Somewhere beyond the mountains
Somewhere across the sea
My only waits
For no one
But her immortal poet
Wherever she may be
Whenever she returns
This poet girl will greet her With word and song
And love that endures
The hardships Of time and distance
And lousy verse
Lisa Jain Thompson c. 2007 C.E.
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^^\/\/\/\/^^ The poet is here, the poet is there, time moves, the river flows, words tumble forth linked by eye and breath.
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^^\/\/\/\/^^ Every American carries in his bloodstream
the heritage of the malcontent and the dreamer. -- Dorothy Fuldheim __/\/\/\/\__
^^\/\/\/\/^^ the way of the world
The World Will Never
The world will never know
Who we are
Or what we know,
When we are gone;
We will slip back into the pages
Of revisionist history
While great men are given Garlands for what we've done. When we were little girls
Still playing with dolls,
We were smart enough
To tell quizzical adults
We wanted to be
Astronauts and ballplayers
Not mothers and wives.
Little did they know
Our true plans Or who we would become. Someone better tell the world
They ain't see nothing yet,
Have they, darling?
Lisa Jain Thompson
July 2007 __/\/\/\/\__
^^\/\/\/\/^^ sometimes the way ends
Run Out of Life
Shit.
Dead. Another friend Gone quickly,
Gone silently
Without a final word,
Leaving me alone
To puzzle god's humor
And his adolescent fetish
For Cancer.
Lisa Jain Thompson
July 2007
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^^\/\/\/\/^^ The one we come back to again and again
in a culture increasingly devoted to its own unrealized potential: Deep down, of course we know we're overdesigning everything, and that our tech is quickly outpacing human understanding. Of course we'll never actually use the vast majority of our crap to its full designed capabilities. But (we tell ourselves, flipping through the channels in quiet desperation, searching, searching, searching) it's just some sort of weird balm, some sort of nice, life-affirming mythology to imagine we could. -- Mark Morford SFGATE __/\/\/\/\__
^^\/\/\/\/^^ short weather report
Forecast
Hot, humid,
With a chance of terrorists,
Presidential quality poor;
Stay inside
Until November next year
When we think conditions will improve.
Lisa Jain Thompson
July 2007
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^^\/\/\/\/^^ in the news
The Felonious Falcon
Hang him high,
Give him the chair,
Slash his face
From ear to ear:
Anyone who tortures
Innocent dogs for losing,
Has lost the right
To be treated like a man.
Boil him in oil,
Burn him at the stake,
For gods' sake at least
Cancel his shoe contract.
Lisa Jain Thompson
July 2007
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^^\/\/\/\/^^ Gene Weingarten We have had six years of the worst and most destructive presidency in my memory. (Quite possibly in American history.) We need to learn a lesson from it.
I am going to favor the candidate, or candidates, who seem the least like George W. Bush. I am going to be extremely wary of anyone who seems, on the surface, dumber than I am, making no allowances for how likeable he or she is, or how clear his or her vision seems to be.
I am going to view with the darkest suspicion anyone who seems to substitute nationalistic platitudes for critical thought. I am going to avoid anyone who has surrounded himself with only the like-minded.
Above all, I am going to try to avoid the natural inclination to dislike and mistrust those who disagreed with me in the past. What's done is done. Let's get together and not make the same terrible mistake. I'm tired of being embarrassed by my country.
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^^\/\/\/\/^^ home alone
Loomings
While she's gone,
I can feel her inside me,
The inward rush of air
From her fingers' pentration:
My body shudders,
Synaptical skips
Uncircuit my brain
As her memory swallows me whole
And I drift into sleep
And the hold of her loving arms. Hurry back my sweet Sharon Sinead,
Your poet awaits your return.
