Starpoet by Lisa Jain Thompson - Starpoet Newsletter Vol. IX, No. IV

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Starpoet Newsletter Vol. IX, No. IV

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Whenever you pray, do not be like the hypocrites; for they love to stand and pray in the synagogues and at the street corners, so that they may be seen by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. But whenever you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.

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Starpoet Newsletter Vol. IX, No. IV

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News - Newsletters
Written by Lisa Jain Thompson
Saturday, 26 January 2008
The Starpoet Newsletter Volume IX, No. IV Age inevitably takes us all Friends, lovers, Parents, and fellow travellers Who slip away Before we are ready If ever we would be The gods show no concern Whether we die today Or next year after the harvest And if we have no choice but death When little matters But still we miss the dead And refuse our non-existence In the greater scheme Of god and universe Lisa Jain Thompson C. 2008 C. E. John Stewart died last weekend. The world noticed more more than I would suspect. There will be a lot of john here this week. John and I in perspective You Can't Look Back ( *California* *Bloodline)* Then here they come, E.A. Stuart in the wagon right behind Sitting straight and proud and he's driving her stone blind And would you look at her Oh, she never looked finer or went better than today It's E.A. Stuart and the old Campaigner, "Sweetheart On Parade" And the people cheered Why I even saw a grown man break right down and cry And you know it was just a little while later that old E.A. Stuart died -- John Stewart, Mother Country John Stewart died the other day, Blessed with a stroke Than Alzheimer's seven years from now. His writing lives in mine, The California bloodlines and chill winds That blow in from the pacific coast Down through the San Joaquin at night. He was young, I was younger by a decade, When he broke from the Kingston Trio And set off across America. I met him in seventy When we tried to defeat Reagan Running for his second term as governor; We lost but remembered our roots, The clack clack clack of Bobby's train Going slow through the states On its way to his final stop in Arlington. Bobby's gone, John's gone, And sometimes it seems only I remember. Now he will be allowed to become famous, Safely dead and unable to respond in song; Critics will now cite him for his music and lyrics, Academics will build shrines to true Americana, When all he ever wanted was a stage and a guitar And Buffy singing back-up beside him on the road. Lisa Jain Thompson January 2008 *Broken Roses* John Stewart All the times I've run When we've just begun We lost the midnight sun In the dream And all the times I cried All the times I tried To make a lame bird fly In the sun If all the lights break through Shades of afternoon All the dreams were you Every one So I ride the tired road Every story I have told Is just all as it seems Broken roses, weathered dreams reading Tennyson *Firefly* The firefly sleeps far beneath winter's worst, Safely chambered in beds of warmer earth, Waiting for early summer to fleetingly emerge To light the evening with impetuous amour. Then, after love is spent and eggs quickly laid, The light flickers, stutters to leisurely eclipse As summer drags itself to autumnal richness With thunderstorm and bright jagged lightning. In childhood a jar of fireflies carefully placed Conjures glimpses of miracle and alchemy Far better than a thousand Sunday sermons Or the promises of any prophet or professor. Here, at the quiet limit of a world grown safely gray, With the fields that have turned white and hard frozen, I would trade these careful fires for a single visitation Of childhood's magic fireflies and shimmering summer. Lisa Jain Thompson January 2008 *New Orleans* John Stewart I never got to see New Orleans Ride the river to the sea Hear the muse of Louisiana Sing her heart to me Fats and Louis and Dixieland She is the river, she is the land But I never got to see New Orleans Or hold her in my hand bouncing off Tennyson and Jeffers *Jasmine Green* Along the margins Where sea and sand meet granite rock And raptors next atop unclimbed peaks, The poet snatches her pieces and bits To construct her alien gaze. A taste of stars at the galactic core Where beats a black hole's heart, A world where night shines bright With sun filled spiral Painted half across the sky. The glimpse of savanna, stumbling upright, As Lucy begins our slow ascent, The flash of love, pheromone struck, Driven by flesh and desire, Mammal to ape to mankind. Wings spread, the poet circles Above the waters, beneath the heavens, Following the river, Ancient mountain to deepest ocean, Until she finds her soul and home again. Lisa Jain Thompson January 2008 *Naked Angel on a Star-Crossed Train* John Stewart An angel