| Starpoet Newsletter Vol. VIII, No. XXXIII |
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| News - Newsletters | |
| Written by Lisa Jain Thompson | |
| Sunday, 12 August 2007 | |
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The
Starpoet
Newsletter
Vol. VIII, No. XXXIII
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^^\/\/\/\/^^ <><><><><> Come winter
I and thee Will wish for the days
We danced in the heat Of gipsy guitars And dark spanish voices Our bodies wet with August Beneath the star flung sky Swaying to the separate rhythm
Of love
Two women
And the all but invisible ocean That engulfed us with applause When the music ended Lisa Jain Thompson c. 2007 C.E.
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^^\/\/\/\/^^ the morning after the Gipsy Kings at Wolf Trap, their rhythms running through my veins as I play their greatest hits on my machine
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^^\/\/\/\/^^ theological issues
Poet Dei
The search for god
Is a worthy cause, Belief without evidence, A foolish game That belittles any being Whom might actually exist, Reducing them to no more That a child's fervent cry For parents who will protect them
When the loud unknown
Disturbs the silence of night's covers.
Lisa Jain Thompson August 2007
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^^\/\/\/\/^^ I was in a minor fender-bender earlier this week
The Haymarket Incursion
Sitting at the stoplight,
Rain misting over the street, Small bus forgets to stop, Ramming me from behind. Metal on metal
Like a near sky sonic boom, Body shakes, seat belts hold,
I'm o.k. except for headaches.
X-rays, reflex tests,
Stiffness along neck and back, A handful of pills, plus injection,
Then home to recover slowly. Sore muscles, sleepy tired,
Concentration disconnected,
Gather wits, aspirin and mends,
To try again tomorrow.
Lisa Jain Thompson
August 2006 __/\/\/\/\__
^^\/\/\/\/^^ Gene Weingarten Chat
The Bathroom Issue
Reader: I predict that by the end of this century, America will have abandoned the practice of gender-separated restrooms and locker-rooms. What does it accomplish? To keep the men away from the tampon machine? Most modern restrooms are designed with enough visual privacy so that genitals aren't visible, anyway.
Gene Weingarten: You are correct about absolutely everything, logically, except for the practicality of the matter, involving human nature, where you are tone deaf. You are like Karl Marx. Men and women do not want to appear undignified and vulnerable in each other's presence. Joint bathrooms will never become the norm.
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^^\/\/\/\/^^ the Army
The Land Campaign
Disrupt and Destroy
Blood and Bullets With global reach, Explosive discharges, Terrorists and all others
Bodies scattered Who might want to bring us down. Hand and Limb across the earth. Shape the near future,
Presidents speak,
Strengthen our alliances,
Politicians cheer,
Promote world stability Americans carrying signs
And prevent attacks. Saying hoorah for our side.
Protect our resources, Oil and uranium,
Conduct close combat, I watch my enemy slowly die
Fight and win any battle While my brothers and my sisters
And dominate over time. Fall silently at my side. Our mission is always first, defeat never acceptable,
No matter how long victory takes us, And never, never, never shall we think to leave A comrade fallen on the cold ground behind us.
Lisa Jain Thompson
August 2007 __/\/\/\/\__
^^\/\/\/\/^^ ruminations
So Much of This
So much of this
Is mirrors and rationalization,
Explanations of death That avoid the possibility Of random connections,
Self-justifications that downplay
Any suggestion of blame.
If we are to believe what we have,
All of us are innocent,
If we were to listen to our testimony,
No one of us would escape
Their appointment with the hanging man. We are a ragged compilation
Of meat and neural synapse,
Destined to play out our days Protesting we don't understand How all of this could have happened
If everyone had been doing their jobs. What we see is not what we wish to believe,
What fails to conform to our preconceptions
Is rejected as unworthy of our attention, Making us both more and less Than the sum of our knowledge. Lisa Jain Thompson
August 2007 __/\/\/\/\__
^^\/\/\/\/^^ It's About Time
In 1897, Roger Connor retired with 138 career home runs.
34 years later, Babe Ruth broke that record and continued on to hit 714 homeruns.
39 years later, Henry Aaron broke Ruth's record and ended up with 755 homeruns.
31 years after Aaron, Barry Bonds hit number 756 right on schedule and continues to add to that total.
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^^\/\/\/\/^^ I'd love to see a national Cleavage Pride movement.
Kind of like Gay Pride or Puerto Rican Day. Women in positions of authority across the country would display our God-given cleavage proudly to show how stupid this whole thing is and how wonderful having breasts can be. Imagine the parade we could have. -- Leslie Morgan Steiner
Washington Post __/\/\/\/\__
^^\/\/\/\/^^ summer weather
Histography
Dark skies, still recovering
From last evening’s heavy rain, Tree limbs, power lines, Littering roads and houses; Damp humid respite Between loud thunders Rolling across the sky: August morning in the capital Before the Indian summer. Lisa Jain Thompson
August 2007 __/\/\/\/\__
^^\/\/\/\/^^ American Heroes
Diné
Code Talkers, half a dozen,
On their annual tour of the Pentagon,
Bring tears to my eyes, leave me wordless, Unable to thank them for being who they are, Make me proud to be an American With a drop of native blood. Lisa Jain Thompson
1/16 Haudenosaunee
August 2007 __/\/\/\/\__
^^\/\/\/\/^^ Cal Ripken's Hall of Fame Speech
I've really appreciated all the people who have congratulated me in the months since my election to the Hall of Fame. It sure helped me get over a conversation I had recently with a 10-year old boy I was instructing. I was teaching him hitting and he was starting to have success and feeling quite proud of himself. And he asked me, "So, did you play baseball?"
