Starpoet by Lisa Jain Thompson
The StarPoet Newsletter
Vol. XIII, No. XIV (April 1, 2012 C.E.)
StarPoet Newsletter by Lisa Jain Thompson
baseball and april fool's.  the weather improves inevitably. good poems all, nary a bench filler among them,  for "When at last I return to the sun's fierce heart ..."

sunlight, pollen and mold
the best of spring
the worst of times
we sneeze
we breathe
we sneeze again

Lisa Jain Thompson c. 2012 C.E. 

i am here, enflued and wheezy, a cough that sounds like i'm down to my last lung.   but baseball starts and easter comes and what else do we have but love.
a rather good start

Making Contact

Making contact with the data,
Observing if it correctly reflects nature,
Sculpting the available information
Into a seemingly conversational poem
That touches the deep hidden core
That exists below the skin we present
To the world:

This is the description of a working poet
From antiquity to some time past tomorrow,
To strip away the glorious words and
Long explanatory phrases we use to
Hide ourselves from our parents and spouses,
Friends and lovers, children and others,
To model our humanity as a unified whole
Rather than a series of discrete
Data points and individual islands,
To breathe life into these simple lines,
Describing the flickering candlelight
Rather than the composition of the wax
Or the temperature of the flame.

— Lisa Jain Thompson (April 2012)

You've got to remember - I'm seventy-three.

-- Ty Cobb on why he would only hit .300 against today's pitchers.

a different view
The Art of Poetry

The art of poetry depends
On deciding what to ignore,
A poem is an approximation
Of what seems to be experience,
Using words that equate approximately
To the meanings we have given them;

No more, no less, no great whoop
Or metaphysical digression,
We are what we are,
You get what you get,
A handful of words,
Verbs, nouns, and adjectives,
Set carefully upon the page
In exact approximation.

Lisa Jain Thompson (April 2012)
the problem with the pots and bones

Beneath the condominiums
And the ritual vent pipes,
The bones of a Jewish family
-- Jesus, Son of Joseph,
Mirian Mara, called Magdalene,
And Judah, Son of Jesus --
Dating to the First Century
Were discovered in a Jerusalem tomb.
Who shall lift us up
If Jonah is inside the whale?

— Lisa Jain Thompson (April 2012)

I don't care if the guy (Jackie Robinson) is yellow or black, or if he has stripes like a god-damn zebra. I'm the manager of this team and I say he plays.

-- Leo Durocher

town crier

Here Comes The End

Here come the end,
Here come the end,
Gather your ammunition
And pick up your guns,
Clean them thru and thru,
Here come the end once again.

Pack up your food,
Your wives and your daughters,
Make ready the emergency generator,
Check on the fuel tank,
Your meds and your bandages,
Here come the end once again.

No jobs, no money,
No freedom or liberty,
Lock all the doors and stand ready.
The republic is doomed,
The end is drawn near,
Here come the government once again.

The government is your friend,
The president's your sire,
The house, your aunts and your uncles,
The Senate's your father,
The court, pope and minister,
Here come the government once again.

Lisa Jain Thompson (April 2012)

(Bob) Feller isn't quite as fast as I was.

-- Walter Johnson

pure starpoet

Quantum Jitters

Current physics cocoons us
Inside the spacetime light barrier,
Straps us to our system
Bound by heaven's breadth
And our own abbreviated lifespan.

A non-zero cosmological constant
Pushes spacetime to expand,
Drawing the galaxies along with it,
Separating us from the remaining universe
Lying permanently just out of vision.

Lisa Jain Thompson (April 2012)
daily life
Friday Night Rain

Dark night, wet grass,
Fire engines and ambulances
Joining police on the interstate;
The air closes in, thick with moisture,
Up at the corner car headlights
Enter onto the block, pass a
Pedestrian moving between storms,,
Then disappear around the bend
And Cedar decides we've been
Outside long enough, finishing his
Business before leading us in.

