ABC Wednesday | Sharp Little Pencil - Amy Barlow Liberatore

Rasslin’ and Roller Derby with Ruthie

14 May 2013 21 Comments

by Sharp Little Pencil in Family Tags: ABC Wednesday, Apalachin, Auntie Ruth, National Enquirer, Rassling, Relatives, Roller Derby, The Laughlins

Grandma Blanche, Ruth’s mom, and Ruth, “back in the day”

Rasslin’ and Roller Derby with Ruthie

She’s two glasses into
Dad’s homemade saki
and it’s only noon.
“Gettem! Crushem!”

Auntie Ruth, banging on her tray,
rocking her wheelchair with
with fearsome might, and she’s
pretty tight. Saturday Rassling.

“That fight, we shoulda had
money on it, Amer,” she smiles.
I’m 12 and her best companion
since she moved in with the family.

“Where’s the National IN-quirer?”
I wave it and remind her, “First,
Roller Derby, then, the world news.”
Time for Joanie Weston, Amazon.

Old-school roller derby, women
big as fridges scooting, scrapping,
scraped up and bruised. Unlike the
rassling, these girls are out for blood.

“That Joanie must be hell on her husband,”
she snickers, clicking her false teeth.
“One more snort, Amer.” I fill her
punch cup with Dad’s toxic moonshine.

“Ruthie, something tells me Joanie Weston
isn’t married,” I offer. “You remember
Aunt Frank?” Frances, the loner sister in
cowboy boots with a femme friend.

“Yup. You think it’s that way with
Joanie?” I nod assuredly. “Well,” says
Ruthie thoughtfully, “then I hope she has
a nice girlfriend, like Frankie did.” Wink.

Roller Derby ends; Joanie and her team are
victorious once again. “And now,” parking
my sneaks on a table, “The evening news.”
ALIEN MEETS NIXON AT WHITE HOUSE

Another from Mom’s side of the family, the irrepressible Ruth Stoll, sister of Grandma Blanche Laughlin. Auntie Ruth moved in with us after her 98-year-old mother died. Ruthie would get so potted on saki that all the wooden baseboards were scratched up from bad steering! She was a pistol and kept the whole family hopping, especially on penny-ante poker night (we used the same pennies over and over again and put them back in the cup when we were done).

For ABC Wednesday (R) and my two poetic roller rinks, Poets United and Imaginary Garden With Real Toads.

Queer.

09 May 2013 16 Comments

by Sharp Little Pencil in LGBTQ Tags: ABC Wednesday, Allies, Androgyny, Gender Issues, Insults, LGBTQ, Poets United, Queer, Real Toads, Reclaiming

Before the poem, an announcement: IT’S OFFICIAL! I AM A TOAD! The site where I spent most of April, Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, invited me to be one of their circle of 20 poets. I am extremely flattered and thrilled to be included in the Garden with so many wonderful poets. Like Poets United, one must be invited to join, so that’s my BIG ANNOUNCEMENT for, like, the year! Now, on we go…

Queer.

She’s queer and
wants me to
refer to her as
gender queer,
androgynous.

I could do no less
than confess:
My generation has
problems with Queer,
hearing it said in
locker rooms and
school, in sports
and retorts spat at
the skinny boys.

‘Queer’ meant
wrong, bent.
Now it means
the whole LGBT
community.
‘Queer’ has found
immunity.

She told me that
I must embrace change,
dangerous as it seems.
She dreams of
a day when ‘Queer’
simply means
‘Not Straight.’

Apples
to
apples.

For ABC Wednesday and also to be found on my non-homophobic hangouts, Imaginary Garden With Real Toads and Poets United. It’s a generational thing. I remember gay pride movements in the 70s and 80s, and the cry, “We’re Here! We’re Queer! Get Over It!” Then, the word was still used as a pejorative by straights and closeted LGBTQs. The new generation, those who remember coming home from school on 9/11 like we remember coming home from school the day Pres. Kennedy was shot, have taken that word back, flipped it like a coin, say it with pride.

And I say, “Good on them!” Peace, Amy

Armed.

