| Starpoet Newsletter Vol. IX, No. XIII |
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| News - Newsletters | |
| Written by Lisa Jain Thompson | |
| Sunday, 30 March 2008 | |
 The Starpoet Newsletter
Volume IX, No. XIII In spring an old woman's hearts
Turns to thoughts of streamside walks, Moonlit nights and long blood rushed kisses The child, now grown, Who once was a handful of cells in her body, The young man, who she first surrendered, Dead in some distant war of unknown reason. Waking with your body beside me Vanquishes morning's ache of ages
And brings joy to my soul afire. Lisa Jain Thompson c. 2008 C. E.
 The Poet Starpoet
 another week endlessly in war and election.
but all is not lost, baseball starts anew this Sunday when the National's open their new stadium.
In the news, nightly
Nothing More Than Rumor
Let's party like it's 1929,
Looking forward to a wave of bank runs After double you is safely back in Crawford. Lets all withdraw our money like it was 1930 So we can see how good a president he's been. Let's play like we were players
And buy asset backed commercial paper Using special investment vehicles Bought with collateralize obligations Created from and by securitized mortgages. This is no way to run an economy, of course,
But W has never known a friend with the slightest fault Or a depression that could not best be cured With a little alcohol, some cocaine, and his daddy's money. Lisa Jain Thompson
March 2008 something more optimistics, I think
Saturnidae
One summer when I was early teen,
I hatched a Luna Moth From a cocoon I found, -- The type that hides thick and large, In piles of leaves and other ground cover. When the time had passed
(And it seems ages to me), The moth began to emerge And I took her outside To dry here wings in the sun, Guarding her safely from predators. After an hour or so,
The wings stretched five inches And the moth was ready to fly; Testing aerodynamics, she took to the air Where ten feet up, she was joined by a mate And I watched them circle each other Until they were out of my sight. I haven’t seen a live Luna since
But I remember the sunny day I realized The universe works in mysterious ways And had my first brief glimmer of its magic.  Lisa Jain Thompson
March 2008 A wedding is just like a funeral
except you get to smell your own flowers. -- Grace Hansen
government work
Network Communication
Air gaps and sneaker nets,
Secure guards between classifications, Multi-level solutions to wetware conclusions And fat fingered friendly unwanted intrusions. All the carefully erected corporate defenses
Against headspace drifters and red force hackers That stop only the amateurs and the truly, barely inept But hardly ever a talented, highly motivated curiosity. Lisa Jain Thompson
March 2008 me and the gods and a dog named cedar
Too Many Gods
There are too many gods for me to worry
About meeting the demands of any one particular; All of their bona fides seem equally valid, So I think I'll lay back and leave them to fight it out Then talk to the one who is left standing at the end -- That seems as rational as any of the methods Proposed in their books or by their pulpit preachers. I always have found a cup of tea or well-brewed coffee,
Perhaps with a heated sweet roll or croissant, Facilitates even the most dreary of conversations, So I do believe my first question to any god that survived Would be How many sugars do you take in your latte? Ma’am or Sir, as the case may be. Lisa Jain Thompson
March 2008 Audiences all applaud but none of them
Will come home with you And look at your back someplace To see if you have a pimple. -- Gilda Radner
Another President, Another War
Gideon Wells The President had been carried across the street from the theater to the house of a Mr. Peterson. We entered by ascending a flight of steps above the basement and passing through a long hall to the rear, where the President lay extended on a bed, breathing heavily. Several surgeons were present, at least six, I should think more. Among them I was glad to observe Doctor Hall, who, however, soon left. I inquired of Doctor Hall, as I entered, the true condition of the President. He replied the President was dead to all intents, although he might live three hours or perhaps longer.
The giant sufferer lay extended diagonally across the bed, which was not long enough for him. He had been stripped of his clothes. His large arms, which were occasionally exposed, were of a size which one would scarce have expected from his spare appearance. His slow, full respiration lifted the clothes with each breath that he took. His features were calm and striking. I had never seen them appear to better advantage than for the first hour, perhaps, that I was there. After that his right eye began to swell and that part of his face became discolored.
Senator Sumner was there, I think, when I entered. If not he came in soon after, as did Speaker Colfax, Mr. Secretary McCulloch, and the other members of the cabinet, with the exception of Mr. Seward. A double guard was stationed at the door and on the sidewalk to repress the crowd, which was of course highly excited and anxious. The room was small and overcrowded. The surgeons and members of the cabinet were as many as should have been in the room, but there were many more, and the hall and other rooms in the front or main house were full. One of these rooms was occupied by Mrs. Lincoln and her attendants, with Miss Harris. Mrs. Dixon and Mrs. Kinney came to her about twelve o'clock. About once an hour Mrs. Lincoln would repair to the bedside of her dying husband and with lamentation and tears remain until overcome by emotion.
