StarPoet Newsletter Vol. XIII, No. XV

Saturday, 07 April 2012 20:00 Last Updated on Saturday, 07 April 2012 21:01

The StarPoet Newsletter
Vol. XIII, No. XV (April 8, 2012 C.E.)

Easter. Spring. Baseball. Lamb, flowers, and ballparks. memories of the rising.

Spring begins its shift
To summer roses this dawn
The sun moves high to zenith
The crops will be sown
The young lambs will birth
The valley turns green
And we survive

Lisa Jain Thompson c. 2012 C.E.


I cough. I am. I shall be.

memories
Easter at Aunt Rose's
At Easter we gather For baked ham at my aunt's, She will serve peas with mushrooms And freshly mashed potatoes Along with a medium dry white, My grandparents will be at the table Along with Uncle Joe and Mom and Dad, Perhaps a more distant relative In town for some event, Afterwards we sit on the patio, Talking and sipping wine Until after the sun sets And we scatter back To our homes and our smaller families.
— Lisa Jain Thompson (April 2012)

Padraig Pearse, James Connolly, Thomas Clarke, Thomas MacDonagh, Sean MacDermott, Joseph Plunkett & Eamonn Ceannt -- The seven signatories of the Irish Proclamation. All of the above men were executed by the British Government for their efforts in trying to secure a free Ireland during the Easter Rising in 1916.

practical theology
True Belief
If you must believe, believe, It is better to believe Than be empty; It is better to believe Than to burn If there is a hell. But I have not been graced With your belief, nor do I Feel the fear of hellfire; I am alive, following my path, And will let you be if you don't Attempt to drag me onto yours..
Lisa Jain Thompson (April 2012)

family
A Road Not Taken
I haven't seen my father For three some decades, My mother, for slightly less, Myocardial Infarction and Alzheimer's Separated us much sooner Than any of us were ready, Avoiding the potential turbulence Of my coming sea change, that discussion Slipped through our fingers While we talked soap operas, baseball, And the evils of various presidents, And did our best to ignore My father's growing alcoholism. — Lisa Jain Thompson (April 2012)

Believe that we too love freedom and desire it. To us it is more desirable than anything in the world. If you strike us down now, we shall rise again and renew the fight. You cannot conquer Ireland you cannot extinguish the Irish passion for freedom: if our deed has not been sufficient to win freedom then our children will win it with a better deed. -- Paidraig Pearse

star poet
Resolving the Fragment
The fragment of reality we call world Is all I have to write this, The alternatives are beyond me, Lost in infinitesimal dimensions That linger outside my time line, Calling the fabric itself to question And muddling the poet's best efforts To resolve the ongoing fragmentation Into proper meter and line.
Lisa Jain Thompson (April 2012)

To break the connection with England, the never-failing source of all our political evils, and to assert the independence of my country—these were my objects. To unite the whole people of Ireland, to abolish the memory of all past dissentions, and to substitute the common name of Irishmen in place of the denominations of Protestant, Catholic and Dissenter—these were my means. -- Paidraig Pearse

weather report
Hot Damn March
The hottest March, the earliest tornadoes, The longest Republican primary, A most Mormon candidate, a most liberal president, Seven months to go and counting -- Where is Harry Truman when you need him?
Lisa Jain Thompson (April 2012)

practical theology II
New Morning
Don't you go washing yourself Down by the river Then tell us you've been saved, What you have been rolling in Can't be removed by a bit of Perfumed soap and scented water; There ain't no magical verse That excuses hate and hypocrisy No matter how much you have given To the church and the minister who Promised you salvation in exchange For a handful of polished silver coin.
-- Lisa Jain Thompson (April 2012)

Our foes are strong and wise and wary; but, strong and wise and wary as they are, they cannot undo the miracles of God Who ripens in the hearts of young men the seeds sown by the young men of a former generation. And the seeds sown by the young men of '65 and '67 are coming to their miraculous ripening today. Rulers and Defenders of the Realm had need to be wary if they would guard against such processes. Life springs from death; and from the graves of patriot men and women spring living nations. The Defenders of this Realm have worked well in secret and in the open. They think that they have pacified Ireland. They think that they have purchased half of us and intimidated the other half. They think that they have foreseen everything, think that they have provided against everything; but, the fools, the fools, the fools! — They have left us our Fenian dead, and while Ireland holds these graves, Ireland unfree shall never be at peace. -- Padraig Pearse, executed by the British 3 May 1916