16 Jan 2013 30 Comments

by Sharp Little Pencil in POETRY Tags: ABC Wednesday, Armed, Faith, Homeless, mothers, Poets United, Rush Limbaugh, Worship

ARMED

Put yourself in his position.

The kid was always odd.
Mom got knocked up but
some guy married her to
keep her off welfare or worse.

He grew up. Spoke loudly
at worship when he should’ve
kept quiet, now they thought
he was more disturbed that ever.

Roamed around with a bunch of
homeless dudes, got kicked out
of his hometown, they booed him.
“Crazy,” they whispered. Harsh.

He gets in big trouble and
hides out in the woods, but
one of his gang gives him up to
the authorities. He is cornered.

If Jesus had had a gun in Gethsamane,
would he have taken aim at the guards?
Nowadays, it would barely make the crawl:
“Middle Eastern man, 33, guns down cops.”

Jesus would never own a gun; he shunned
violence. He preached unconditional love,
and that’s not shown with assault rifles.

Even when betrayed with a kiss.

Even when tortured by Roman soldiers.

Even when people screamed at him
on the long, laden perp walk to Golgotha.

Even bloodied, he forgave those who
drove nails into his body.

Even as he was raised up on the cross
and set up for display like a sick statue.

Suspend belief in the resurrection
for a moment. He had no idea what
was coming next, and still, he chose death
willingly, for the sake of others.

What if Jesus had an assault rifle or
a high-powered Palin moose killer?
If you’re Christian, ask yourself:
Whose message do you put more faith in?

The words of Christ… or the lobbyists of the NRA?

For ABC Wednesday, we are back to Square One: A! I imagine this will ruffle some feathers, but remember, the crux of this not “either/or,” but rather, priorities. One can be a Christian and hunt, go to the shooting range. It’s a personal choice whether you feel safer with a pistol in the house, but if it’s stored and the ammo locked up, as it should be, that’s not a lot of help when, as Rush Limbaugh so eloquently put it today, “Obama’s thugs come to your door to seize your guns.” Ted Nugent would call me nuts, but I don’t think hunting requires Kalishnikovs. People are so fearful (some of that biracial man in the White House), they are stocking up on ammo!

FYI: Despite Rush’s ranting about the Commander In Chief (calling the president Socialist, Muslim, Nazi, racist, a traitor, and TAR BABY… let’s all throw up now), RUSH is the only radio talk show on the Armed Forces Network. This treason goes directly to the troops. Your tax dollars at work, and mine.)

It’s all about choices. And politics. And remembering who, and whose, you are. As for me and mine, I’m with Jesus; Gandhi; Martin Luther King, Jr.; the Buddah… you get the idea. Peace, Amy

Zen Man

11 Jan 2013 41 Comments

by Sharp Little Pencil in Music, Nature, Uncategorized Tags: ABC Wednesday, Hang Music, Musicians, Nature, Poets United, Reflection, Zen

(NOTE: This instrument, called the hang, is pronounced “hong.” Click on the video before you read the poem!)

ZEN MAN

Find him in nature
a shaded nook where
trees whisper stories of
the ancient ones.

Matthew finds a
perfect perch and
carefully lifts his hang,
its song to share.

Nimble, careful,
deliberate fingers seem
carved from soft wood,
burnished brown.

He conjures chords,
soothing harmonies,
unearthly sounds, yet
so natural: Soul songs.

In this moment there is only
Matt, the hang, and strains
of unrestrained bliss;
the gods conjured his gift.

And we, who were
a moment ago merely
bumps on a log are
lifted to a higher place…

Musical, ethereal, reflective, mindful.

Also, Kim Nelson at Poets United (my poetic shady nook) asked for poems about reflection.

My cousin by marriage, Matt Venuti, is a soulful musician. Please visit his site, www.mattvenuti.com, for more videos and information about his art. He also plays the EVI and a variety of other instruments, but the hang has his heart at present.

He is also one of those musicians who didn’t get into it so he could drink and smoke on the job! He’s a gentle soul, utterly sincere, and wildly talented… yet humble. If you’re lucky, you’ll experience him performing live.

