| Starpoet Newsletter Vo.l VIII, No. XLV |
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| News - Newsletters | |
| Written by Lisa Jain Thompson | |
| Saturday, 03 November 2007 | |
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The
Starpoet
Newsletter
Vol. VIII, No. XLV
__/\/\/\/\__
^^\/\/\/\/^^ I am a carpenter of sorts
But not a messiah
I can barely save myself
Let alone the world
Still
If I can shift the axis
Even a fraction of a degree
Who knows
What next season
May bring Lisa Jain Thompson c. 2007 C. E.
 __/\/\/\/\__
^^\/\/\/\/^^ all hallows eve, all saints, all souls: memories of childhood in mother church eight weeks before the winter solstice. i grow very aware of cycles as winter approaches.
__/\/\/\/\__
^^\/\/\/\/^^ I behold, and within my heart deep sadness has claimed its place,
As I mark the oldest home of the ancient Ionian race
Slain by the sword.
-- Solon __/\/\/\/\__
^^\/\/\/\/^^ despite my best intentions, the war goes on,
demanding my attention
The Streets of Sadiyah
The streets of Sadiyah are deserted again
Except for the tan Bradleys and armored Humvees
That creep with excruciating slowness Through the sun blasted Baghdad afternoon,
Straining to see if each manhole cover,
The next rusted barrel, hides still another bomb.
To the right, power lines slump in the dirt,
The soccer field on the left is filled with smoking trash,
Wild dogs hunt in packs, leaving their markers
On walls stained with the bloody slogans of sectarian hate. Houses are blacked by multiple fires, shops crumble into ruin,
A pool of knee deep brown sewage water
Fills the street, covering the bomb craters.
Fourteen months past, the shops were open,
Women and children walked the street,
Western clothes were visible everywhere
In the bustling Sadiyah middle class district
Before the Iraqi police became our enemy,
Before the Shiite militiamen exterminated the Sunni
And the Iraqi government looked the other way. The sense of normalcy is non-existent, the fear, The disrupted lives hang over the city,
A dense smoke reminder of the uncontrolled wildfire Scorching the air along a nation's fault line.
Half the families have fled, replaced by insurgents
And independent armies who go house to house,
Family to family, demanding allegiance to Shia:
A slow, government supported sectarian cleansing
-- A half dozen Sunni corpses scattered in each house. This is a dangerous place, people are killed here every day
And you don't hear about it, people are kidnapped every day And you don't hear a thing about it, it doesn't make the evening news Or become a question at a presidential news conference. Any second, any time of day, a life could be over, A soldier or marine, gone in a flash. All the President's men only go to safe places, Buildings with little gunfire, briefings by general officers, Photo-ops covered with close combat gunships: They don't ever fucking see the boots on the ground, Hiding with the higher-ups who tell them careful stories Of limited strategic successes and brief excursions beyond the wire -- Salving the President's ego is not worth one more soldier's life. Lisa Jain Thompson
November 2007 __/\/\/\/\__
^^\/\/\/\/^^ down sunny good street
One Mint Julep Over the Line
Not you baby, the other one,
Sorry, I mean it,
It's not you, it's me,
It's the personnel system,
The government, the church,
The president,
If it was just me,
You'd be golden,
But it's not, you're not,
I wish I could,
But I can't,
Maybe next time,
But not now. Hey, has anyone called
The other one yet? Lisa Jain Thompson
November 2007 __/\/\/\/\__
^^\/\/\/\/^^ [when I go]
I hope I go on top of Clive Owen
-- overheard in the women's restroom
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^^\/\/\/\/^^ this damned fallen away catholic conscience
Awakening Outside the Wire
There are no innocents,
Only those of us who are dying
And those who are looking the other way.
Some of us will always be looking
Diligently another direction and denying
What is going on just out of our eye.
Others will see all but quickly say
"That is them, not me"
And turn their head away.
The poet struggles along the peaks
Between willful ignorance and ravenous despair.