practical politics
Patmos
The country is in ruins, burned, torn down, Sending us into a thousand frightened scatters Far too disordered to offer anything but angry words And unfocused passive-aggressive resistance; Good and evil, faithfulness and apostasy, Salvation, damnation, hellfire and redemption; The preening cowards, faithless and filthy, Rat sucking lice-infested abominations That they are, all liars.
Lisa Jain Thompson (April 2012)

talking blues
Remembering the Bottom Land
Hey, you say, as a rat runs over your foot Chased by your neighbor's feral ocelot And several people offer you payday loans And try to sell you watches from their trench coats; You mumble How you doing and move on to the clown Selling newspapers on the street corner that proclaim Jesus is Lord and Allah is her father ever and ever Et cetera et cetera Shalom Amen In shaa'Allah. When your spaceship is running late and you are counting, And the sun doesn't seem to shine on your street at all, You'd better stop worrying about who let the cows out And send out a brace of Borders to bring them back home; Should the green hills decide to shake and loudly rumble, Should the valley beneath your feet begin to swallow, Remember what momma said about days like this, Pass the ammo, clean your weapon, aim carefully.
— Lisa Jain Thompson (April 2012)

We declare the right of the people of Ireland to the ownership of Ireland, and to the unfettered control of Irish destinies, to be sovereign and indefeasible. The long usurpation of that right by a foreign people and government has not extinguished the right, nor can it ever be extinguished except by the destruction of the Irish people. In every generation the Irish people have asserted their right to national freedom and sovereignty; six times during the past three hundred years they have asserted it in arms. Standing on that fundamental right and again asserting it in arms in the face of the world, we hereby proclaim the Irish Republic as a Sovereign Independent State. And we pledge our lives and the lives of our comrades-in-arms to the cause of its freedom, of its welfare, and of its exaltation among the nations. -- Proclamation Declaration of Irish Independence from English Occupation 1916

poet bones
Avoiding Plath
A poet cannot write of suicide Without others wondering If the poem is the poet, What is gist for the reader Is a journal paper for the post-doc. So I avoid the topic completely And put it in my poetry taboo box Along with bestiality, cannibalism, Or any hint of incest -- I choose to Make life difficult for my biographer.
— Lisa Jain Thompson (April 2012)

starpoet
*Raise High The Starships* Raise high the starships, rocket man, Build them bright and golden; Up and out to deepest space And gather worlds for the human race To raise our families when Earth dies
— Lisa Jain Thompson (April 2012)
*Easter 1916* I I have met them at close of day Coming with vivid faces From counter or desk among grey Eighteenth-century houses. I have passed with a nod of the head Or polite meaningless words, Or have lingered awhile and said Polite meaningless words, And thought before I had done Of a mocking tale or a gibe To please a companion Around the fire at the club, Being certain that they and I But lived where motley is worn: All changed, changed utterly: A terrible beauty is born. II That woman's days were spent In ignorant good will, Her nights in argument Until her voice grew shrill. What voice more sweet than hers When young and beautiful, She rode to harriers? This man had kept a school And rode our winged horse. This other his helper and friend Was coming into his force; He might have won fame in the end, So sensitive his nature seemed, So daring and sweet his thought. This other man I had dreamed A drunken, vain-glorious lout. He had done most bitter wrong To some who are near my heart, Yet I number him in the song; He, too, has resigned his part In the casual comedy; He, too, has been changed in his turn, Transformed utterly: A terrible beauty is born. III Hearts with one purpose alone Through summer and winter, seem Enchanted to a stone To trouble the living stream. The horse that comes from the road, The rider, the birds that range From cloud to tumbling cloud, Minute by minute change. A shadow of cloud on the stream Changes minute by minute; A horse-hoof slides on the brim; And a horse plashes within it Where long-legged moor-hens dive And hens to moor-cocks call. Minute by minute they live: The stone's in the midst of all. IV Too long a sacrifice Can make a stone of the heart. O when may it suffice? That is heaven's part, our part To murmur name upon name, As a mother names her child When sleep at last has come On limbs that had run wild. What is it but nightfall? No, no, not night but death. Was it needless death after all? For England may keep faith For all that is done and said. We know their dream; enough To know they dreamed and are dead. And what if excess of love Bewildered them till they died? I write it out in a verse -- MacDonagh and MacBride And Connolly and Pearse Now and in time to be, Wherever green is worn, Are changed, changed utterly: A terrible beauty is born. W. B. Yeats 1916 (while staying with Maud Gonne in Normandy)


Copyright © Lisa Jain Thompson 1948-2012. Back issues are in the Newsletter Section of the StarPoet website. Visit my contact page and get in touch.