| Starpoet Newsletter Vol, IX, No. XIX |
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| News - Newsletters | |
| Written by Lisa Jain Thompson | |
| Saturday, 10 May 2008 | |
 The Starpoet Newsletter IX
Volume IX, No. XIX rain, what else,
the gods grow boring in their choices
stuck on gloomy
when the world wants summer perhaps they too
are depressed by the war
Lisa Jain Thompson c. 2008 C. E.
  saturday in the rain
the war goes on in Iraq and Afghanistan
tens of the thousands are dying in Burma Hezbollah has seized control of Beirut The President is marrying off his daughter in Crawford
I am going for a pedicure
My dog is taking antibiotics for Lyme Disease
Life goes on and on and on
 we're off
Several kids down the road,
I’m not as young as I used to be, My girlish figure, such as it was, Has joined memories of Santa Clause And pastel colored eggs As victims of life’s headstrong passage. Imagining myself at ninety
Becomes easier with each week and month, One hundred twenty still seems quite distant But neither as far or as improbable as it once did When the main goals of my brief existence Were getting a driver’s license and buying alcohol. Another time, another place,
I will fondly be looking back on this, Wishing I were as young as I am today, -- My body as limber, my voice as strong, With years and decades still ahead -- Gazing fore and aft down the timeline. Lisa Jain Thompson
May 2008 of kings, their gods and lovers
The Other One (Head Shot)
Would Henry have come
To my bedroom knocking, Asking for my religion And my body, I would have given him one
-- A king rules over all – But denied him that He wanted most. Lisa Jain Thompson
May 2008 There are no more thorough prudes than
those who have some little secret to hide. -- George Sand
into the world once more
A Rousing Tale of Techno-Geek Rebellion
We should open the gate and go,
Go to the village, have a mug of ale, A chunk of aged And maybe a bowl of roasted chestnuts Still warm from the stove. Or you could leave me here
And I could make you fresh enchiladas Stuffed with pork and onions and aromatic spices, A sliver of Serrano peppers fired over a grill, And have dinner ready when you return. Then again, we could both go to
Have some Afghan, puzzle the men That two gringo women, out alone together. Without male guidance or supervision, Are comfortable with their menu. Lisa Jain Thompson
May 2008 vaguely will
Love Well Knows
Love that is not missed is not love,
Separation that is without pain Gives lie to love’s protestation. I would tear these mountains down
If I thought it would bring us closer, Straighten the track between there and here To connect us with high speed rail. Time plays against us,
Twisting what we both know to be true; Another world, another life, Love would best time, Joining us heart to heart, Winning all. Lisa Jain Thompson
May 2008 It is usually when men are at their most religious
That they behave with the least sense And the greatest cruelty. -- Iika Chase
Meanwhile, in Baghdad by the Bay
A group called the Presidential Memorial Commission of San Francisco has launched a ballot initiative that would rename a city sewage treatment plant the "George W. Bush Sewage Plant."
A petition is being circulated that would put the measure up for a vote in November. If it passes, it will rename the city's Oceanside Treatment Plant for the 43rd president of the
Virginia-born activist and ordained minister John Rinaldi, a co-sponsor of the petition who ran unsuccessfully for mayor last year under his nickname "Chicken John," said the initiative would turn "every toilet in
Rinaldi — flush with pride about the idea — said renaming the plant is "the highest honor available to us."
Organizers have collected around 1,100 of the more than 10,000 signatures needed to get the measure on the ballot in November. And while local Republicans call the effort a waste of time and money, they also say it has a good chance of winning if it gets on the ballot.
All sins are attempts to fill voids.
-- Simone Well
looking back
Smile (14 Lines)
The first day I was a poet,
I was probably six – months that is -- The composer of a lyrical ode to motherhood Constructed from single syllable words Tied to a rhythmic framework As I got in touch with my inner infant And the inherent complications Of the Ich und Du relationship. My style has become more sophisticated
Since then – one would hope – But my poems are no less heartfelt, Even if the emotions find themselves Draped in fine university gowns Instead of wet diapers. Lisa Jain Thompson
May 2008 sneezing and hayfevered, I conquer the world
Wind Chimes
Dead, I am little use to myself
As my atoms scatter to star and planet, Little use to evolution and poetry, My creativity desiccated and vanished, Ripped from me by Life’s dedication to death. Alive, there is a chance
I might still find meaning In the remnants of my existence, The moments of clarity When I am one and not coughing. Lisa Jain Thompson
May 2008 The sense of being well-dressed
Gives a feeling of inward tranquility Which religion is powerless to bestow. -- Miss C. F. Forbes
evolution
Heroes and Villains
Crash, burn, and reboot,
If only we could reset With our knowledge intact And hope not grown cynical. All those wondrous worlds
We could bravely learn, Gilding our limited timeline With mankind’s length and breadth. Strong bodies, stronger minds,
Over and over again Until, free of death, time’s passing Sets us apart from
Lisa Jain Thompson
May 2008 the return of starpoet
Centauri Dreams
I chase bright shiny objects
Across vast wasteland Devoid of grass or treelines; Run the rim of the galactic edge
To gaze up the emptiness Between the stars; Watch time slow until space stops
And light withdraws Behind dark barriers; Across all of this I race
To capture my comet’s brief glory And plunge headlong into the furnace. Lisa Jain Thompson I do not mind if I lose my soul for all eternity.
If the kind of God exists who would damn me For not working out a deal with Him,
Then that is unfortunate. I should not care to spend eternity
In the company of such a person. -- Mary McCarthy
 here at last
Wit’s End
Outside, this body ages,
Knees and elbows complain, Eyes grow baggy and hair grows gray. I am a passenger
On an aging starship Whose inertial-less drive Has begun to drift, Whose endless recycling Shows signs of eventual failure, Whose air has a stale and ancient flavor That bodes not well for lengthy operations. The kernel still runs true and good,
Even as sensors lag and no longer meet Peak performance specifications; I still call a good game, but, alas,
A world class fastball now sometimes Finds me wanting. Lisa Jain Thompson
May 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 ( Sunday, 11 May 2008 ) | |
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