Peace from a lucky cousin, Amy

VIOLENCE

15 Dec 2012 27 Comments

by Sharp Little Pencil in POETRY Tags: ABC Wednesday, assault weapons, Children, gun control, Newtown Shootings, NRA, School, shootings

VIOLENCE (a barlette)

Kids on playgrounds
play cops and robbers
(“Bang! You’re dead!”)

“Children’s programming”
mandated by FCC, any cartoon
(Lots of ‘heroes’ in bloody battles.)

Coaches in high school
Sometimes violence = cash
(A Benjamin if you take out the QB)

Gay teens shoved in lockers
for daring to be themselves
(“My pastor says they’re evil.”)

At home, children try to ignore
drunk mom and dad going at it again
(“Time to play Grand Theft Auto.”)

A Connecticut mom has five guns, all
registered, all legal, all for use
(Why give a troubled kid access?)

Unbalanced, alienated son
walks into school for reasons unknown
(First he killed his mom and took her guns.)

NRA: “Guns don’t kill people.
People kill people.”
(Morons. People with guns kill people.)

How many presents have been bought
for kids who are not coming home?
(And what will we do about the weapons?)

NOTES: A barlette is my own form. Two or three lines, followed by a commentary in parentheses. ABC Wednesday is on the letter “V,” and I was stuck… until today. Also on the rolling sidebar at Poets United.

I am a firm supporter of the Second Amendment, because many Americans (especially Wisconsinites) hunt and use the animals they kill fully, wisely. My brother-in-law, now deceased, used to shoot one deer and turn all the venison into marinated meats for the freezer.

All the same, “assault rifles” MUST GO. By “assault rifle,” I mean any gun or rifle that shoots more than one bullet with one pull of the trigger. It’s that simple. Banning certain models simply means manufacturers will modify that model a bit and skirt the law.

Ted Nugent is embraced by the Right (who seem to forget he dodged the draft in Nam by smearing himself with his feces and not bathing and acting like he was mentally ill). Now he’s a “good patriot” by opening his ranch to vets in wheelchairs and giving them assault rifles to shoot imported game. Probably the last thing a traumatized vet needs is a gun in his hands.

If I hear, “Obama’s gonna take my guns and then he’s gonna make this a police state” one more time, I’ll vomit. My old friend Leslie moved to Newtown when we were in the fifth grade. I visited her often when we were growing up; her heart is broken. She was the one who gave me the last line; as she said, “How many parents already have presents wrapped and hidden in the closet for children who aren’t coming home?”

I pray for the families who lost loved ones, especially parents whose small child was killed today. I pray that the president will take this incident and push for gun control that really works. And I pray that the fear that has gripped our nation since 9/11 (collective PTSD) will give way to dialog, to common goals, and to peace. Amy

Little Lajwanti Lost (Brothels of India)

04 Oct 2012 33 Comments

by Sharp Little Pencil in POETRY, Violence, Women Tags: ABC Wednesday, George Clooney, Half The Sky, Heroic Women, PBS, Poets United, Real Toads, Sex Slavery, War on Women, Young Girls

Little Lajwanti Lost (Brothels of India)

Plucked from family tree
nowhere near ripe
Sold to brothel
Dignity denied
She aches, lacerated
Beaten if she says “no”
Infected if she says “yes”
Enslaved since she was five

I saw a PBS special last night that changed my life. Although the perpetrators of violence against women in this film are mostly dark-skinned, it’s not a racist film – those who know me understand I’m open and outspoken about my own childhood sexual abuse, and we have plenty of work to do around the unearned shame of victims and survivors Stateside. This is about girls in Asia and Africa who lack support of any kind, who through no fault of their own are disowned by families after being raped, who are sold by families or total strangers into prostitution… and the brave women and men who risk all to come to their defense.

“Lajwanti” is a Hindi name that means “a sensitive plant.” I chose the name for the specific irony of the fate of mostly lower-caste girls. The sex slave trade in India is protected by local police bribery and fought by a lion-hearted woman named Somaly, who as a young girl was sold into slavery and now runs a refuge for the girls they are able to spring from the brothels. She says, “They are me.”

