Starpoet by Lisa Jain Thompson
The StarPoet Newsletter
Vol. X, No. XXVII (July 5, 2009 C.E.)
StarPoet Newsletter by Lisa Jain Thompson
Fireworks, picnics, three day weekends at the beach.   Cold beer.  Potato Salad.  Hot dogs, hamburgers, chili, chips and salsa -- an All American Holiday.

Buses lined up at freeway speed,
Rolling down the H  O  V,
Two abreast, one slightly behind
While traffic crawls across the divide
Where the single drivers go,
A whole lot of pick-me-ups
Hauling nothing but gasoline.

Lisa Jain Thompson c. 2009 CE 

Celebrities tend to die in threes; It was just like Billy Mays to throw in an extra one for free.
Live fast, die young, leave a good looking corpse.

Watching "Rebel" on HD TV,
Remembering all the films
We didn't see James Dean in
-- He'd be almost eighty now,
Probably dead and gone,
His private life no longer private
With the whispers about him and Brando
Played out on HBO where the emmy
Was accepted by his and Natalie's daughter.

I could have been his girlfriend,
His third or fourth wife,
The poet warrior woman who married him
After his fling with John Lennon.

(Yoko and I eventually gave our show
Where my poetry played in the background
While visitors wound slowly through her artwork;
And we both agreed that Jamie
Was better in bed than John was,
But John was a lot more fun
Playing with the children along the beach.)

So many films, so many songs,
So much life bled out on the street,
So much, so much, forever lost.

— Lisa Jain Thompson (July 2009)
We've got fourteen women in the Senate.  Fourteen women in the Senate?  We are 52% of the population.  Apparently women do suck at math.
-- Paula Poundstone
the nanny government at work
Don't take my Vicodin away

Please, Mr. President,
Don't take my Vicodin away,
I promise to be good and not take
More than a couple handfuls each day.
My liver's fine, I read all the labels,
And haven't OD'd since nineteen ninety-three;
I need my Nyquil and Theraflu,
How can you expect me to sleep?

I have this chronic pain in my back
And I fear it's osteoarthritis,
And the doctor who manages my pain
Says it will cost me more for Oxycontin;
I won't take any more pills than I need,
If you just keep all my prescriptions legal,
Mail delivery just takes far too long,
And an eight ball costs too much on the street.

Please, Mr. President,
Please don't take my Vicodin away.

— Lisa Jain Thompson (Julye 2009)
our national birthday
A Birthday Militaire

A nation born in violent revolution
Now celebrated with hot dogs,
Hamburgers, and potato salad,
And six packs and kegs
Of ice cold American beer;

John Philip Sousa and fireworks
March lockstep beneath starry skies
Across wide malls filled with families
And young couples out to share
A party on our national birthday.

Play on, 233 years and counting,
Forever proud and gloriously free..

— Lisa Jain Thompson (July 2009)
Those who don't know the mistakes of the past won't be able to enjoy it when they make them again in the future.
-- Diane Elizabeth Duane
working the bigotting crowd
You Don't Look British, Ms. Faraci

I don't seem to be Jewish,
Certainly not that I can trace,
But I'm perfectly aware
There were Jews in Sicily
But all mine seemed to be
Members of the Catholic Mafia,
At least I can find no one
Named Greenbergini
Anywhere in my family tree.

So if you want to hate me,
Before you pull the trigger,
Hate me for being a Dago,
A Moor, a Wop, or a Mick,
Even an American Indian
If you still feel the need
To kill some injuns.
But if you are set on killing
Another Kike, I have not
Been in a synagogue
For several or more
Generations, if at all. 
So shalom, y'all, motherfucker,
And get the hell out of here
Before my finger grows restless
And twitches on the trigger.

— Lisa Jain Thompson (July 2009)

Jeff Goldblum, Natalie Portman, George Clooney, Miley Cyrus, Harrison Ford and Rick Astley are all alive.