I said, "Yes, I played professionally." And he goes, "Oh, yeah, for what team?" I said, "I played with the Baltimore Orioles for 21 years." And he said, "What position?" And I said, "Mostly shortstop but a little third base at the end." And he began to walk away and he looked back and said, "Should I know you?"
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^^\/\/\/\/^^  __/\/\/\/\__
^^\/\/\/\/^^ Ragtime Dance #4
Well, beat the drum and hold the phone - the sun came out today!
Were born again, theres new grass on the field. A-roundin third, and headed for home, its a brown-eyed handsome man; Anyone can understand the way I feel. -- John Fogarty, Centerfield
My Grandfather watched Babe Ruth and Ty Cobb,
Heard the sound of Johnson’s fastball in a catcher’s mitt, Saw the DiMaggios playing for the San Francisco Seals Between the wars to end all wars for our lifetime. He was too old for the first and in his fifties for the second: There was a photo of Vito as an American doughboy That was placed in their window by Catherine,
A common practice, I’m told, to show their support, The magnetic trunk ribbon of its day. We met at Mays and McCovey and cheered loudly for The Mick,
Rooted for the Babe against Roger’s onslaught, Then sat open mouthed when Sandy threw a curve And sent the Giants home from Candlestick without a win. We could walk from Union Station down to the Wharf (Filled with fishing boats, not boutiques and souvenirs)
Passing through the marvels of Chinatown and Peter and Paul’s
Where he would take his hat off and we would pray
Back when we both lit candles to beseech the gods. Time passed, and I grew older, the hidden Sicilian Princess
Who pursued her degrees while her war raged on: Hamburger Hill and Cedar Falls, Junction City and Quang Tri,
The last great tank battle on the Plain of Jars Where my wife and lover slipped back into quiet legend And began her long trip to find and join me as her partner
In the steel and concrete and battlegrounds of Washington D C :
There were no pictures in Grandma’s window for Viet Nam, There are none in the drawers of our home in Virginia.
Grandpa hung around for Cal Ripken, Barry Bonds, Roger Clemens,
Seeing them all off to hall of fame careers equal to anyone Who ever played the game on a sunny afternoon each October; He kept his own house until after his hundredth birthday, Always looking forward to the next season, the next pitch, The next sweet swing of the bat that would send the baseball Rocketing blamelessly into the bay or the glove of a child’s smile; Living to see his bride of sixty-five years die quickly one night And my mother waste away for three long years from Alzheimer’s. Alzheimer’s led to God and inevitably to the Church,
So we would talk long hours of what may or may not be: A merciful god who stands in the cheap seats Watching aging bodies slowly decay and babies dying needlessly From sickness and starvation, stray bullets and warfare. Even as he received communion each day at mass
(St. Roberts sat and easy walk just outside his back gate), We wondered what frivolous pursuit is more important to a god Than the welfare of his children living in a world he made. Grandpa died before the Nationals ever returned with Zimmerman,
And we never did get a chance to discuss if he thought steroids Made any difference in the grand scheme of what’s important: Sharpening spikes and scuffing baseballs, loading up with slippery elm,
Taking bennies and stealing signs have existed long before the current spat Of indignant moral righteousness and pompous proclamations. Life goes on, baseball survives, and I’m certain if I could talk to Grandpa He would tell me to not look back, never take a third strike to end the game, And always, always throw ahead of the runner, never behind. I sit here, dragging this out, a poet in tears for her family,
Remembering her Grandparents and the Christmas gatherings Where my aunts and uncles would bring my cousins To sit around tables filled with cardoon and ravioli, bottles of Dago red,
And memories of friends and relatives no longer seated: I would listen to the visions of more distant tables,
Family celebrations lost in the backwash of time and space, Until Grandpa would remind us of all the worlds that lay before us, And ask if we thought the A’s would win the Series this October. Got a beat-up glove, a homemade bat, and brand-new pair of shoes;
You know I think its time to give this game a ride. Just to hit the ball and touch em all - a moment in the sun; (pop) its gone and you can tell that one goodbye! Oh, put me in, coach - I'm ready to play today;
Put me in, coach - I'm ready to play today; Look at me, I can be centerfield. -- John Fogarty, Centerfield
Lisa Jain Thompson
August 2007
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^^\/\/\/\/^^ Watch my dust.
-- George Herman "Babe" Ruth
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^^\/\/\/\/^^ PEACE
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