| Starpoet Newsletter Vol. IX, No. XXIX |
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| Written by Lisa Jain Thompson | |
| Sunday, 20 July 2008 | |
 The StarPoet Newsletter
Vol. IX, No. XXIX Midsummer slips past
Moving towards the fall equinox One after another
The months slip by And we alone remain
Watching the sunrise Lisa Jain Thompson c. 2008 C. E.
  Once in khaki suits,
Ah, gee we looked swell Full of that yankee doodle dee dum! Half a million boots went sloggin' through hell And I was the kid with the drum! -- Yip Gorney, Jay Harburg
Brother, Can You Spare A Dime? 1932 payback is hell
After Max
My final wish, if they find me,
Is take them out; If hell and all of heaven Should stand in your way, Take them out. They will have no claim to mercy,
No lawyers rationalization or pretense, If and when they come for me; The rules need no longer apply, The battle is ours to win or lose. Once dead,
I want them all to join me, Slowly, publicly, One by bloody one, Torn and shattered, Until they vanish from the book of days
And the fabric of the universe, Now and evermore, And then, and only then, I set you free from our vows. Lisa Jain Thompson
July 2008 just another summer weekend
East Coast Weekend Blues
At twenty miles an hour,
The storm is still hours away, Drifting east and south, Pushing thunderstorms towards D. C. Gusts of forty, threats of violence,
The evening’s passing will be int’resting, The barbeque will get started early So we’ll watch the fireworks well fed. If the power don’t go,
And the trees don’t break, Tomorrow we’ll be workin’ To pay for Sunday’s steaks. Lisa Jain Thompson
July 2008 They used to tell me
I was building a dream. And so I followed the mob When there was earth to plow Or guns to bear I was always there Right on the job. -- Yip Gorney, Jay Harburg
Brother, Can You Spare A Dime? 1932 a memory, a fable, fact or fiction?
The names have not been changed To protect the innocent.  Hands on Your Collar, Whispers in Your Ear
Skip
I can see him in my eye
Coming down on me. Sometimes he is a young Eastwood,
Sometimes a wandering Masai; He’s hardly ever Abraham Lincoln And never, ever, George W. Bush. Looking back, I wish Skip had taken me
Back in school in I still remember the feel Of his deep chocolate skin And the scent of his flesh close to mine. He should have been my first
And, I’m certain, if I had asked – If he had known – We would have worked something out That would have pleased us both Without endangering our friendship. As it is, time passed
Without a proper chance To ever share our young bodies And see how much we could love Or how long. Lisa Jain Thompson
July 2008 John
John and I,
Having met in Grade One, Were barely legal and very drunk When we left his brother’s open bar wedding. John drove and I sat beside him, Riding shotgun, watching for cops And any security fences that might suddenly Jump in the way of his careful driving. I found myself fighting my desire To slide across the car seat close to him, To close my eyes, my head on his shoulder As if my body were somehow transformed Thirty years before the sea change Without need of a surgeon’s skills or explanation. I think I told him where wish was driving me, My drunk led need to become myself, But I may have whispered, He may have pretended not to hear (Our Catholic bonds still held us firm). -- Anyway, what would Skip have said If he had learned that John was first? Lisa Jain Thompson
July 2008 They used to tell me
I was building a dream With peace and glory ahead. Why should I be standing in line Just waiting for bread? -- Yip Gorney, Jay Harburg
Brother, Can You Spare A Dime? 1932 the poet's game
Key and Electron
I’ve read Shakespeare’s sonnets and found
Some of them quite brilliant, of course, But most are only quite workmanlike, Done for money and favor, set and rote. Will didn’t have the luxury of an academic pension
To carefully consider how best to curry favor; He wrote to put food on his table and clothes on his back And, if he were lucky, still have some for family and old age. As not everything a poet writes is worth the ink and paper,
I am certain Will would have been even more proliferate If he only had had access to word processing and the internet, All of which would now be digitally authenticated. Lisa Jain Thompson
July 2008 Once I built a railroad
I made it run Made it race against time. Once I built a railroad Now it's done Brother, can you spare a dime? -- Yip Gorney, Jay Harburg
Brother, Can You Spare A Dime? 1932 time bent in upon itself
Book of the New Sun: Labyrinth
My older brother is dead,
Gone before he had a chance to know me. How might I have been different
If I had not been treated as first born, Or, at the very least, Version 1.1? Who might I have been
With an older brother to protect me? How may I be born
Without my parents wanting a son? Lisa Jain Thompson
July 2008 Once I built a tower up to the sun
Brick and rivet and lime. Once I built a tower, Now it's done. Brother, can you spare a dime? -- Yip Gorney, Jay Harburg
Brother, Can You Spare A Dime? 1932 back when
Ribbon
My neighbor drove a bread truck,
My neighbor sold insurance, My neighbor was a milkman When I was five, or six, or seven. My neighbor was a teacher,
My neighbor worked at home, My neighbor raised a family In the My neighbor marched off to war again,
My neighbor came marching home, My neighbor wore shiny bright lipstick Beneath an endless skyway. Lisa Jain Thompson
July 2008 Woody
This Land Is Your Land
by Woody Guthrie
This land is your land, this land is my land
From This land was made for you and me As I was walking a ribbon of highway
I saw above me an endless skyway I saw below me a I've roamed and rambled and I've followed my footsteps
To the sparkling sands of her diamond deserts And all around me a voice was sounding This land was made for you and me The sun comes shining as I was strolling
The wheat fields waving and the dust clouds rolling The fog was lifting a voice come chanting This land was made for you and me As I was walkin' - I saw a sign there
And that sign said - no tress passin' But on the other side .... it didn't say nothin! Now that side was made for you and me! In the squares of the city - In the shadow of the steeple
Near the relief office - I see my people And some are grumblin' and some are wonderin' If this land's still made for you and me. This land is your land, this land is my land
From This land was made for you and me  fading out gently
Poets Without Focus Groups
I use words as well as Barack Obama,
But I do not run for President; My ethnic heritage is equally stirred, But I do not run for President. My patriotic credentials are still impeccable,
But I do not run for President; And my age is growing equally rushmoric, But I do not run for President. I owe nothing at all to my constituents,
I have made no promises to break; I’m not left, nor right, nor even the middle, I’m only a common citizen Who dislikes the taste of modern politics
And would not run for President. Lisa Jain Thompson
July 2008   © 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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