| Starpoet Newsletter Vol. IX, No. IX |
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| News - Newsletters | |
| Written by Lisa Jain Thompson | |
| Saturday, 01 March 2008 | |
 The
Starpoet Newsletter Volume IX, No. IX Into the Venus Morning,
Azure lit by fading darkness, We chased after vanished Orion Into the daylight. By dawn we found Our rosy fingers rather busy. Lisa Jain Thompson c. 2008 C. E.
  March. Spring. Sunshine. Spring Training. Poetry.
a sign of spring
Bare rooted, the rose arrives,
A promise that in summer will Provide red fragrant buds To place on our kitchen table. In March there is no worry
Of black spot or Japanese Beetle, Only a description in a catalog, Counting petals, touting scent. By late summer, battered by storm,
Challenged by heat and humidity, The early optimism may be replaced By the stark But now, caught up in pages of description,
The promises of our unbridled imaginations -- Double Bloom scents and vivid rose hips -- Circumscribe the character of the discussion. Lisa Jain Thompson
March 2008 another sure sign
All The Young Puppies
All the young puppies
Singing on American Idol Against men with aging beards And deep movie star voices, Hardly seems fair,
But sometimes the puppy wins: Getting rid of Danny Noriega Would be like drowning a kitten -- You can do it
But no one will like you
If they ever find out. Lisa Jain Thompson
March 2008 Truth is not always equidistant from two points.
Not everything is a matter of opinion. Some things are true and some are false. Knowing the distinction between opinion and evidence-based knowledge is essential. -- Susan Jacoby
attempt at formal engagement
The Lark at Daybreak Rising
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope After the last eight years (although some count sixteen),
Mediocrity would be a welcome improvement, A step up from the incompetence and smug arrogance Of an administration that has listened only to God, The shouts of business cronies and their young earth preachers (Seemingly unable to tell the difference between their voices). Life is not a noble crusade led by knights and future saints, Men (and women) once human, remain so, subject to assumption, Personal rage, and sharp brief moments of crystal clarity Which they do not to follow because of their political situation. Democracy comes with warts and all the frailties of the flesh, Unrestrained desire can choke off even the best intentions, Substituting fantastical personal beliefs and architectures For a world proven less cooperative than their imagination. Lisa Jain Thompson the excitement last sunday
Academy Desires
The Oscars are always dresses, hair, and diamonds,
The men are accessories, except for Bardem and Clooney Who could do me in a moment if they wished. If I were thirty years younger (and several tens lighter),
I would give them a run for their bedrooms and explore Our assorted mutual interests in exhausting detail. Lisa Jain Thompson March 2008 Just In from Italia
In a landmark judgement with far-reaching social implications, Italy's highest appeals court has ruled it is a criminal offence for Italian men to touch their genitals in public.
The judges of the court of cassation stressed that the ban did not just apply to brazen crotch-scratching, but also to what might be termed superstitious pre-emption. Anyone who has seen a hearse go past in Italy, or been part of a discussion in which some terrible illness or disaster is mentioned, will know it is traditional for men to ward off bad luck with a quick grab at what are delicately called their "attributi".
The practice has become increasingly frowned on, but "io mi tocco i … ", which translates as "I touch my … " is still a common phrase, roughly equivalent to "fingers crossed". The judges helpfully suggested that those seeking reassurance should wait till they had returned to the privacy of their own homes before letting their hands stray trouser-wards.
discussion of business
Boarding the
We are all so web enabled,
Synchronizing dollars and data In an integrated, masterful That will span the earth, if not the universe, Overcoming the limitations of time and space And the human interface to provide Essential and effective and efficient services Instantaneously at a single key stroke Or perhaps the mere thoughts Of the wizards in control of the starship. Or maybe not.
