StarPoet Newsletter Vol. XII, No. XLVIII

Saturday, 26 November 2011 21:00 Last Updated on Saturday, 26 November 2011 21:05

The StarPoet Newsletter
Vol. XII, No. XLVIII (November 27, 2011 C.E.)

does anyone have a recipe for left over turkey?

Deep red Betelgeuse greets me brightly
Low in the western horizon,
The autumn chill reminds me
Winter quickens a month away
As the sun dies.

Lisa Jain Thompson c. 2011 C.E.


sliding into the winter holidays. soon the calendar will turn and i will extend my copyrights still another year. .

Starpoet
The Graves of My Ancestors
The graves of my ancestors Are scattered across North America, Traced to the Bering Bridge, England and Sicily: We have walked and sailed the world Just as someday we will move between The planets and then to the stars; We do what we must to survive And provide a future for our children, On Earth, on Mars, and across The Milky Way Until we give birth to Homo Astra née Sapiens And we become a static display in a museum.
— Lisa Jain Thompson (November 2011)

One of the very nicest things about life is the way we must regularly stop whatever it is we are doing and devote our attention to eating. -- Luciano Pavarotti

defining a spot
This Is Not That Way
This is not the way T. S. would have done it, I am not your father's poet, nor am I Elizabeth's; A graceful courtier I've never been Or a courtesan exchanging beauty for power. I was born with a talent and a love of English, A flare for lyric with an echo of Mytilene If the Muse had been born in the midst of the Twentieth, After Shakespeare, after Whitman, in the beginning of the digital: I am she who could not be made flesh without Beethoven's Scherzo.
Lisa Jain Thompson (November 2011)

checking in
Twenty or Sixty
I remember being scared at twenty, Worried I didn't know what I was doing, Unsure of my grades at class; I remember being tired at sixty, My bones aching in the weather, My muscles stiff and sore. What I don't remember is before I was born, or dying and being buried: So this is it, in the whatever of life My choices remain none or slim.	— Lisa Jain Thompson (November 2011)


A gourmet who thinks of calories is like a tart who looks at her watch. -- James Beard

first the playoffs and then the world
Legal Excuse
Hey Mom, would you call the school And tell them I'm not going to make it today? The classes are boring, the sun is shining, And the Nationals play two this afternoon.
Lisa Jain Thompson (November 2011)

A man is in general better pleased when he has a good dinner upon his table, than when his wife talks Greek. —Samuel Johnson

description of symptoms
The Pain in My Right Eye
The pain hovers around my right eye, The upper left corner, the lower right, A steady incessant fluctuation Broken by sharp pulses, A lens semi-focused, drifting in and out, My brain attempting to suppress The demands of nerve and flesh, My body wanting to sleep in its unproven belief That the pain will cease long before I awake.
Lisa Jain Thompson (November 2011)

vocabulary drill
Chica
A broad, a twist, Girl rhymes with twirl, Twirl and twist; Aunt, daughter, Girfriend, grandmother, Ms., Miss, and Missus, Mom, spouse, lover, wife, Amazon, chick, ma'am and property; Gold digger, cougar, sister, diva Poontang, pussy, beaver, cunt, Skank, tart, bitch and bimbo, Whore, fuck bunny and always babe: I am, now and always, woman, No matter what you may call me.
-- Lisa Jain Thompson (November 2011)

Always start out with a larger pot than what you think you need. -- Julia Child

channeling myself
With An Alien God
With an alien god clutching its peoples, I should be glad of another death; The streets overrun democracy, The cities hostile, the mobs unfriendly, Sleeping in snatches, waiting for the end; At dawn a lone hangman comes to beckon us Up the hill, cursing and grumbling At the inconvenience of it all.
Lisa Jain Thompson (November 2011)

more starpoet
At The Peak of Flight
At the peak of flight, surrounded by starlight, We waiver like a spent rocket at the atmosphere's edge Balanced between the air's drag and the velocity needed For us to escape this ancient, overcrowded grave To rebirth ourselves on some goldilocks world: Women and men of the fugitive human race Making do beneath whatever strange pale moons And ruddy colored suns we might find.
— Lisa Jain Thompson (November 2011)

It’s so beautifully arranged on the plate – you know someone’s fingers have been all over it. -- Julia Child

with apologies to Waylon
The Army Has New Uniforms
The Army has new uniforms, Male and female, Federal blue, dark and light, With officer's stripes down the slacks -- You can almost smell the cavalry -- The men look softly military, The women, neat and prim: The Modern Army, Army Strong, Are you sure Ike did it this way?
— Lisa Jain Thompson (November 2011)

the birds in the parking lot
*Thanksgiving Morning* Early Thanksgiving morning, After the frost had melted from the windshields, A murder of crows took over the Giant Food parking lot, Perching on the lights and grocery peaks, Surveying the shoppers and resting cars As they counted people and passing food carts, Hoping perhaps for some shopping road kill, A crashing dozen or a neglected bag left and unsecured. A black cloud surges when I move too close, Loudly ca-ca-ca-cawing as they scatter Only to reset themselves to wait for my return To open the trunk for last minute additions To our Thanksgiving menu: Apples, Pears, Petite Carrots, and Sour Dough For the feast and a large box of phosphate free For the dishwasher after the children leave.
— Lisa Jain Thompson (November 2011)
The only time to eat diet food is while you’re waiting for the steak to cook. —Julia Child


Copyright © Lisa Jain Thompson 1948-2011. Back issues are in the Newsletter Section of the StarPoet website. Visit my contact page and get in touch.