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Newsflash:

Starpoet Newsletter Vo.l VIII, No. XLV

Saturday, 03 November 2007 07:47 Last Updated on Saturday, 03 November 2007 19:04

The

Starpoet

Newsletter

Vol. VIII, No. XLV

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I am a carpenter of sorts

But not a messiah

I can barely save myself

Let alone the world

Still

If I can shift the axis

Even a fraction of a degree

Who knows

What next season
May bring

Lisa Jain Thompson c. 2007 C. E.

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all hallows eve, all saints, all souls: memories of childhood in mother church eight weeks before the winter solstice. i grow very aware of cycles as winter approaches.

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I behold, and within my heart deep sadness has claimed its place,

As I mark the oldest home of the ancient Ionian race

Slain by the sword.

-- Solon

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despite my best intentions, the war goes on,

demanding my attention

The Streets of Sadiyah

The streets of Sadiyah are deserted again

Except for the tan Bradleys and armored Humvees
That creep with excruciating slowness

Through the sun blasted Baghdad afternoon,

Straining to see if each manhole cover,

The next rusted barrel, hides still another bomb.

To the right, power lines slump in the dirt,

The soccer field on the left is filled with smoking trash,

Wild dogs hunt in packs, leaving their markers
On walls stained with the bloody slogans of sectarian hate.

Houses are blacked by multiple fires, shops crumble into ruin,

A pool of knee deep brown sewage water

Fills the street, covering the bomb craters.

Fourteen months past, the shops were open,

Women and children walked the street,

Western clothes were visible everywhere

In the bustling Sadiyah middle class district

Before the Iraqi police became our enemy,

Before the Shiite militiamen exterminated the Sunni
And the Iraqi government looked the other way.
The sense of normalcy is non-existent, the fear,

The disrupted lives hang over the city,
A dense smoke reminder of the uncontrolled wildfire

Scorching the air along a nation's fault line.

Half the families have fled, replaced by insurgents

And independent armies who go house to house,

Family to family, demanding allegiance to Shia:

A slow, government supported sectarian cleansing
-- A half dozen Sunni corpses scattered in each house.

This is a dangerous place, people are killed here every day
And you don't hear about it, people are kidnapped every day
And you don't hear a thing about it, it doesn't make the evening news
Or become a question at a presidential news conference.
Any second, any time of day, a life could be over,
A soldier or marine, gone in a flash.
All the President's men only go to safe places,
Buildings with little gunfire, briefings by general officers,
Photo-ops covered with close combat gunships:
They don't ever fucking see the boots on the ground,
Hiding with the higher-ups who tell them careful stories
Of limited strategic successes and brief excursions beyond the wire
-- Salving the President's ego is not worth one more soldier's life.

Lisa Jain Thompson
November 2007

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^^\/\/\/\/^^

down sunny good street

One Mint Julep Over the Line

Not you baby, the other one,

Sorry, I mean it,

It's not you, it's me,

It's the personnel system,

The government, the church,

The president,

If it was just me,

You'd be golden,

But it's not, you're not,

I wish I could,

But I can't,

Maybe next time,
But not now.

Hey, has anyone called
The other one yet?

Lisa Jain Thompson
November 2007

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^^\/\/\/\/^^

[when I go]

I hope I go on top of Clive Owen

-- overheard in the women's restroom

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this damned fallen away catholic conscience

Awakening Outside the Wire

There are no innocents,

Only those of us who are dying

And those who are looking the other way.

Some of us will always be looking

Diligently another direction and denying

What is going on just out of our eye.

Others will see all but quickly say

"That is them, not me"

And turn their head away.

The poet struggles along the peaks

Between willful ignorance and ravenous despair.

Lisa Jain Thompson

November 2007

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^^\/\/\/\/^^

when first it rained this autumn

Wellsprings of the Great Deep Burst

There seems to be something

Falling from the sky,

Something wet, something moist

That in past times was called rain,

Or so I'm told,

Not being close to old enough

To remember anything

Like the deluge;

But ther it is,

Dropping from the clouds,

A combination
Of hydrogen and oxygen

That darkens my blouse,

Clings to my breasts,

And makes the dog angry

With the storm gods once again.

Lisa Jain Thompson
November 2007

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^^\/\/\/\/^^

According to an Associated Press poll

34 percent of Americans believe in ghosts (compared to 31 percent who think Bush is doing a good job)
23 percent have seen a ghost (liberals 31 percent, conservatives 18 percent)
19 percent accept the existence of spells or witchcraft
14 percent have seen a UFO
5 percent have seen a monster in their closet

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the question with any theology

Request for Clarification
From the Residents of Eden

If we were differently alien

From the planet we find ourselves,

We would not have fit in our primate niche

Nor be scattered to the corners of the world.