A door which opened upon a porch or gallery, and also the windows, were kept open for fresh air. The night was dark, cloudy, and damp, and about six it began to rain. I remained in the room until then without sitting or leaving it, when, there being a vacant chair which some one left at the foot of the bed, I occupied it for nearly two hours, listening to the heavy groans and witnessing the wasting life of the good and great man who was expiring before me.
About 6 A.M. I experienced a feeling of faintness, and for the first time after entering the room a little past eleven I left it and the house and took a short walk in the open air. It was a dark and gloomy morning, and rain set in before I returned to the house some fifteen minutes later. Large groups of people were gathered every few rods, all anxious and solicitous. Some one or more from each group stepped forward as I passed to inquire into the condition of the President and to ask if there was no hope. Intense grief was on every countenance when I replied that the President could survive but a short time. The colored people especially-and there were at this time more of them, perhaps, than of whites - were overwhelmed with grief.
A little before seven I went into the room where the dying President was rapidly drawing near the closing moments. His wife soon after made her last visit to him. The death struggle had begun. Robert, his son, stood with several others at the head of the bed. He, bore himself well but on two occasions gave way to overpowering grief and sobbed aloud, turning his head and leaning on the shoulder of Senator Sumner. The respiration of the President became suspended at intervals and at last entirely ceased at twenty-two minutes past seven.
I have often wondered what would have happened to me
If I had needed a size thirty-eight bra Instead of a modest thirty-four. -- Evelyn Keyes,
acclaimed as Scarlet O'Hara's sister in Gone With The Wind romance
Twelve Lines of Verse Plus One
Fridays and Saturdays and always
How I shall love you? In action and verse I shall make you sure Every breath I take is yours. If life should take its normal turns,
With twists and challenges to our love, The overriding mission, the prime objective Is to end each day beside you And wake each morning with you beside me,
Gracefully wrapped, arms and limbs, To greet the bright sun and lovingly carry on Until time and space lose all meaning And become no more. Lisa Jain Thompson
March 2008 When I get married, I want a regular husband.
I don't want a soul mate,
Because eventually husbands and wives Start to hate each other. And when you think about it,
A husband is only "until death do you part." But a soul mate
Is going to harass you for all eternity. -- Livia Squires
 inside the corridors
From the Benches, Black with People
A cup of coffee,
A loaded Glock, An automatic weapon Hanging from their neck -- Just another Monday morning In the Pentagon. A drift of Spanish,
The smell of shower, A hurry of people Rushing through the corridor -- Just another sunrise service In the Pentagon. Somewhere in this favored land
I'm sure the sun is shining; The band is playing somewhere, Guaranteed to raise a smile; Hearts are light, men are laughing, Children twist and shout: But not here inside the Pentagon, Where there's a war still going on. Lisa Jain Thompson perspective
Body Count
Slow drip war, thousand by thousand, A Texas brew of Jesus and alcohol Fueled by Lone Star and a convert's sureness, A self indulgent binge of blind faith and bravado, Poisoning the well of democracy. American deaths
-- excluding wounded, missing, Service civilians, and contractors Revolutionary War (1775-1783) 4,435
War of 1812 (1812-1815) 2,260 Mexican War (1846-1848) 13,283 Civil War (1861-1865) 623,026 Spanish-American War (1898) 2,446 World War I (1917-1918) 116,708 World War II (1941-1945) 407,316 Korean War (1950-1953) 36,914 Vietnam War (1964-1973) 58,169 Persian Gulf War (1991) 269 Persian Gulf War II (ongoing) 4,000 and counting
Russia WW II (no exclusions) 23,100,000
Twenty-three million, one hundred thousand, men, women, and children.
All Russians.
Twenty-three million.
Lisa Jain Thompson
March 2008 the field of fire
An Instant Turned Slight Red
Bodies along the road to Leningrad,
Theirs, ours, extending from empire to empire, Century to century, the people dying, Good soldiers and patriots all, For the desires of their leaders, their priests, Their politicians, the families of those Who have died before them for gods and countries Who fade into footnote and academic exegesis. All the lonely people, left standing by the wayside
As tanks and artillery have made rubble of their homes, Watching the changing uniforms of the troops in town square, Learning new anthems for modern times, New words to ancient rubrics that leave those in power, Fighting to stay in power and keep us all in our places, Offering up our bodies to the great weal of flag and nation, Willing partners with Premier, President, and King. Bodies along the lane at Antietam Creek,
The pandemonium of cannonade grown silent with the years, The air, once filled with shrieking and bursting shell, Is ripe with tourists and circling raptors Chasing the rattle and volley of distant musketry, missing The soft sound of footsteps moving forward in dogged obedience Rising as one against the fire, bloody and charred, Past a hollow where the battered wounded lay. Lisa Jain Thompson
March 2008   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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| Last Updated ( Saturday, 29 March 2008 ) | |
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