Lisa Jain Thompson
July 2007 __/\/\/\/\__
^^\/\/\/\/^^ What is different about the recent spurt in immigration
is that our country has changed: Jobs and cheaper housing are no longer in city neighborhoods where immigrants live in isolated ghettos. Instead, immigrants -- legal or not -- live smack dab in the middle of the rest of us. That confronts us with the culture clash that has always been part of the glorious process of becoming American. -- Marc Fisher
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^^\/\/\/\/^^ into the news once more
D & D
Death, death, and destruction,
Friends, enemies, and damage collateral,
Cars, bombs, insidious cancer,
;Alzheimer's stealing my mother away,
A stray bullet or one intended,
Each day ranges closer to target;
Knees, breasts, or beating heart, The wheel inevitably slows
Until the arrow falls upon you or another
As the game draws to an unanticipated close. Lisa Jain Thompson
July 2007 __/\/\/\/\__
^^\/\/\/\/^^  __/\/\/\/\__
^^\/\/\/\/^^ Ives
Ragtime Dance #1
We eat and we drink, we feel and we think
Far down the street we stray I laugh and I cry and I'm haunted by Things I never meant nor wished to say The midnight rain follows the train We all wear the same thorny crown Soul to soul, our shadows roll And I'll be with you when the deal goes down -- Bob Dylan, When the Deal Goes Down, 2006
Standing in the broken light
Of still another Saturday morning, Waking without you beside me
To the smell of breakfast sausage and coffee Winding up from the kitchen
And Cedar’s eager face
Telling me he expects eggs to be on the menu
(A border collie knows the days, When we work, when we wake, The weekend rhythm
Of long, relaxed breakfasts, slowly cooked,
And the single pre-embryo poultry That is added to his morning repast). Sitting upon the glass oval
That serves as both our table
And my makeshift laptop desk, A mixed bouquet of flowers -- Boldly yellow, maiden lilies, A stem full of branching lavender mums, And various white and pink full open daisies – Off-center of mid-altar,
Opens towards the bright sunlight
As I set knife and fork for each of us, Inexpensive napkin, paper with tiny violets,
And pour carton’d orange juice Into the Old Fashioned crystal We choose to be our chalices. Ives plays on the stereo
-- Three Places in New England, The Ragtime Dances and Yale-Princeton -- Pursued by Dylan, The Shins, and Arcade Fire, As you bring our morning offering, Complete with Potatoes Sharon, fresh coffee, And a muffin like biscuit I do not recognize,
Placing our over-brimmed plates before us
Enough food to serve our needs until evening. We talk of music, politics, Who is out and who is in, Wondering bemusedly who might be crazy
And who is truly only simply incompetent, As we speculate why Jesus and Mohammed Feel the obsessive need To meddle so deeply in national politics And still show no desire To rid the world of devastating disease,
Starvation, war, and ignorance. Why would they so decline If they truly have the power? Cedar, dog and border collie,
A champion red and white, Through all of this, remains at our side,
Always patient to the mysterious ways
Of two legged primates
Who have trouble remembering What is really important on Saturday mornings
-- The egg damnit! I need my egg!
Where is the egg that is calendared so clearly? –
He waits, resting at our feet,
Sure that the bipeds eventually will understand
And recall the canine member of his pack.
Ives spins off, the music continues,
And we stand in the broken light Of still another Saturday, Pulling together our two act, -- Gracie and Georgette, Complete with flying eagles, Or tag-team Hamlet, Filled with dueling soliloquy And drama queen off-stage ophelia -- Washing the dishes, sipping our coffee, At our computers, upstairs and down,
Writing score and libretto, words and music, The final director’s cut for two lives lived as one, As we roll with our shadows beneath the clear blue sky That greets our breakfast celebration. I look in your eyes, I see nobody else but me
I look in your eyes, I see nobody other than me I see all that I am and all I hope to be If it keep on rainin' the levee gonna break If it keep on rainin' the levee gonna break Some of these people don't know which road to take When I'm with you I forget I was ever blue When I'm with you I forget I was ever blue Without you there's no meaning in anything I do -- Bob Dylan, The Levee’s Gonna Break, 2006 Lisa Jain Thompson
July 2007 __/\/\/\/\__
^^\/\/\/\/^^  __/\/\/\/\__
^^\/\/\/\/^^ PEACE
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