Lisa Jain Thompson c. 2008 C. E.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

poems (mostly short), whatever, and a link to short story that anyone under the age of 18 does not have my permission to read.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

-- Lotus Weinstock

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 More on spring

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Between the time you ask if I want coffee
And then, the number of sugars I prefer,
I shall have visited distant galaxies
And walked beside Shakespeare on the Avon.

 

Lisa Jain Thompson
April 2008

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

-- Carol K. Howell 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Show me your demons
And I’ll raise you two of mine,
Dark and gnarlsome, I send them out
To do my muse’s bidding
Full of clever song and wit.

 

I have bedded whatever
Fools you have thrice over,
Lyric falls madly from my pen
In great starry clusters
That nothing like the sun persist.

 

 

 

Lisa Jain Thompson
April 2008

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Small swallow hawk
Following the beltway,
Below the clouds,
Before the sunrise,
Searching for fresh road kill
Or new spring mammals
Still too curious to care about
An effective means of air defense.

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

What follows is a link to revised short story, a bit to tease, then a link to what some may think of as pornography.

I do, but pornography artfully done and executed with a purpose.

No one under 18 should attempt to follow the link as they will discover sex, fall into a promiscuous life, and go directly to Hell after reading it.  Or so I'm told.

Anyway:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

-- Barbara Grizzuti Harrison

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Cross portfolio data framework implementation,
Metrics, PowerPoint, and overreaching architecture,
The battleplan continuum meets geek netcentricity:
We have found the authoritative data source
And the data is us, all that messy human wetware
That mars the perfection of the program.

 

 

 

Lisa Jain Thompson
April 2008

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lisa Jain Thompson
April 2008

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

-- Loni Love

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

a brief bit of starpoet herself

 

 

 

 

 

The great ships drift in space,
Silent except for imagination,
Silver and white, a touch of black,
Glittering in the darkness
Between the stars,
Ages from planetfall and hope.

 

 

Lisa Jain Thompson
April 2008 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ellen DeGeneres 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

                  Sacramento Valley

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I was born in the bottom land
Between the Sacramento and the American;
I am of the valley and from the valley,
A childhood filled with open spaces and empty highways
That filled my summers with adventures
That never could make it to the foothills
No matter how hard I forced my legs around the pedals,
No matter how close the Sierras might look
To my curious mind and body.  Each trip ended
With a Royal Crown cola and some sort of sci-fi paperback,
And me, in my room, propped up on my bed,
Waiting for my mother to finish cooking dinner
For my brother and me. In my mind, where the poet lives,
The summer never ends, I am always young, my parents are alive,
And the start of the school year is still several months away.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The music is frozen, the singer ages,
Moving through time and space
While the music remains tied to specific places,
Where we were, who we were with,
The rush of excitement when we were first kissed;
But now, decades later, all we share with the singer
Is our memories, and that is seldom enough
Unless we are dead already.

 

 

Play the music, play it loud,
Sing as if your life hung on a thread
That would break if you grew silent;
If you can’t do that,
You might as well shut the door,
Your music isn't any good for anything.

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

-- Clare Whiting

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This moment, this brief second
That you read this
May be the only time
That you and I connect:
I offer you glimpses you may reject.

 

 

If that is your will
(As certainly it is not mine)
Be off now before you waste
Any more synaptical time
On something you will find imperfect.

 

 

This is not some urban drive by
That catches you between tokes
While you sit in some shade grown coffee shop
Or dimly lit saloon: my memory grows longer
Even as the world does not.

 

 

 

Lisa Jain Thompson
April 2008