The PBS special about the film, Half The Sky, is not to be viewed with popcorn and brewskis. It is a brutally frank account of violence against women, from culturally sanctioned rape to girls as young as five sold into prostitution worldwide. From the brothels of India to the rape of girls as young as two years old in Sierra Leone (where to “devirginize” a girl is a matter of pride for the man), this film also shows some real-life heroines who deserve our support. Please click the link above to learn more.

There are stars, beginning with George Clooney’s commentary, along with several female stars traveling to witness and comfort the rescued girls. A tremendous scene: A former prostitute who was rescued, now aged 15, confronting a roomful of men and quizzing them on why condoms are useful. She even shows them how to open the packet without damaging the contents and looks them straight in the eye. Like I said, lion-hearted women.

If you want to help this vital movement on behalf of half the world’s population, visit THIS LINK.

As a “little white suburban girl” who was used for sex by her own father, I can tell you this: Look behind the siding of houses in your own neighborhood. Men who use girls (and boys) without conscience are everywhere, often trusted family friends or family members, scout leaders, upstanding clergy, teachers…

I am eternally grateful for this prompt, from Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, where Mama Zen asked for a poetic drama in 30 words or less, and Roger at ABC Wednesday (L). Also at my safe haven, Poets United.

Peace, Amy

Ugly.

11 Jun 2012 80 Comments

by Sharp Little Pencil in LGBTQ, POETRY Tags: ABC Wednesday, LGBTQ, Mirror, Self-Esteem, Sunday Scribbllings, Ugly

Sorry I didn’t post for two days, but here’s a slice of life from a teenage girl’s point of view.

UGLY.

Mirrors are cruel.

They never say she’s
the fairest one, yet she
dares another look.
She doesn’t see
herself, she only sees:

Ugly.

Horrible acne, festering, hideous.
A lump is in her throat as she
steps back for the full-length view.
Flat chest, not the
jiggling fullness boys like.

Hips SO not there.
And her hair, a disaster
of biblical proportions;
not really blonde,
not exactly brown,
more like puddles after
a long, soaking rain…
or the worms that come out to
get squished on the sidewalk.

And the scars on her wrists,
constant reminders that she
tried to rid the world of
this pustule of a person.

Rubbing lavender lotion on her
warm belly (at least I’ll smell good,
not that they’ll get very close),
then, donning the final insult:
the glasses.
(Bifocals at 16. I mean, really?)
She sneaks downstairs for breakfast
before catching the bus to school.

Her mom, who is of course GORgeous
and dressed the same, pours juice.
See her hands, perfectly manicured,
her flawless skin, and long,
auburn hair pulled back carelessly
in a scrunchy. Effortless.

She measures herself against
the impossible, easy beauty of her mother.
(I’ll never be that pretty, never.)

Mom turns and says,
“Paul, remember your biology test today.
Oh, look, you’re wearing the shirt
I got you at the mall!” A kiss on the forehead.
“My handsome boy. Don’t break any hearts today!”

Don’t worry. She won’t, not while
that worrisome bulge is in her jeans.
The thing that doesn’t belong on a real girl.

Gym today… she shudders,
takes a bite of a muffin,
feels the Adam’s Apple
bounce with the swallow.

Ugly.

© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For Sunday Scribblings, the prompt was “Costume,” (and, indeed, that’s what this teenager wears every day) and ABC Wednesday is on “U.” Also posting to dverse Open Mic Night, where a collection of more than 100 poets usually post their favorite poems of the week. All descriptions, all diverse subject matter, all manner of poets. Look for Aaron Kent, if he has posted a spoken word, too!

