Saturday, 25 October 2008 05:05
Last Updated on Saturday, 25 October 2008 18:10
The StarPoet Newsletter
Vol. IX, No. XLII
Dance with me honey
Fly with me to the moon
I can still recall
The moment we met
And where the stars were
When we first talked
Before I knew
Even as you did
That this would be our last dance
How the gods must have smiled
What starry fires shone that night
Across the portended sky
Falling brightly earthward
Even as I fell for you
Lisa Jain Thompson c. 2008 C. E.
Slowly I am, getting back to normal.
think about the unthinkable
Making Book
I can see no end,
Yet it may come tomorrow;
This may be my last breath
Or decades short of oblivion;
I cannot waste my life worried
About short-odds probabilities:
I would rather bite the sun.
Lisa Jain Thompson
October 2008
tying up loose ends so to speak
The Procedure
Waiting to return to the hospital
For one last final procedure,
I clothe myself in calm indifference
That belies my need to get this over
And declare victory over this invasion
Of soul and body.
I am tired of needles and blood tests
And going under general anesthesia.
Enough.
Enough.
Everyone stop.
I want my body back.
Lisa Jain Thompson
October 2008
Last month, everyone criticized Sarah Palin,
a.k.a. the Moose Hunter,
for being insufficiently sophisticated and glamorous.
This month, the same liberals are saying her wardrobe signals
that the hockey mom is high-maintenance.
It's nice to know that liberals are not sexist or believers in double standards.
But why doesn't anyone mention Barak Obama's $2000 suits?
Barak could have bought two hundred dollar suits
from J. C. Penny or a hundred dollar one from Target.
Would make you think that testosterone is some sort of invincible shield against criticism.
another bit
The Sitting Room
The universe speaks to everyone who listens,
The stars, the planets, the great empty spaces;
Time holds us all, unwillingly enthralled
From death to birth, beginning to end.
Such do we travel, such is life,
Such is the earth, morning and night,
Season to season, mountain to sea,
Such is the river in which we flow.
Lisa Jain Thompson
October 2008
little deaths
Going Under
Time, that takes survey of all the world,
-- Hotspur, Henry IV, Part 1
When you go under, time passes
While your body keeps track,
Informing the brain when you awake.
On an interstellar voyage,
With our bodies in hibernation,
Will we still count the years that fled?
Our blood flows full with time
In the raw evening of the universe.
Lisa Jain Thompson
October 2008
Politics as Usual
George Washington won his seat in the Virginia House of Burgesses in 1758
by spending 40 pounds on booze for his neighbors.
New York City's Tammany Hall "imported inmates from the Blackwell's Island Penitentiary
to vote in Democratic wards" in an 1843 contest.
New York City suppressed Jewish turnout in 1908 by holding voting registration
on the Jewish Sabbath and Yom Kippur.
Thanks to Chicago Mayor Richard Daley,
JFK most likely stole Illinois from Nixon in 1960.
And none of us want to talk about Florida, do we?
the weather outside
Muddy Waters
Muddy Waters around my feet,
Falling leaves above my head,
Blue sky gray with wind and clouds,
Spring seems many ages away.
There is a fine line between
Winter and a safe place to land.
October drifts numbly into May,
Pausing briefly at the Solstice
To give deference to winter’s deep hold
And speed the sun’s slow return
To the warm first light of springtide.
Lisa Jain Thompson
October 2008
a war poem
The Counsel of Our Fears
Somewhere at the end of this
We all think we can go home,
Forget the graves and blood
And lose ourselves once more in sports
And fashion and summer homes.
The strategic clock cannot be turned back,
The barbarians will not retreat to the provinces
And leave us here unfettered
By responsibility and honor
To spend our years feasting on our reputation.
The whine of bullets will not cease
Simply because we ask,
The memory of crashing airplanes
Will not disappear, we will not survive
Simply because we say so.
Sand flies swarm in the ruins,
Children hang listlessly in pitted streets,
Condensation glistens on limestone walls,
Greeks, Romans, Vandals, Ostrogoths,
Across all ages, catastrophe and violence.
Cindery masses of burnt clothes and skin, and hair,
The war snakes slowly towards completion;
Battle wise and weary, without illusions or pleasure,
We do what we can and bear what we must,
Desperate fugitives from the law of averages.
Lisa Jain Thompson
October 2008
Benjamin Franklin Would Be Fascinated
(Science Magazine) The gas best known for being used in many stink bombs may also control blood pressure, say US researchers. Small amounts of hydrogen sulphide - a toxic gas generated by bacteria living in the human gut - are responsible for the foul odor of flatulence.
But it seems the gas is also produced by an enzyme in blood vessels where it relaxes them and lowers blood pressure. The findings in mice may lead to new treatments for high blood pressure, the Science journal reported.
Researchers at Johns Hopkins University, in Maryland, found that the gas is produced in the cells lining blood vessels by an enzyme called CSE.
We know hydrogen sulphide is not good for us at high levels but it seems that at the lower levels in the body it is essential .
-- Professor Amrita Ahluwalia
In mice engineered to be deficient in this enzyme, levels of hydrogen sulphide were almost depleted compared with levels in normal mice. The CSE-deficient mice also had blood pressure measurements about 20% higher than the normal mice, comparable to serious hypertension in humans. When the engineered mice were given a drug which relaxes normal blood vessels - methacholine - there was no difference, indicating the gas is responsible for the relaxation.
early morning outside the door
Seriously Autumn
Early fall finds Sirius
Doppleganging the Morning Star,
Chasing Orion, horizon to zenith,
Outracing Aurora's moistened fingers.
Pegasus and Andromeda
Lie low above the ever spinning earth,
Contesting any glimmers of dawn’s first light
For supremacy of the northern sky.
Lisa Jain Thompson
October 2008
business is business
Corporate Ridge
1. Center Atrium
Center Atrium, eight stories up and down,
Skylight and three floor window-door
Growing plants and shade loving flowers
While a trio of pond fountains babble in the background.
A pair of elevators, glass and steel,
Run floor to ceiling, ceiling to floor;
Leather chairs sit circled by bamboo and small trees
While a brace of fern-like palms guard the revolving door.
Just another Corporate America lobby
Doing its bit for the Military-Industrial Complex:
No bombs, no rifles, no parade of Wounded Warriors,
Only the expert opinion of the best contractors money can buy.
2. The Well Tempered Lobby
No one asks why I am sitting here,
No one questions my presence;
Stuck in the middle of a corporate lobby,
I’m as visible as the potted ferns.
People running in and out, to and from
-- I could take photos in the thousands –
No one notices the poet and her pen
Scribbling observations in her notebook.
Who is to say I’m not a well covered spook
Waiting for the call from my control
That gives me authority to do the deed
And remove the target from further competition.