At least not without
Bunches and bunches of money -- We’re talking billions here, Real money, even in the Pentagon – And then all will be well, forever and ever, Amen. Lisa Jain Thompson
March 2008 42
Hard Candy
What if the meaning of life
Is the search for meaning, And everything else, An intergalactic waste of time. Then again, if we’re not alone, Perhaps we’ll find someone Who has a clue, or maybe, We’ll compare notes Then go our separate ways, Disappointed at the quality Of the people Who hang out here. Lisa Jain Thompson
March 2008 When a person is accustomed to 138 in the shade,
his ideas about cold weather are not valuable.... In India, "cold weather" is merely a conventional phrase and has come into use through the necessity of having some way to distinguish between weather which will melt a brass door-knob and weather which will only make it mushy. -- Mark Twain
Following the Equator  a starry bit
Testament
I would finally be buried
Beneath some monolith on Mars Erected by aging grandchildren On the plain outside the city Where no Martian has ever trod but us. I would like to be remembered
On some planet around a star Light years from earth and our ancestors, Where children gather to be told ancient tales Of life before we made the heavens ours. Lisa Jain Thompson
March 2008 a bit more stars for my partner, friend, and lover
In a Heartbeat
If only I could still hit a good fast ball
When all is said and done,
There will be poems yet to write, Stories I need to tell, Discoveries I want to see, Voices I wish to hear, And kisses I will miss -- Already miss -- Knowing we don’t have forever. I would go last,
Sparing her the pain, Would outlive my children So they will never deal With that ancient gap, Accepting that I may not And wondering how I can Make it easier if it comes to pass. I don’t want to die on this planet.
Lisa Jain Thompson
March 2008 And so, after all my labor and persuasion to get you to at last promise to take a week's holiday and go off with me on a lark, this is what Providence has gone and done about it. It does seem to me the oddest thing--the way Providence manages. A mere simple request to you to stay at home would have been entirely sufficient; but no, that is not big enough, picturesque enough--a blizzard's the idea; pour down all the snow in stock, turn loose all the winds, bring a whole continent to a stand-still: that is Providence's idea of the correct way to trump a person's trick. If I had known it was going to make all this trouble and cost all these millions, I never would have said anything about your going. Now in the light of this revelation of the methods of Providence, consider Noah's flood--I wish I knew the real reason for playing that cataclysm on the public: likely enough, somebody who liked dry weather wanted to take a walk. That is probably the whole thing--and nothing more to it.
-- Mark Twain
Letter to his wife, Olivia Clemens, March 10, 1888 The world is saturated with image
Deploy, Engage, Destroy
The real war will never get in the books, The dead are past helping, the living always need more,
A glimpse of hope, shelter and a bit of food, All the battles wrought by kings and presidents Are unequal to the war of the people whose mangled bodies Become the ammunition for political theories and Sunday sermons. Burying the dead is an act of improvisation; unfathomable corpses
Lay unburied, stacked in rows a thousand long, scatter about the field Like so many broken Homeric heroes searching for their Iliad. Misidentified warriors, unnamed sacrifices, gathered beneath The smoke and fire of incoming rockets and military stratagems. Through day after day of distraught families and friends,
The helpless efforts of chaplains, compassionate, and young officers Cling to belief in the good death, offering solace and dignity To trenches filled with good soldiers who last moments Were so similar, as if the fates, the gods followed a single checklist. Modern war, a product of human genius, rage, and dispassion,
Becomes more unpredictable, excruciatingly painful, and abrupt: The dying depart in squalid absurdity, dispatched by devices Built in dark rebel basements or artillery shells from heaven That leave no identifiable human remains or family names. Two centuries past, we left this world surrounded by family,
Conscious that we were dying, at peace with life’s limits, We reconciled with our sins and our gods, left famous last words Carefully chosen to inspire, comfort, and remember us by -- War shatters us with discourtesy and suddenness, Replacing even the briefest candle with mawkish sentimentality,
Political cant, and commercial hucksterism designed to ensure A steady flow of willing volunteers into the killing solution, Where soldiers become numbers and acceptable losses And body counts soon replace the enemy’s names and faces. We have a remarkable capacity to forget and gloss over
Our confrontations with death: unprecedented suffering challenges Religious beliefs taught in childhood; the ugliest realities Fall victim to romantic fables of gallant knights and brave women Who rise up valiantly to answer our nation’s bloody call. Tens of thousands of wounded men and women have known
Death and suffering first hand: We do them little or no service To medal them, then pat their heads, and shove them aside, An uncomfortable memory of our good warriors’ mission, Who never quit or left a fallen comrade or even asked us why. Resolved, That a General be appointed to command all the continental forces,
raised, or to be raised, for the defense of American liberty. Lisa Jain Thompson  Copyright © Lisa Jain Thompson 1995-2008. Further distribution of this newsletter in its entirety is authorized. Email your letters and postcards or visit her contact page at the Starpoet website |
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