Lisa Jain Thompson
November 2007
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^^\/\/\/\/^^ when first it rained this autumn
Wellsprings of the Great Deep Burst
There seems to be something
Falling from the sky,
Something wet, something moist
That in past times was called rain,
Or so I'm told,
Not being close to old enough
To remember anything
Like the deluge;
But ther it is,
Dropping from the clouds,
A combination
Of hydrogen and oxygen That darkens my blouse,
Clings to my breasts,
And makes the dog angry
With the storm gods once again.
Lisa Jain Thompson
November 2007 __/\/\/\/\__
^^\/\/\/\/^^ According to an Associated Press poll
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^^\/\/\/\/^^ the question with any theology
Request for Clarification
From the Residents of Eden If we were differently alien
From the planet we find ourselves,
We would not have fit in our primate niche
Nor be scattered to the corners of the world.
If god had designed us instead of nature,
He would have no need of an oxygen breather
Who eats and evacuates severally daily
And reproduces like most any mammal.
Why design a being that must destroy creation
To live and populate across this multitude of fertile land, When a self-contained unit is more than possible to design
That would keep right and holy the fruits of your perfect mind?
Lisa Jain Thompson
November 2007
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^^\/\/\/\/^^ hallows eve
All Hallows
While we were in grade school,
Run by the Sisters of Mary,
Halloween was far less important
Than all the saints that followed And the litany of all those
Who were already in heaven.
Candy took a back seat to communion
And the care of our sweet souls
Mattered most of all
To the good sisters who made sure We made mass on the first And kept any questions to ourselves.
Lisa Jain Thompson
November 2007
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^^\/\/\/\/^^ 137. If a man wish to separate from a woman who has borne him children,
or from his wife who has borne him children: then he shall give that wife her dowry, and a part of the usufruct of field, garden, and property, so that she can rear her children. When she has brought up her children, a portion of all that is given to the children, equal as that of one son, shall be given to her. She may then marry the man of her heart. -- Code of Hammurabi __/\/\/\/\__
^^\/\/\/\/^^ maintenance and upkeep
I'm Not Really a Waitress
The pungent smell of acetone
Fights hairspray and dye
For the right to burn my eyes;
My stripped down nails
Await the application
of any of a thousand bottles
Of cleverly named O.P.I.
A monthly indulgence
Unshared by the boys
Who would rather watch football
Than do their nails and toes.
We'll keep this little secret
-- The joys of pedicures,
The carefully sipped cappuccinos,
The gloss magazines filled With expensive, unwearable clothes --
This fantasy that we are noteworthy
And worth every dollar spent,
And let the guys go on
About their favorite tight end
As if they too could play
Professional football, If only they had had the chance.
Lisa Jain Thompson
November 2007
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^^\/\/\/\/^^
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^^\/\/\/\/^^ a california girl I was and am
Santa Cruz
The salty taste of sand and ocean
Brings memories of summers spent in Santa Cruz
With parents and grandparents,
A short walk from the beach and a bright green parrot
Noisily seated in a lobby on a perch.
On the way we would stop in San Jose,
Pile out of one care to picnic in the park:
Grandma made veal cutlets,
Unpacked them on the table,
And we shared fresh fruit, olives and cheese,
And soda bought at a local store.
Then off over the coast range,
Down highway one to the shoreline,
The grand arcade and wooden boardwalk
With a carousel and a roller-coaster That soared on creaky framework
High above the ocean's roar.
At five and six, I favored safer rides,
Tilt-a-whirl and ferris wheel,
Nickel tosses for glass plates and baubles,
Carmel corn and salt water taffy,
And left the giant coaster for the big girls
Who feigned frightened for their boyfriends
And ran giggling across the sand
Chased by eager tanned suitors
While I made elaborate sandcastles
That washed away when hide tide came.
Then August was over
And we returned to Sacramento, The valley heat and the fairgrounds
Filled with cows and hogs as tall as I
And fireworks that we watched
With all the neighbors from our lawns
When it grew too dark for tag. Lisa Jain Thompson
November 2007
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^^\/\/\/\/^^ You can only do what the moment lets you,
And when that moment arrives,
So too must you.
-- LJT
2007 __/\/\/\/\__
^^\/\/\/\/^^ PEACE
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^^\/\/\/\/^^ |
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