Jeff Goldblum did not fall off a cliff in New Zealand; Natalie Portman did not suffer a fatal accident on the set of her latest film; George Clooney did not die in a plane crash over the Rockies; Neither Harrison Ford nor Miley Cyrus drowned when their yachts sank at sea; 80s singer Rick Astley was not found dead in his hotel room.
Karl Malden, however, did just die after a good 97 years of life on planet Earth.
talking 'bout love
Under Nike's Shield

You just have to see her, know her like I do,
The most beautiful person in the world,
Sleeping beside me, reliving the wars,
Calling out to her brothers to make sure Lisa is safe.

I wasn't there, although I am in her dreams
Boarding a train for Moscow,
Escaping by ship from Cam Rahn Bay;
A plane flight takes us to unknown spaces,
Another crashes in the jungle,
I am with her, I am safe, and I wake her
Before the enemy can torture her anymore.

— Lisa Jain Thompson (July 2009)
dealing with the mad men
The Price of Liberty

I own the same gun as the shooter,
A Winchester Model 6 that was my father's,
A beautiful rifle made in the first decades
Of the last century, a working man's twenty-two
Useful for the farm or sniping German's from the flanks.
But not a weapon I would ever select
For assaulting the Holocaust Museum.

That man was really crazy, filled mad with racial hatred
And only blind chance and the armed museum guards
Prevented any more lives from being taken
-- He would have shot until he could shoot no more,
A real white supremist like they don't breed anywhere
But here, the Land of the Free and the criminally insane.

Lock him away, shoot him good, dead and gone,
Give him the same choice he would have given
The Jews or the queers and I wouldn't mind
If you took your time killing him.

— Lisa Jain Thompson (July 2009)

Diprivan, also know as Propofol, which is given intravenously, is used for inducing general anesthesia in the operating room or for heavy sedation of patients who are intubated in the intensive care unit.

If it was used in conjunction with any other painkiller or sedative, the combination could  ultimately lead to cardiac arrest and death.

Diprivan should only be used only in a controlled setting where doctors can monitor the heart rate, blood pressure and breathing, and where, if anything goes wrong, there is equipment in place to resuscitate a patient.

you've got admit it's getting better all the time
Talking Six Flags Blues

Six Flags is going bankrupt,
The Endeavor is leaking hydrogen,
The millennium is going south
And no one seems to be steering.

North Korea's testing nuclear warheads,
Nobody wants our enemy combatants,
Republicans run from Abraham Lincoln,
Democrats prove unable to govern.

The deficit climbs some god awful trillions,
Congress points fingers every which way but them,
Baseball is shot full of steroid tainted records,
Football grows three hundred pound sprinters
And no one blinks an eye.

Swine flu runs rampant across the planet,
Meals are skipped to pay for health care,
The schools turn out self-entitled students,
Another dead body at metro station
Doesn't make the front page.

Newspapers are thinner than Sunday fliers,
Over air networks look like cable,
Radio waves are filled with talk show stations,
Music is programmed by some distant corporations
And rock and roll is back on the same streets
Where it once found a home.

The President is black, whoop-de-fucking-do,
Women and American Indians are still off the menu,
The Left is quite eager to rule absolutely,
The Right is left foaming, sputtering with impotency,
There's rioting in Africa, Iraq, and god knows where,
There's terrorists in Afghanistan looking for our doorstep,
White supremists roam the heartland still shooting at the Jews,
Preachers of color damn us in their America churches
And I grow weary and tired of all this nonsense.

Where are the grown-ups when you actually need them,
Where are the heroes willing to risk life and limb?
I look around from California to the New York Island
And all there is to see are spoiled and aging adolescents
Complaining loudly that life ain't fair and would someone
Please buy them the latest Iphone so they can
Listen to their personal play list and watch their personal videos.

I remember when we were one nation,
Indivisible, and working towards our common goals,
-- It all seems so long ago, that world far away,
I don't know if we can ever make it home again
Or if I would want some of these people on the TV
To be my next door neighbor and especially not my friends,
Certainly not my drinking buddy, and never, ever in my bed,
So help me God, forever and ever, amen.

