Starpoet by Lisa Jain Thompson
Newsflash:
The StarPoet Newsletter
Vol. X, No. XXXIV (August 23, 2009 C.E.)
StarPoet Newsletter by Lisa Jain Thompson
Begone August, your humid heavens grow tiring.   If I was back in Sacramento, I would be looking forward to the State Fair starting soon at Cal Expo. 'Though in truth, I miss the old fair grounds with its emphasis on the valley farm lands and the fresh hay and warm manure smell of full stables.

Can we more humid make this,
Come hurricane off the coast?
The outer banks at the moment spared
While we breath the ocean in our air
And watch carefully the troubled heavens.

My clothes grow damp just standing
As my breathing the sodden air dries,
Moisture seeps between my blouse and breasts
Until both cloth and flesh as one inhale
And I struggle to take measure of the oxygen.

Lisa Jain Thompson c. 2009 CE 

Summer seems faster than I remember.  Perhaps it has something to do with working full time, writing poetry full time and putting out a weekly newsletter, amd providing columns and copy to TS-Si.org.
serious business

King of The Pentagon

Crow and seagull
Playing King of the Pentagon,
Riding the updrafts
From the warm afternoon winds
That swirl around the concrete
And the strategicly placed grass berms
That make the target solution

Just that much more difficult
Should another jet
Attempt to assault,
Or a mob of terrorists
Wish to breech
The thick steel reinforced walls
That surround my work day.

— Lisa Jain Thompson (August 2009)

If Michael Jackson had died a week earlier, South Carolina Gov. Mark Sanford would still be in Argentina.

-- Will Durst

the way it goes
Unrandom Bios

Watching the pronouns shift,
Inside and out,
You can chart your body
Correcting itself.

Outside, of course,
The world has little choice,
You are who you are
And, assuming you accept that,
That's you and your place in society,
It all begins and flows from there.

Inside, perspective shifts,
The actor you identify with
In a movie may flip,
Top to bottom, bottom to top:

You may find yourself wondering
Why she would put up with
Such a man, or why he
Wastes his time on that woman
When there's a battle raging outside.

It happens, slowly, imperceptably,
Until you can no longer remember
How it felt to be any other way
But who you are.

— Lisa Jain Thompson (August 2009)
what I learned besides short order
A Bit of a Freudian Vagina

Have you ever woke up on the internet
And found yourself involuntarily involved
With some academic douchebag
Pompously expounding his latest
Hair brained theories as if he were a god
Who expected you to take down his every word
And place them in the permanent record
For your convenience and future use?

Never, ever accept given wisdom
From anyone who hasn't sweated beside
A team of tired and aging waitresses
Working the breakfast and lunch hour shifts,
No matter how many degrees they may have.
Screw them and the theses they wallow in.

— Lisa Jain Thompson (August 2009)

There should be 'Saint Tax' for nonsmokers and teetotals. If you want to live forever -- fine. Pay for it!

-- Will Durst

more than we need sometimes
People

People, too many people,
Crowding around me,
Choking off the air,
Demanding that I follow them
No matter where.

Too many people,
Shouting, talking, whispering, arguing,
Pushing and shoving me,
Wanting to suck every bit of originality
Out of my brain and make me content
To go where they go.

The great democracy of the people
Setting themselves up
To determine what is best,
What should continue,
And who should be stopped
Because the rest of us
Don't like what it is they do
Or what they represent,
Or maybe they just make us
Feel uncomfortable
Whenever we see them.
Us, them, it's all the same,
Too many people
Deciding too many things.

— Lisa Jain Thompson (August 2009)

Hey, in Iran, they have hanging chads. They also have hanging Jeremys, Alis ...

-- Will Durst

the joy of migraine

Aspects of Poetry

Floating on a percosett,
Trying to cover a migraine,
Hoping that when the med wears off,
The pain will not appear.

Such is the life,
Such are the drugs,
Such is the pattern
Of the poet's days.

If the migraine drugs don't work,
Then maybe the opiates will;
If the opiates don't dull it,
Then a little sleep will;
If the sleep don't cut it,
Then a shower will
And I can start all over again again.

— Lisa Jain Thompson (August 2009)
                                               
all the politicians and all the crazy summer tourists
The Birds and The Bees,
All the Men with Naked Knees

The birds and the bees
And the flowers and the trees,
All the crazy politicians in a row,

Propose and demand
And declare and legislate,
It's summer in the city woop-di-doh.

The cars and the trains
And the buses and the planes,
All the men in their tee shirts and shorts;

Which monument is this,
Washington or Lincoln?
Which way do we turn for the museums?

Outdoor voices on the Metro,
Sweaty kids all running wild,
It's summer in the city woop-di-doh.
It's summer in the city woop-di-doh.

— Lisa Jain Thompson (August 2009)

President Obama is always looking into the future -- but not too far: 8:47 p.m. Eastern Daylight.

-- Will Durst

the girls
On the Dance Floor

On the dance floor the crossdressers
Are better at playing a woman
Than I am (or my mother or my sister).
They have all the moves down pat,
The careful flutter of their hand,
Their pouting lips, their dark-eyed make-up,
The glittering spark and four inch heels
Of an industrious hooker working a
Government rate hotel bar.

The T-Girls, if I may call them that,
Have memorized every film by Marilyn,
Each momentous video by Mariah or Britney,
But the highlight of their permormance,
The highest aspiration of their art,
Seems most often to become most like their mother,
That icon of all femininity who first gave them life
And the initial target of opportunity
For them to try that first red lipstick.

— Lisa Jain Thompson (August 2009)
a trio of short poesy

Summer Viginettes

1.


Nice looking young man,
Looking like Malcom X
If Malcom wore a light blue suit
And used a blindman's cane
To help him walk.


2.


Wheel chair at the bus stop,
No person, no body, no bus;
We all walk past without ever asking
Who, Where, When, What, Why, and How.


3.


All weddings are white,
Even the ones in red or ivory;
Flowers, music, beer, wine, and dancing,
Family, new in-laws, distant cousins,
And school friends.

All weddings are the same,
Even the gay ones, except in those
Jesus sometimes has a lisp.

— Lisa Jain Thompson (August 2009)

When everybody in America knows the name of the Secretary of the Treasury, that’s not good. 

-- Will Durst
traffic report
Car in a Spring

Cat in a sprint
  Across the street,
Headlights bearing down;

Birds in the trees
  Watching the proceedings,
Safely keeping count

-- One cat less is better.
  One more bird survives.
 
All hail to the natural
  Order of the world:
 
Cat eat bird,
  Car eat cat,
Highway eat man and machine.

— Lisa Jain Thompson (August 2009)

 

life goes on, no matter what
The War No One Talks About

She dreams of the jungle, lush and violent,
Tiger cages carried with intent to torture,
The scent of undergrowth and bodies decaying,
The sound of bullets just missing her head,
The knife blade deep into her flesh
And the butcher who wanted to remove her arm,
The scrapnel in her legs, the wounds, the broken bones,
And the field surgery she learned to keep on mission.

Sometimes she is in the fighter jet moments before the crash,
Sometimes the Hanoi Hilton with North Vietnamese
   Breaking the bones of her feet,
Sometimes leading an Army in pursuit after Tet,
Sometimes watching the B-52s striking down on Baghdad.
All during this, she is checking with her men,
Trying to keep track of the good guys and the bad,
Always wondering where I am
And if I am safe from the demons she remembers.

— Lisa Jain Thompson (August 2009)

Joe Biden is so boring, his Secret Service nickname is Al Gore.

-- Will Durst

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