Newsflash:
Saturday, 26 May 2007 20:00
Last Updated on Sunday, 27 May 2007 07:21
The
Starpoet
Newsletter
Vol. VIII, No. XXII
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Crazy X-girfriends
Reappear
Pass ugly rumours
Shout loudly to be heard
Like some summer thunder
Like some summer thunder
Heralding the rain
But
Come winter
They disappear
Back into the earth
Focused only
On their own survival
We will be here
Come December
You and I
Long past the spring melt
For as long
As our somewhat aging bodies
Concede to our minds
Our desire
To be ever together
Let the storm rage
The earth shake with fury
The earth shake with fury
Our sun explode
In bright red madness
We are here
And will so remain
Lisa Jain Thompson C. 2070 C.E.
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A rather randy week -- beginning, middle and end.
I used to, may still write softly porn lesbian fiction. Here is a long, funny example with Xena and Gabrielle.
Memorial Day weekend in Washington, the roar of Rolling Thunder in the background.
Wait until the war is over
And we're both a little older
And we're both a little older
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randy 1 all done up in Carib crimson
Dipping Depp
So you want to get into my panties
-- If only Johnny Depp would!
-- If only Johnny Depp would!
I'd spread my leg, arch my back,
And see what a pretty pirate can do.
And see what a pretty pirate can do.
Such a gentleman may partake
Of this particular fantasy
Without benefit of elaborate costume
If only they keep their good sword sharp
And strike my passing fancy.
And strike my passing fancy.
Lisa Jain Thompson
May 2007
May 2007
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I can hear the greenies now -- please spell my name right, Jain is spelled Jay Ay Eye En. Capital J at the beginning.
Terraforming in Fairfax County
In Fairfax County industrious beavers,
A might earthen dam imposed,
A might earthen dam imposed,
Farther down river from once they lived,
Destroying the wetlands we know;
Both beavers and humans revise their habitat,
Changing valleys and moving great waters,
Changing valleys and moving great waters,
But only one is said to be acting against nature,
The other obeying what naturally becomes them.
How so can one be so good and pure,
An intrinsic example of a god's grand design,
While the other is labelled some unnatural satan
Bent on destroying what evolution has wraught?
One cannot be good, the other damnably evil,
The other obeying what naturally becomes them.
How so can one be so good and pure,
An intrinsic example of a god's grand design,
While the other is labelled some unnatural satan
Bent on destroying what evolution has wraught?
One cannot be good, the other damnably evil,
If both bare the mark of an unhallowed creation.
Lisa Jain Thompson
May 2007
May 2007
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Could Lincoln have been saved by modern technology?
Well, if you had text messaged a warning to him at the theater ....
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Dirge for Two Veterans
Walt Whitman
The last sunbeam
Lightly falls from the finish'd Sabbath,
On the pavement here, and there beyond it is looking,
Down a new-made double grave.
Lo, the moon ascending,
Up from the east the silvery round moon,
Beautiful over the house-tops, ghastly, phantom moon,
Immense and silent moon.
I see a sad procession,
And I hear the sound of coming full-key'd bugles,
All the channels of the city streets they're flooding,
As with voices and with tears.
I hear the great drums pounding,
And the small drums steady whirring,
And every blow of the great convulsive drums,
Strikes me through and through.
For the son is brought with the father,
(In the foremost ranks of the fierce assault they fell,
Two veterans son and father dropt together,
And the double grave awaits them.)
Now nearer blow the bugles,
And the drums strike more convulsive,
And the daylight o'er the pavement quite has faded,
And the strong dead-march enwraps me.
In the eastern sky up-buoying,
The sorrowful vast phantom moves illumin'd,
('Tis some mother's large transparent face,
In heaven brighter growing.)
O strong dead-march you please me!
O moon immense with your silvery face you soothe me!
O my soldiers twain! O my veterans passing to burial!
What I have I also give you.
The moon gives you light,
And the bugles and the drums give you music,
And my heart, O my soldiers, my veterans,
My heart gives you love.
Lightly falls from the finish'd Sabbath,
On the pavement here, and there beyond it is looking,
Down a new-made double grave.
Lo, the moon ascending,
Up from the east the silvery round moon,
Beautiful over the house-tops, ghastly, phantom moon,
Immense and silent moon.
I see a sad procession,
And I hear the sound of coming full-key'd bugles,
All the channels of the city streets they're flooding,
As with voices and with tears.
I hear the great drums pounding,
And the small drums steady whirring,
And every blow of the great convulsive drums,
Strikes me through and through.
For the son is brought with the father,
(In the foremost ranks of the fierce assault they fell,
Two veterans son and father dropt together,
And the double grave awaits them.)
Now nearer blow the bugles,
And the drums strike more convulsive,
And the daylight o'er the pavement quite has faded,
And the strong dead-march enwraps me.