brings the rain When she feels like crying An angel brings the pain When she feels like dying And an angel brings the songs I can feel 'em coming on I cry out her name I cry out, "Delilah" Naked angel on a star-crossed train Riding the bright light homeward Naked angel on a star-crossed train With a guitar man and an Angel Band Sending me songs and here's one An angel is the muse And the musing brings the spirit I can not refuse If she sings you know I'll hear it An angel brings the songs I can feel 'em coming on I cry out her name I cry out, "Delilah" attempt at interlude *Alternity* In some alternate reality, Where polio was cured before I was born, I'm some famous former athlete or mythic dark agent Best known for the bits and snatches of poeetry Left lying around after I've gone. Elvis has still left the building, But Buddy is working on his seventh symphony, And James Dean plays the grandfather on a sitcom With Britney as his oldest grandchild. Oprah, on the other hand, made a lousy president And Scorcese is directing Terminator 12 For video on demand on cable. Lisa Jain Thompson January 2008 lying awake with politics *Choice of Ballot* I do not want a messianic president Or even one who is pure of heart; Give me a leader who when bought Stays bought and knows where all The skeletons are closeted; One whose finger might just pull the trigger, Should it become necessary to do so, Whose soul is more than a little larcenous Should deception be the best solution overall For our nation to survive and our democracy. Sometimes you need a Nixon If you wish to go to mainland China, Sometimes only a Lyndon Johnson Can finally pass a Civil Rights Bill Over the objections of Dixie's dead body. I would rather not have a president Who thinks the world plays fair and square, And expects all other nations To be cooperative, contrite Christians Who accept The Constitution as self-evident: Rather a crook who knows the hearts of men, The strategic value of a well placed kick, And the efficacy of a goodly positioned bribe To better bring cooperation, quickly and completely, From those who might otherwise be our enemy. Lisa Jain Thompson January 2008 Lost Her in the Sun John Stewart Given any day there's a jet flying somewhere Oh, she bought a ticket and she vanished in the sky How was I to know she was leaving in the morning I never heard her go, she never said goodbye I've learned to love the night 'cause the light's gonna get ya Right between the eyes in the morning like a gun Reaching out your hand and she's not there beside you Oh, what can I say, lost her in the sun What have I done? Lost her in the sun Lost her in the sun structure, control, demonstration *In the Cool of the Evening Light* The past is barely beyond our reach, Its decaying body sweetly scents the present; Yet we can no more taste its fruits Than we can be held in our mother's arms, However fondly we may remember. Our essential flesh and biography Remains trapped in the current, Flushed by time's arrow into the sunrise That separates morning from afternoon And night's eventual victory. Death punctuates our comfort zone, Drives our evolving existence Into evermore complex explanations To belay the inevitable impossibility That coils tightly around our necks. We are, undeniably, aware We live in the present and that we will In some undefined, unimaginable future, die, Stripped from this disordering time flow That moves us through life and universe. Tomorrow remains an undiscovered mystery Undeliverable by either mind or belief, The best, the brightest, all to the same end come As the homeless beggar and wasting, auto-deficient child: Life leaves us all, time goes on, and no one is sure but dying. Lisa Jain Thompson January 2008 July, You're a Woman John Stewart And I can't hold my eyes On the white line out before me When your hand is on my collar And you're talking in my ear And I have been around With a gypsy girl named Shannon A daughter of the devil It is strange that I should mention that to you I haven't thought of her in years La da da da da da La da da da da da July, you're a woman More than anyone I've ever known for John and Buffy *Airdream Believer* John Stewart 1939-2008 Airdream believer, Come and gone, We've lost him in the sun, Taken by his heart And the passage of years. The midnight air gives way To the glare of morning, No more battles call him, His voice is silent, The last campaign is done. No more daydreams, No more warm July evenings In the San Joaquin, Watching Neil Armstrong Walk upon the moon. The big horse has run His final funky race, He has breathed his last, His heart has taken flight, Saddled on the chilly wind. Lisa Jain Thompson January 2008 Copyright © Lisa Jain Thompson1995-2008. Further distribution of this newsletter in its entirety is authorized. Email your letters and postcards or visit her contact page at the Starpoet website.
Last Updated ( Sunday, 27 January 2008 )

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