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| StarPoet Newsletter Vol. IX, No. XXXVII |
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| Written by Lisa Jain Thompson | |
| Sunday, 14 September 2008 | |
 The StarPoet Newsletter
Vol. IX, No. XXXVII Aftermath with Fries
Gone again, gone again,
Galveston is gone again, Wind, rain, raging hurricane Straight on up the channel Swallowing Galveston whole. Come morning,
A Hooters survives, Nicely framed on camera By surf and debris, And undeniable testament To God's sense of humor. Lisa Jain Thompson
September 2008   gallstones make an extremely effective intrapersonal weapon
walking
The Grackle Black purple flecked grackle
Face down lying in the grass, Somewhere between a bird And decaying moist flesh; Our blackly flecked purple grackle
Flies no more through the heavens, By earth and raptor, by cat and rat, His soul returns once more to starstuff; As will we, despite our careful plans,
Our daily offerings, our best intentions, Inevitably, molecule by molecule, as will we Until the universe itself lies darkly frozen, A dimensionless, unfathomable flat line Unhooked from time and every possibility but one. Lisa Jain Thompson
September 2008 it's been a long week
Approaching the Memorial
Approaching the dedication,
Faces from the past Begin to appear on television screen: The lady from the budget office -- We'd tell each other jokes -- The Navy guy who'd say Good Morning in the rings As we passed on our way Towards our separate corridors. All gone in the fireball Curling over the Pentagon, All gone in that last moment, Those handful seconds I watched From my third floor window, Still alive when the loop Begins inside my head. Lisa Jain Thompson
September 2008 If bile is your enemy,
Percoset can be a good friend. blood suckers & friends
Labs
Take warm blood from my left arm,
Dark urine from down below, Pictures of both my lungs, Temperature from my mouth; Poke, prod, squeeze, listen, Breathe out, breathe in, relax; This will cure me unless it kills me By boring me to death. Lisa Jain Thompson
September 2008 all on that day
Run
Run
The stars will never hide me The earth will never hold My fleeing soul Run
I am here Run I am gone Run
Lisa Jain Thompson
September 2008  Galveston 1900
The story of Galveston's tragedy can never be written as it is. Since the cataclysm of Saturday night a force of faithful men have been struggling to convey to humanity from time to time some of the particulars of the tragedy.
They have told much, but it was impossible for them to tell all, and the world, at best, can never know all, for the thousands of tragedies written by the storm must forever remain mysteries until eternity shall reveal all.
Perhaps it were best that it should be so, for the horror and anguish of those fatal and fateful hours were mercifully lost in the screaming tempest and buried forever beneath the raging billows.
Only God knows, and for the rest let it remain forever in the boundlessness of His omniscience.
But in the realm of finity, the weak and staggered senses of mankind may gather fragments of the disaster, and may strive with inevitable incompleteness to convey the merest impression of the saddest story which ever engaged the efforts of a reporter.
- As published Sept. 13, 1900, in The Galveston Daily News
counting years
Re-Emergence
I have a seat at the dedication
Of the Pentagon 9-11 Memorial Along with the 184 benches and reflecting pools That mark the Pentagon dead
-- Fifty-nine of my co-workers, A dozen of my friends are among them. We were a legitimate military target,
The 125 civilians on the plane were not; On Thursday we will be together for the first time Since that clear bright morning shook the world
And our aging, decaying building stood and let us live To remember those caught up in the jet fuel fireball. Lisa Jain Thompson
September 2008 poets and the night
Jaunte, No Jaunte
The night belongs to poets,
Foolish riders of star and comet, Up and out past the galactic edge, Spindizzy trackers of the carnivŕle; Herders of humanity’s deepest unspoken,
Keepers of the spark when all else is lost; Everyone and no one When the world becomes all, Go pilot jumpers between the worlds.
Lisa Jain Thompson
September 2008 No book has yet been written in praise of a woman
Who let her husband and children starve or suffer While she invented even the most useful things, Or wrote books, or expressed herself in art, Or evolved philosophic systems.
-- Anna Garlin Spencer
poet as scientist
The Hunt for the Vorga
Somwhere an answer exists,
Maybe not today, Maybe not tomorrow, But soon, eventually, One of us will know, Then all of us will know And the old gods will die, Replaced by the Great Whatever Until the moment The answers change once again. Lisa Jain Thompson
September 2008 in the end ...
9:37
A children’s choir for all the children
Who sent us drawings in support, Flag at half mast, floating in the wind, Garrison hanging over the restored wall, Bagpipe mixing with trumpet and tears, Voices soaring above us all. Remember.
Lisa Jain Thompson
September 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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| Last Updated ( Sunday, 14 September 2008 ) |
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