StarPoet Newsletter Vol. IX, No. XXXVII

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Gone again, gone again,
Galveston is gone again,
Wind, rain, raging hurricane
Straight on up the channel
Swallowing Galveston whole.

 

Come morning,
A Hooters survives,
Nicely framed on camera
By surf and debris,
And undeniable testament
To God's sense of humor.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Black purple flecked grackle
Face down lying in the grass,
Somewhere between a bird
And decaying moist flesh;

 

Our blackly flecked purple grackle
Flies no more through the heavens,
By earth and raptor, by cat and rat,
His soul returns once more to starstuff;

 

As will we, despite our careful plans,
Our daily offerings, our best intentions,
Inevitably, molecule by molecule, as will we
Until the universe itself lies darkly frozen,
A dimensionless, unfathomable flat line
Unhooked from time and every possibility but one.

 

 

Lisa Jain Thompson
September 2008

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

it's been a long week

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Approaching the dedication,
Faces from the past
Begin to appear on television screen:
The lady from the budget office
-- We'd tell each other jokes --
The Navy guy who'd say
Good Morning in the rings
As we passed on our way
Towards our separate corridors.
All gone in the fireball
Curling over the Pentagon,
All gone in that last moment,
Those handful seconds I watched
From my third floor window,
Still alive when the loop
Begins inside my head.

 

 

Lisa Jain Thompson
September 2008

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

blood suckers & friends

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Take warm blood from my left arm,
Dark urine from down below,
Pictures of both my lungs,
Temperature from my mouth;
Poke, prod, squeeze, listen,
Breathe out, breathe in, relax;
This will cure me unless it kills me
By boring me to death.

 

 

Lisa Jain Thompson
September 2008

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

all on that day

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Run
The stars will never hide me
The earth will never hold
My fleeing soul

 

Run
I am here
Run
I am gone

Run

 

 

Lisa Jain Thompson
September 2008

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The story of Galveston's tragedy can never be written as it is. Since the cataclysm of Saturday night a force of faithful men have been struggling to convey to humanity from time to time some of the particulars of the tragedy.

 

They have told much, but it was impossible for them to tell all, and the world, at best, can never know all, for the thousands of tragedies written by the storm must forever remain mysteries until eternity shall reveal all.

Perhaps it were best that it should be so, for the horror and anguish of those fatal and fateful hours were mercifully lost in the screaming tempest and buried forever beneath the raging billows.

 

Only God knows, and for the rest let it remain forever in the boundlessness of His omniscience.

 

But in the realm of finity, the weak and staggered senses of mankind may gather fragments of the disaster, and may strive with inevitable incompleteness to convey the merest impression of the saddest story which ever engaged the efforts of a reporter.

 

- As published Sept. 13, 1900, in The Galveston Daily News

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I have a seat at the dedication
Of the Pentagon 9-11 Memorial
Along with the 184 benches and reflecting pools

 

 

We were a legitimate military target,
The 125 civilians on the plane were not;
On Thursday we will be together for the first time

 

Since that clear bright morning shook the world
And our aging, decaying building stood and let us live
To remember those caught up in the jet fuel fireball.

 

 

Lisa Jain Thompson
September 2008

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The night belongs to poets,
Foolish riders of star and comet,
Up and out past the galactic edge,
Spindizzy trackers of the carnivàle;

 

Herders of humanity’s deepest unspoken,
Keepers of the spark when all else is lost;
Everyone and no one
When the world becomes all,
Go pilot jumpers between the worlds.

 

 

 

Lisa Jain Thompson
September 2008

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

poet as scientist

 

 

 

 

 

 

Somwhere an answer exists,
Maybe not today,
Maybe not tomorrow,
But soon, eventually,
One of us will know,
Then all of us will know
And the old gods will die,
Replaced by the Great Whatever
Until the moment
The answers change once again.

 

 

Lisa Jain Thompson
September 2008

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

in the end ...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A children’s choir for all the children
Who sent us drawings in support,
Flag at half mast, floating in the wind,
Garrison hanging over the restored wall,
Bagpipe mixing with trumpet and tears,
Voices soaring above us all.

 

Remember.

 

 

Lisa Jain Thompson
September 2008