| Starpoet Newsletter Vol. VII, No. XXXII |
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| Written by Lisa Jain Thompson | |
| Sunday, 06 August 2006 | |
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The Starpoet Newsletter Vol VII, No. XXXII around us
men scurry the war continues generals posture around tables suggesting Pendragon or
Agamemnon at night we retreat
to our fortress
where we take turns playing Helen. Lisa Jain Thompson c. 2006 C.E.
 __/\/\/\/\__
^^\/\/\/\/^^ <><><><><> pages slip from the calendar, birthday's come and go, the election draws near: life goes on
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^^\/\/\/\/^^ the weather
Capitol August
The air lacks sufficient coolant
To deal with the August heat; The days are angry, the nights closely warm, The dog only reluctantly ventures outside To do what nature demands. The Washingtonian summer in all its glory,
Driving the congress out of town Only to replace them tenfold By hordes of loud, vacationing tourists: One clogs our democracy and wears
Thousand dollar suits and ill fitting toupees; The other, our trains and highways, And plaids with stripes or flowered shirts. Not much to chose from
In either weather Or our temporary visitors. Lisa Jain Thompson
August 2006 __/\/\/\/\__
^^\/\/\/\/^^ the war
The New Aquinas
Smart bombs,
In their egotistical precision,
Kill more civilians Than boots on the ground; The Theory of Us and Them, Compounded with a philosophy Of Good and Evil, Allows commanders, Presidents, and prime ministers, A certain moral certitude That the rest of the world may lack. If the dead were not guilty Culpability resides not with the execution But the failure of our enemies to evacuate.
Lisa Jain Thompson __/\/\/\/\__
^^\/\/\/\/^^ connecting
A Natural Disaster
My sanity is a recent addition,
A combination of hormones And correcting my birth condition -- A knife here, a stitch there, A change of gender on the legal certificates. I dealt with what I got,
Devised strategies that allowed me
To walk through life With my deficiencies little noticed. I coped, as they say, And facilitated my continued existence The best I could. But now, looking back, and knowing what was
Was all the world could provide, I wonder who I could have been, Where I would be, And if I would risk the poet inside me. Lisa Jain Thompson
August 2006 __/\/\/\/\__
^^\/\/\/\/^^ Mel
Employing Jews is not a sign that you are not antisemitic.
An antisemite might well employ Jews because they are, like, smart and creative, which would be good for your business, despite their being cheap, petty unrepentant Christ-killers. -- Gene Weingarten
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^^\/\/\/\/^^ the weather again
Note from My Mother
The heat from Minneapolis
Will hit us by tomorrow; Today is already a contest Between constant, spring water hydration And the dampness of my dress; Tomorrow will required shorts and cami
To deal with the weather And a clever explanation for my boss. Lisa Jain Thompson
August 2006 __/\/\/\/\__
^^\/\/\/\/^^ on the the people I upset
In This Corner and Still
A Russian and a German,
An Asian and American, They all try to spoof me And they all end just the same. There’s a crossdresser and transvestite,
A one world gender blender girl, And they all try to hack me And they all end just the same. There are hundred percent lesbians,
Southern Baptists out crusading, They all want to dismiss me And they all end just the same.
There’s a white one and a black one,
A rich one and a poor one, And they all try to attack me And they all end just the same. There are radicals and conservatives,
Democrats and Republicans, They all get so very angry When they can’t blow me away. Lisa Jain Thompson
August 2006 __/\/\/\/\__
^^\/\/\/\/^^ And Your Point Is ... ?
Q: What do you call a Sicilian man in the cockpit of an airplane?
A: Uncle Vito. Q: What do you call an Asian man in the cockpit of an airplane?
A: Lee. Q: What do you call an Arab man in the cockpit of an airplane?
A: Yuusuf or Muhammad. Q: What do you call a black man in the cockpit of an airplane?
A: A pilot, you fucking racist. -- LJT
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^^\/\/\/\/^^ war prayer
The Grunt's Prayer
Oh Lord,
The Generals have admitted That our plan is off plan, They have no conplan in sight; We ask You, in Your mercy, To send wisdom to the Powers That Be, Or, failing that, if You prefer, Smote them severely and end this misery. Amen. Shalom. Amen. Lisa Jain Thompson
August 2006 __/\/\/\/\__
^^\/\/\/\/^^ the smutty, post-op parts
Of Blood and Crystal
In my enthusiasm,
I bleed; In my attempt to maintain A proper six to seven inches, I bleed, As unlikely as it is I will ever Have someone that large Inside me; Still I bleed, hurting inside
As the crystal slips Between my lips To thrust deeply within. Some days,
My breasts are tender -- Hormone fluctuations And water retention -- The nipples erect,
Sensitive to touch, As the medical evidence Stretches further My yawning gulf Even as my moans bleed out From my swollen lips. Lisa Jain Thompson
August 2006 __/\/\/\/\__
^^\/\/\/\/^^ History Lesson
ROME, August, 2006 C.E. -- Jewish shops across Rome were vandalized and defaced with swastikas in an apparent neo-fascist attack linked to fighting in the Middle East, officials said, while Pope Benedict XVI issued an impassioned call from Vatican City for an immediate cease-fire in the Middle East, saying that "nothing can justify the spilling of innocent blood."
ROME, 1933 C.E. -- Eugenio Pacelli, Pope Pius XII, and Adolph Hitler, German Fuhrer, sign the Reich Concordat imposing silence on the German Catholic Church's opposition to Hitler's National Socialism party's anti-semitism. All future complaints against the Nazis would be channeled through the Papacy. There were none.
