Starpoet by Lisa Jain Thompson
The StarPoet Newsletter
Vol. X, No. IV (January 25, 2009 C.E.)
StarPoet Newsletter by Lisa Jain Thompson
We are getting the hang of this new format.  There are still more things to come but, at the moment, we are farther ahead of the powercurve than President Obama.  We do have an advantage, however: we don't have to deal with Joe Biden or the U. S. Senate.  Various new poems for the new year.
We woke to the sound of birds
Waking in their nests
Squirrels chattering loudly
As the sun slowly rose

I was nestled beside you
Warm and half asleep
Until the dog slipped in
And made the morning
A puppy pile

— Lisa Jain Thompson c. 2009 CE
Treat everyone the same until you find out they are an idiot.
- Lucy Lawless, actress and warrior princess
a little morning music
No Kick

In the distance, the ferris wheel
Rises and falls atop the midway,
Brightly spinning below the dark sky,
Its lights high above the carnival glow.

On centre stage, musicians gather,
Tuning guitars and checking the sound,
Soon the drums will join the bass line
And a singer do his best to be Elvis.

Meanwhile back on the street corner,
A saxaphone begins to wail,
Someone's singing Chuck Berry,
Clapping hands to keep the backbeat.

Five guys with striped shirts and surfboards
Are gazing at the waves,
And four English boys in Germany
Are working at their trade.

There never was an iTune
That could turn the crowd on the street,
Lift them up and make them dance
And gather all the world as one.

— Lisa Jain Thompson (January 2009)
Stay calm and aggressive.
-- Gabrielle Reece, volleyball pro.
the trouble with holding presidential elections every four years is that it will be four years until we can change our collective mind.
Our Pace Took Sudden Awe

When we pick the wrong American Idol,
We always chose another one next year;
If we vote for a bad President,
We are stuck for four possibly eight.

This year Idol and Barack Obama
Start their journeys a week apart,
Neither or both, or only one will succeed,
Merely winning insures no one sure success.

Though a flash in a pan is far more common
Than Chateaubriand or deep fried duck webs,
We still have high hopes, if lowered expectations,
But no alternate universe in which to live...

— Lisa Jain Thompson (January 2009)
a prayer for the unbelievers
At Bedtime

If I should die before I wake,
I'd really be pissed off at God;
If he can't take me face to face,
He's not much of a god at all.

— Lisa Jain Thompson (January 2009)
If Karl Marx said history repeats itself, first as tragedy, then as farce,
George W. Bush managed to do both simultaneously.
the runway model theory of first ladies
The Red Carpet Treatment

I saw my first first lady wannabe today
Dressed like Michelle Obama
In geometric bright red and black;
I imagine we will be assaulted
With a millian fashionistas
As long as Barack does well
Or doesn't act too white.

Still, it is refreshing
For a woman of color to be the focus
of so much cultural attention
Without having ever been
A runway model or a hip hop starlet
showing everything she owns
At a televised awards show.

— Lisa Jain Thompson (January 2009)
Will Obamamania give way to Baracknophobia?
Too many People, Too much US
The Blotter

I've had enough of gossip television
And the private lives of the currently trendy,
Famous for being famously famous
With little else to recommend them
Except the clothes that hang from the bones
That pass for a fashionable woman in the media.

Cleopatra and Helen of Troy,
Clara Bow and Jean Harlow,
Elizabeth Taylor and Marilyn Monroe,
And now, ladies and gentlemen,
The one, the only, the fabulous
Paris Hilton..

— Lisa Jain Thompson (January 2009)
tracing me
Strangers in the Nightland

Oh happy blur that is my youth,
The friends and times now vaguely memoried,
The day long adventures that filled the summer
When a bicycle was my wheels of choice;

The all night grad when high school was finished
And I was dancing to a two bit juke box
In a dark corner of a roucous bowling alley
While Sinatra sangon only for my partner and me;

The years in college where my talent learned discipline
And I learned to distinguish between Maui and Thailand
As Donovan drifted in the darkness behind us and we
Pontificated about Valentine and selective lottery numbers.

The wars are all one in my mind,
Thrown together in a mass of places and names
Of people who are gone, legs that were lost,
And the pain that often lurks just below the surface.

Everything, in the end, is who I am,
The World Wars and Korea of our fathers,
The Cold War and the Nam of mine,
Iraq I and II that still drags on,

All the hurdy-gurdy that plays in the background
As we hurtle from childhood to middle age and the end,
The first time is remembered most always,
The next nixon folds in with the first.

Our neural editor prefers to blunt the knife,
Blurring all in a happy fog of friends and family
That seldom ran as smoothly as we remember,
Or as painlessly as the testimony of we who survive.

— Lisa Jain Thompson (January 2009)
I can't think of anything worse after a night of drinking than waking up next to someone and not being able to remember their name, or how you met, or why they're dead.
-- Laura Kightlinger
everyone is out to sell a buck for twenty.

Everybody has a coin,
The president has a coin,
The general has a coin,
Every two bit organization
Now mints their own coin,
Even despots have a coin
To memorialize their dictatorships;

At least Caesar's coins were worth something,
And ten of Jefferson's shiny nickels
Might still buy a bar of sweet chocolate
If you find a sale going on somewhere.

— Lisa Jain Thompson (January 2009)
one of the necessities
Saturday Illusions

Shelves of hair and beauty products
Extending floor to ceiling;
Styling chairs down two rows,
Each side mirror'd to reflect the other;
Towards the back are the shampoo stations
Washing out hair spray, permanents, and dye;
Across from them the manicurists sit,
Alternating between pedicures and fills,
Various nail polishes and treatments,
And the occasional eyebrow wax in the distant rear.
Most of the chairs are filled with women
Enjoying a day being pampered; the stray male
Sometimes wanders in to have his hair cut
Or pick up his wife -- they never seem
To want to read either Vogue or Glamour
Except for that one aging queen
Out for his afternoon with the girls;
Other than him and a few rare exceptions,
The only guys ever at ease are the gay ones
Who are busy styling our hair.

Written at Illusions in Shirlington Virginia
17 January 2009

— Lisa Jain Thompson (January 2009)
If you eat right and you exercise and you get breast implants, you can look like us.
-- Gena Lee Nolin, Baywatch Babe
the poet's fate
A Proper Revolution

A mid-winter's day in March of Forty-four,
A flash of daggers, a clash of wills,
The desperate spasm of a dying republic,
Too late, too insincere, too little.

Caesar lie dying on the Senate floor,
Bleeding out, giving birth to an empire,
Octavius, well schooled, waits with his army
For the moment that might change the world.

From the ashes, a battlestar rises,
Suckled on the blood of a civil war,
The millennium will fall before her might
And Darwin assume great Caesar's throne.

— Lisa Jain Thompson (January 2009)
a short finish
A Part of Me

A part of me doesn't want to see my children die,
A part of me doesn't want to leave them alone;
I have no idea which one would be worse
But I would rather accept that unknown cross
That see any one of them have to bury me.

— Lisa Jain Thompson (January 2009)
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StarPoet Newsletter by Lisa Jain Thompson
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