In the eastern sky up-buoying,
The sorrowful vast phantom moves illumin'd,
('Tis some mother's large transparent face,
In heaven brighter growing.)
O strong dead-march you please me!
O moon immense with your silvery face you soothe me!
O my soldiers twain! O my veterans passing to burial!
What I have I also give you.
The moon gives you light,
And the bugles and the drums give you music,
And my heart, O my soldiers, my veterans,
My heart gives you love.
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commuting in spring
Working the Earth
Sun in my eyes
Clear sky overhead
Trees fully green
Red roses all in bloom
Red roses all in bloom
Earth newly turned
Tomatoes a-foot
Herbs scattered round
Waiting for summer
Waiting for summer
In the meantime
I will be happy
I will be happy
With days grown warm
And spring's bright promise
Lisa Jain Thompson
May 2007
May 2007
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bus ride
Bug-out to Nowhere
Single scull along the Potomac
A handful more fifty yards behind
River lined with lush spring trees
A handful more fifty yards behind
River lined with lush spring trees
Water low against the bank
Moving slowly towards the bay
Moving slowly towards the bay
Above on the Parkway we drift in traffic
Below the morning rush of landing jets
Until we reach the beltway back-up
Which halts all thoughts of leisurely progress
Lisa Jain Thompson
May 2007
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Bivouac of the Dead
Theodore O'Hara
1847
1847
The muffled drum's sad roll has beat
The soldier's last tattoo'
No more on life's parade shall meet
That brave and fallen few;
On Fame's eternal camping ground
Their silent tents are spread;
But Glory guards with solemn round
The bivouac of the dead.
The soldier's last tattoo'
No more on life's parade shall meet
That brave and fallen few;
On Fame's eternal camping ground
Their silent tents are spread;
But Glory guards with solemn round
The bivouac of the dead.
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randy 2 for you voyeurs out there
Looking Up
Lying here, crystal shafted,
Like some unfeathered heritage
Split full well with translucent stuffing.
My moist raw flesh swallows fair wide
Six inches and more of scultured manhood,
Six inches and more of scultured manhood,
Gaping hungrily to engulf the smooth pressure
That pushes ever deeper inside me.
Afterwards and finished,
Blood seeps between my lips
To stain the blushing cotton
Blood seeps between my lips
To stain the blushing cotton
With the memory of ritual penetration.
Lisa Jain Thompson
May 2007
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When Johnny comes marching home again, Hurrah! Hurrah!
We'll give him a hearty welcome then, Hurrah! Hurrah!
The men will cheer, the boys will shout
The ladies they will all turn out
And we'll all feel gay when Johnny comes marching home.
We'll give him a hearty welcome then, Hurrah! Hurrah!
The men will cheer, the boys will shout
The ladies they will all turn out
And we'll all feel gay when Johnny comes marching home.
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starpoet
Open Sky
Out along the rim,
Where the Milkyway spins
Across the evening sky,
The stars slip slowly
Away from the bright center
Towards the cold dark ages
Between the galaxies.
Someday we all will reach Adromeda,
Tumble dizzy arm in arm
In a final dance before the sea change
Transforms all that's to come.
What a glorious starry night
Before the world ends!
Lisa Jain Thompson
May 2007
May 2007
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randy 3, on a busload of men
Cherry Bomb
Sucking on a Tootsie Pop,
Watching the officers watch me,
Red lips caressing red candy
Slowly withdrawn
To extend the pleasure.
Slowly withdrawn
To extend the pleasure.
The stick slides in
Until my fingers are smudged
By the rosy gloss on my lips,
Barely parted,
As the sweetness
Slips back out
Slips back out
To glisten in the sunlight.
The men look closely,
Bursting with Freudian fantasies,
While I suck and lick the still hard candy
Through my moist and pouting mouth.
While I suck and lick the still hard candy
Through my moist and pouting mouth.
Lisa Jain Thompson
May 2007
May 2007
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In Flanders Fields
Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, MD
(1872-1918)
Canadian Army
Canadian Army
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
Between the crosses row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields
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immersed in Shakespeare
I and I
I and I,
The poet writes,
Shaping from within
Shaping from within
The world outside,
A word, a gesture,
A carefully alluded metaphor,
Ordering her strike fighters
Into close-air support,
Rallying her troops
For still another assault
On the distance bastions
For still another assault
On the distance bastions
Of fame and immortality.
-- If the quill don't break
And the river run dry,
Or the gateway don't collapse
Under pornographic spamming --
I and I,
The poet writes
The poet writes
For ages gone
And those to come.
Remember me
When I drew breath,
Remember me
When darkness surround you,
When the moon rises above the Sierra,
Remember me
I and I.
Lisa Jain Thompson
May 2007
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Did you know that every day
Mexican gays sneak into the country
and unplug our brain-dead ladies?
Mexican gays sneak into the country
and unplug our brain-dead ladies?
-- Homer Simpson
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Starpoetby Lisa Jain Thompson.
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