If god had designed us instead of nature,

He would have no need of an oxygen breather

Who eats and evacuates severally daily

And reproduces like most any mammal.

Why design a being that must destroy creation
To live and populate across this multitude of fertile land,

When a self-contained unit is more than possible to design

That would keep right and holy the fruits of your perfect mind?

Lisa Jain Thompson

November 2007

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^^\/\/\/\/^^

hallows eve

All Hallows

While we were in grade school,

Run by the Sisters of Mary,

Halloween was far less important
Than all the saints that followed

And the litany of all those

Who were already in heaven.

Candy took a back seat to communion

And the care of our sweet souls

Mattered most of all
To the good sisters who made sure
We made mass on the first

And kept any questions to ourselves.

Lisa Jain Thompson

November 2007

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^^\/\/\/\/^^

137. If a man wish to separate from a woman who has borne him children,
or from his wife who has borne him children:
then he shall give that wife her dowry,
and a part of the usufruct of field, garden, and property,
so that she can rear her children.
When she has brought up her children,
a portion of all that is given to the children,
equal as that of one son,
shall be given to her.
She may then marry the man of her heart.

-- Code of Hammurabi

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^^\/\/\/\/^^

maintenance and upkeep

I'm Not Really a Waitress

The pungent smell of acetone

Fights hairspray and dye

For the right to burn my eyes;

My stripped down nails

Await the application

of any of a thousand bottles

Of cleverly named O.P.I.

A monthly indulgence

Unshared by the boys

Who would rather watch football

Than do their nails and toes.

We'll keep this little secret

-- The joys of pedicures,

The carefully sipped cappuccinos,
The gloss magazines filled

With expensive, unwearable clothes --

This fantasy that we are noteworthy

And worth every dollar spent,

And let the guys go on

About their favorite tight end

As if they too could play
Professional football,

If only they had had the chance.

Lisa Jain Thompson

November 2007

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^^\/\/\/\/^^

John, by the grace of God, king of England, lord of Ireland, duke of Normandy and Aquitaine, and count of Anjou, to the archbishop, bishops, abbots, earls, barons, justiciaries, foresters, sheriffs, stewards, servants, and to all his bailiffs and liege subjects, greetings.

Know that, having regard to God and for the salvation of our soul, and those of all our ancestors and heirs, and unto the honor of God and the advancement of his holy Church and for the rectifying of our realm, we have granted as underwritten by advice of our venerable fathers ...

TO ALL FREE MEN OF OUR KINGDOM we have also granted, for us and our heirs for ever,

all the liberties written out below,

to have and to keep for them and their heirs, of us and our heirs:

-- Magna Carta

1215 C.E.

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^^\/\/\/\/^^

a california girl I was and am

Santa Cruz

The salty taste of sand and ocean

Brings memories of summers spent in Santa Cruz

With parents and grandparents,

A short walk from the beach and a bright green parrot

Noisily seated in a lobby on a perch.

On the way we would stop in San Jose,

Pile out of one care to picnic in the park:

Grandma made veal cutlets,

Unpacked them on the table,

And we shared fresh fruit, olives and cheese,

And soda bought at a local store.

Then off over the coast range,

Down highway one to the shoreline,

The grand arcade and wooden boardwalk
With a carousel and a roller-coaster

That soared on creaky framework

High above the ocean's roar.

At five and six, I favored safer rides,

Tilt-a-whirl and ferris wheel,

Nickel tosses for glass plates and baubles,

Carmel corn and salt water taffy,

And left the giant coaster for the big girls

Who feigned frightened for their boyfriends

And ran giggling across the sand

Chased by eager tanned suitors

While I made elaborate sandcastles

That washed away when hide tide came.

Then August was over
And we returned to Sacramento,

The valley heat and the fairgrounds

Filled with cows and hogs as tall as I

And fireworks that we watched

With all the neighbors from our lawns
When it grew too dark for tag.

Lisa Jain Thompson

November 2007

__/\/\/\/\__
^^\/\/\/\/^^

You can only do what the moment lets you,

And when that moment arrives,

So too must you.

-- LJT
2007

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PEACE

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^^\/\/\/\/^^

Copyright © Lisa Jain Thompson 1995-2007. 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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