Danos hoy nuestro pan cotidiano,
Y perdónanos nuestras deudas,
No nos dejes caer en tentación
y líbranos del mal
And so on and so forth and so it goes
Until the world comes full stop and the heavens open
And all our various gods descend
To fight it out for the top slot on planet earth
While we all watch quietly from the sidelines
As always.

— Lisa Jain Thompson (July 2009)
I feel like TMZ

What the Nanny Saw

Lights out tonight, there's trouble out in neverland,
Eight drugs a day, narcotics and painkillers,
A cutting cocktail of state of the art meds
And the preaching of the nation of islam,
Eating too little, mixing too much,
Not wanting to listen or come to terms with addiction.
A penniless nomad with memories of riches,
Moving from country to country, hotel to hotel,
One step ahead of the taxman and authorities
Who might question his recreational behavior.
Storage rooms full of expensive european antiques
Without a permanent home to display them in.
OxyContin and demerol, first taken for pain,
But now a steady escape from a world demanding
That the child become a man, accept responsibility
For his actions, and, just once, explain himself,
And if he can't handle the stress of another money tour,
Find some other way of supporting his habits.
The memory of Bahrain, a guest of a Sheikh, where he would
Drape his frail body in a woman's abaya, covering his face
As he walked through the mall, attracting a crowd 
As he did not walk like a woman; moving to Ireland,
Then a small house in New Jersey, where he slept downstairs
While his children shared a bedroom with their nanny.
Hiding whatever money he still had in black rubbish bags
And under the carpets of the house in Los Angeles,
Pretended that nothing had changed, that the kid still had it,
That the talent twenty years past could still be found,
As if on command:  One last grand 50 concert theatrical
On a state of the art stage in south east London.
Poor men want to be rich, rich men want to be king,
A king isn't satisfied until everyone bows to him,
Building stately pleasure domes with walls and towers,
Gardens filled with sinuous and exotic fearsome animals
Ornamenting hand carved carousels that endlessly revolve
While Let Me Call You Sweetheart plays loudly on the calliope.
— Lisa Jain Thompson (July 2009)
The person that said winning isn't everything, never won anything.
-- Mia Hamm
the chain
Blood on the Tracks

There is blood on my hands,
Wounds deep within my body;
My soul doth magnify
Ten thousand long dead poets.
My ancient bones creak
With images stolen from humanity,
My brain reeks with science
And ten million years of primate history.
I have no glory but what was already glorious,
No words but those already spoken;
My atoms have been atoms ages before me
And will be so again. Remember us all
When we return to starstuff.

— Lisa Jain Thompson (July 2009)
Buddy, can you spare a dime?
Nothing But Promises

Lord Almighty,
Someone send up an S.O.L.,
Our money's all disappearing,
Our jobs have gone to hell;
The government's designing
Boutique cars and fancy health plans
-- Hopefully better than they've built
Our school systems and the post office;
The churches all tell us
There's nothing we have to fear,
God's plan will be revealed to us shortly,
Soon all will be clear.

Good God Almighty,
Do you think you could find some time
To send us food for our kids to eat
And bit of Caesar's money to make
The last six months of house payments?
I'd like to believe, I'd realy would,
But this growling in our stomachs
Makes it difficult for your preachers
To be heard.

So if you find some time today
In what must your busy schedule,
Could take another look at Planet Earth,
We seem to need another miracle;
Or if you find yourself too busy
Doing whatever it is you gods do,
Do you think you could drop us
Some sort of a lifeline, a text message,
Or even a twitter, the handbasket
You left us is getting quite thin
And I don't know how much longer
You can expect us to withstand
The raging that grows inside us.

— Lisa Jain Thompson (July 2009)
If you are not living on the edge, you are taking up too much room.
-- Jayne Howard
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StarPoet Newsletter by Lisa Jain Thompson
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