-- Lisa Jain Thompson  (April 2012)

You got a hundred more young kids than you have a place for on your club. Every one of them has had a going away party. They have been given the shaving kit and the fifty dollars. They kissed everybody and said, 'See you in the majors in two years.' You see these poor kids who shouldn't be there in the first place. You write on the report card '4-4-4 and out.' That's the lowest rating in everything. Then you call 'em in and say, 'It's the consensus among us that we're going to let you go back home.' Some of them cry, some get mad, but none of them will leave until you answer them one question, 'Skipper, what do you think?' And you gotta look every one of those kids in the eye and kick their dreams in the ass and say no. If you say it mean enough, maybe they do themselves a favor and don't waste years learning what you can see in a day. They don't have what it takes to make the majors, just like I never had it.

-- Earl Weaver

The Martian Landscape

I have been to Mars,
Wandered in the caverns beneath Olympus,
Melted the polar frost
When I needed to fill my thirst,
Made love to the rocket jockey
In the cabin of his shuttle as we
Slowly descended on the Marsport towers,
Then fucked him again after breakfast
In his room at the Canal Hilton:
Space travel is best done with friends
But a pilot will often do should you
Find yourself alive with hormones rising.

Lisa Jain Thompson (April 2012)
for Walt and America (if that isn't redundant).   a very good poem.


Every atom of my blood was born American,
My Sicilian and Iroquois ancestry merging
Early on with my indentured British Isles,
The splattering of Dutch German and Irish,
The broad stain of the Mediterranean
That can be seen on my face and flesh,
To forge my democratic tribal genome.

I breathe America from every pour,
Born in the bountiful Sacramento farm lands
To refugees from angry Chicago and the dust bowl
Who escaped to the central valley of California;
There will never be any more perfection than
The blameless destruction of the American tornado,
Clear and sweet is my soul and America.

All I know of God is my own promise,
The heaped stones, the twisted willow,
The soaring eagle eying the rabbit down below,
My Border Collie's long grateful welcome,
Orion's bright nightly winter greeting,
The soft kiss of a woman warmly given,
The bold thrust of a man close at hand.

I am the voice of a dark-eyed woman
Walking along a distant shoreline as waves
Crest and crash to lap my feet with foam,
Drawing me out into the vast infinite ocean
Beyond this lush cradle planet and singular star;
When at last I return to the sun's fierce heart,
I die American, each molecule and atom of my being.
— Lisa Jain Thompson (April 2012)

Thank you very much, ladies and gentlemen. You know how bad my voice sounds. Well, it feels just as bad. You know, this baseball game of ours comes up from the youth. That means the boys. And after you're a boy and grow up to play ball, then you come to the boys you see representing clubs today in your national pastime. The only real game in the world, I think, is baseball. As a rule, people think that if you give boys a football or a baseball or something like that, they naturally become athletes right away. But you can't do that in baseball.  You got to start from way down, at the bottom, when the boys are six or seven years of age. You can't wait until they're 14 or 15.   You got to let it grow up with you, if you're the boy. And if you try hard enough, you're bound to come out on top, just as these boys here have come to the top now.  There have been so many lovely things said about me today that I'm glad to have had the opportunity to thank everybody.

-- Babe Ruth

exegesis of a starpoet


I cannot say when I landed on Earth,
Or whether, as suspected,
I stopped first on the moon;
The records are muddled,
Eye witnesses contradictory,
The authorities would have you believe
I was born in Sutter General in Sacramento
-- But they claim that of all of us,
Don't they? If pressed,
I would suggest otherwise and offer
Mytilene as an alternative,
If not Mars.
— Lisa Jain Thompson (April 2012)


If We

If we consider the distance
From here to all infinity,
Even if we were to travel
At twice lightspeed,
We would never reach the edge:

The vastness we find ourselves
Expands quite vastly,
And time can only do so much
No matter how fast our desire
Might take us.

It's depressing to meet our limits,
Even those that are rather infinite;
But limited we are by spacetime
And the physics of it all.

— Lisa Jain Thompson  (April 2012)

Whether your name is (Lou) Gehrig or (Cal) Ripken, (Joe) DiMaggio or (Jackie) Robinson, or that of some youngster who picks up his bat or puts on his glove, you are challenged by the game of baseball to do your very best day in and day out. That's all I've ever tried to do.

-- Cal Ripken Jr.

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StarPoet Newsletter by Lisa Jain Thompson
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