ROME, 19 C.E. -- Emperor Tiberius expels the Jews from the City of Rome. __/\/\/\/\__
^^\/\/\/\/^^ war again
Two Plus Two
We will support you in your effort
To build a transitional government Another day,
Another hundred collateral damages, Israel, Lebanon, Afghanistan, Any of a number of African nations, India, Bosnia, and Pakistan, Any large city on the streets of any nation. Civil wars, tribal wars,
Cold wars and holy wars Wars of aggression, counter insurgencies, Rebellions, incursions, and liberating revolutions:
A war by any other name is still a war, Destruction pervasive, home and family, Death commonplace, woman and child. The battle rages, combat ensues,
The brave soldiers pursues the enemy; Strategic bombing, unconventional warfare, Smart bombs, pilotless drones, and gunfire;
Clashes, conflicts over contested land,
Boundary disputes, ancient heritages, Confrontational deities behind brightly colored flags Provide cover for blood feuds and vendettas; Conspicuous gallantry, intrepid risk,
Above and beyond the call of duty, Lays waste the countryside; Civilians, children, unmedalled casualties Concomitant with victorious success. The past is dead, the future unimaginable,
Victory, peace, fireworks and parades: Time to bury our heroes And remember. Lisa Jain Thompson
August 2006 __/\/\/\/\__
^^\/\/\/\/^^ More Weingarten
Washington, D.C.: Gene, when I was 16 years old I threw a party while my mom was out of town. Drank a bottle of Bacardi and filled it back up with water, planning on replacing it through an older friend later that week. Of course, Mom comes home and has her own friends over, and proceeds to start mixing rum and coke... I had to tell her, in a kitchen full of her friends, that it wasn't rum but water. I'll never forget the look on her face -- steely disappointment.
Only time I ever broke her trust and she even let me off grounding early because she saw I was punishing myself more than she was. Taught me that it is far, far worse to disappoint your parents than anger them.
However, I totally got her back when she had to call me out of school the following year to take a drug test for her. She had broken her foot at work a few days prior, and had put off going to see a doctor. One night, in terrible pain, she smoked one of my older, off-to-college sister's old joints. When she went to the doctor, she realized that in order to file for Workman's Comp she'd have to submit to a drug test.
Knowing that I, her 17-year-old daughter, was a straight-and-narrow kid at that point, she had me leave school and bring her my pee in a tupperware container. I scammed a drug test for my mom. To this day, I have not let her forget it.
Gene Weingarten: THIS IS A GREAT STORY!!! __/\/\/\/\__
^^\/\/\/\/^^ big finish: the war continues
Little Bodies
Seven bodies lay covered
With bed sheets, blankets, and prayer mats. A thin small arm stretches out from the sheets -- a little girl, then another Dressed in a black blouse, A colored scarf still around her head; A man screams, carries the body of his daughter. Rumor has killed forty people, half children,
Who were in a house when the bob dropped, An hour later, Red Cross works, Pull the swollen bodies of the girls and five adults: Better seven than forty. A little boy on an orange stretcher
-- black shorts and white tee With a colored motorcycle on the chest -- Arms stretched over his head, Face bruised, lips swollen, He could be asleep, not dead. Rescuers and two more boys:
One eight, arms close to his chest, Nose and mouth covered with blood; The older, 10, dirt and debris Hanging from his lips -- Placed on a blanket, Younger boy resting on the older, Piled with other corpses In the back of an ambulance. Two more small dead boys,
Medics running out of stretchers Place children, one on top the other, One slightly chubby in red tee and shorts, One about six with blood and earth, Obvious not sleeping. Still another pulled from the ruble, Another followed, and then another. You could grow crazy counting little bodies. Garbage bags filled with clothes,
Milk bottles, plastic toys, A baby carriage but no baby: Little body after little body Coming out of the ground; A toddler more covered with mud Than with a child’s skin. Faces of the rescue workers say everything. Abbas Sha'ito, weeping,
A 12-year-old boy in bright orange, Sitting on the road south of Tyre: Blood covered face, shirt bomb torn, -- Exploded minivan now in ruins -- Mother, brother, and aunt all injured, Moaning a few feet away, Headless corpse of uncle, body of grandmother Still inside the van. Don’t leave me, mother. Don’t go, don’t go. Don’t cry, don’t cry, everything will be ok.
Samah Shihab, seven years,
with beautiful long eyelashes, In need of skin graphs on both her legs, Never will walk again. Don’t cry, don’t cry, everything will be ok.
Ali, who is nine, hiding in his basement,
War raging for twenty nights above Walks on chunks of rubble and concrete, Clutching a bottle of water, recognizing nothing. Don’t cry, don’t cry, everything will be ok.
A large deep crater on the side of the town square,
Half bombed gas station on the other, Burnt out cars flipped on their sides, Along the road, a father Pushing a wheel barrel with four children. Don’t cry, don’t cry, everything will be ok.
Pregnant woman, scarred by war,
Husbandless along the roadside: If you don’t come and take me home, I will put myself under these bombs And kill myself and my baby. I can’t seem to stop the crying.
Life goes on.
Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.
Lisa Jain Thompson
August 2006 __/\/\/\/\__
^^\/\/\/\/^^ PEACE
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^^\/\/\/\/^^ Send your letters and postcards to This e-mail address is being protected from spam bots, you need JavaScript enabled to view it © Lisa Jain Thompson 2006
Further distribution of this newsletter in its entirety is authorized.
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