NOTE: Life is more than difficult for transgender teens; it’s often impossible. Too many kids commit suicide, caught in the confusion of their gender identity and an undefinable shame about how they are built vs. who they know they are. As with other teens with gender identity confusion, they are constantly on guard, worried their secret will come out. This “young man” yearns to go the the prom in a dress with cleavage. Who can blame her? She is, in her heart, a girl who happened to be delivered into the wrong body. Pray for our kids. High school sucks for straight kids – imagine yourself in this kid’s shoes. Peace, Amy

Rich and Richer (ABC Wednesday)

18 May 2012 24 Comments

by Sharp Little Pencil in POETRY, Protest Tags: ABC Wednesday, Inherited Wealth, One Percenters, Pawns, Poets United, Protest, Rich People, Social Justice

RICH AND RICHER

Here is the heart of the matter:
One percent get fatter
while children starve.

Their parents are
stark-stricken with guilt.
We 99ers built this country,

White indentured servants;
Black slaves who gave all and
all they got was, “Y’all are lazy,

yer not even worth
one whole person.”
They nursed hope anyway.

The Rich are the sons
and grandsons of men with
ideas but the DNA diluted.

Ever see a xerox of a xerox of
a xerox? Sometimes that’s called
Mister President.

The Rich of today
have never worked
or earned their money.

They play Monopoly
using real people as
little game pieces.

They play the game of Life
using worthless mortgages
as cash for their bank.

They don’t play chess.
That game takes work.
Effort is not their style.

© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For ABC Wednesday, brought to you by the letter “R.” Also posted at Poets United, my poetic sanctuary.

DECLARATION OF AN ALLY OF THE QUEER COMMUNITY

10 May 2012 26 Comments

by Sharp Little Pencil in LGBTQ, POETRY Tags: ABC Wednesday, Activism, Adoption, Ally, LGBTQ, Marriage, PFLAG, Queer, Social Justice

DECLARATION OF AN ALLY OF THE QUEER COMMUNITY

Queer. That word stops
folks from my generation
dead in their tracks.
We don’t say that word.

Queer.
Always an insult, the word shouted
by football players before stuffing a
loafer-light boy into a wastebasket.

Queer.
Not right. Wrong.
In Matthew Shepard’s case, dead wrong.
Tied-to-a-bumper wrong.

Queer.
The word my daughter uses
in identifying her orientation.
She dresses boyish but loves women.

Queer.
They’re here. Your accountant, your dentist,
your kid’s teacher (not the one with the
porn on their computer, either).

Queer.
Homophobes use it to describe
boys other than their own sons, who
ship out in the Navy to prove they are “real men.”

Queer.
Mom explained it when I was five.
No graphic descriptions of sex,
just, “Uncle John loves Uncle Tony.”

It’s simple.
People are people.
Half the sexual acts straight couples do
could get them arrested in Mississippi.

Queer.
They’re here. Get over it.
They are committed couples.
They adopt kids straight couples don’t want.
They rehabilitate crack babies.
They are wonderful neighbors.
They shop; they pay taxes.
Some are slobs, some are fashionable.
Some drink wine, some drink beer.
Some go to church, some don’t.
They are human beings who are
capable of love, of compassion,
of snottiness, of loyalty.
They deserve life, liberty,
and the pursuit of happiness.

Just like you.
Just like me.
Just like everybody else.

Amen.

And no, that is not a picture of me. It’s me in 20 years or so!

The Pinkie (ABC Wednesday)

04 May 2012 16 Comments

by Sharp Little Pencil in POETRY Tags: ABC Wednesday, Fingers, Humor, Pinkie, Poets United, Prompts

The Pinkie

The pinkie has a purpose.
Pointing outward at high tea.
Stand proud alongside taller siblings.

Rich people adorn it with rings.
When chopping veggies, it
rarely falls victim to the blade.

No longer than a thumb, yet
pushed to the end of the line, for
Thumb basks in glory of its opposition.

Oh, lowly pinkie, you are my little hero
holding fast at the end of the digits,
keeping the others in line.

© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For ABC Wednesday, brought to you by the letter “P.” Once in a while, whimsy catches me by the heel, and this is the result! Also at my poetic pinkie ring, Poets United.

Sharp Little Pencil – Amy Barlow Liberatore

Rasslin’ and Roller Derby with Ruthie

Queer.

Armed.

Zen Man

VIOLENCE

Little Lajwanti Lost (Brothels of India)

Ugly.

The Pinkie (ABC Wednesday)

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