Formula for a Lasting Marriage

Formula for a Lasting Marriage

Uncle Tommy told me
that successful couples should
each try to give 70 percent.

“That way, when one partner
isn’t up to giving their full share,
the other person compensates.”

Works for me.

© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil

Trifecta wanted a “formula” poem, in 33 words. My Uncle Tom and Aunt Clare were married many, many years before Tommy’s death. Tom was my mom’s brother, but Clare always called my mother “sister” instead of “sister-in-law.” They were so close… I’ll write more about them at another time.

Years later, Clare was lucky enough to find love again with a widower named Bob. They both kept pictures of their first loves in the house and talked about them all the time. That kind of selfless devotion, while still in a wonderful new relationship, speaks to their happiness. Bob died a few years back, and now Aunt Clare (whom we visited in California) is still shiny as a new penny, a truly lovely woman. When I think of Clare, I think of class, patience, and gracefulness. Her son, Gregg, is the cousin who got me to move out to California and work at the Great American Food & Beverage Company, a true adventure and one of the best moves I ever made.  Greggie is still too cool for school, after all these years!

A little more family history from your friend in poetry, Amy.

Wedding Night Waxes (Poets United)

Wedding Night Waxes

He carried her over the threshold
of their bridal suite:
Room 5 at the local Super 7
(couldn’t afford the Super 8)

She said she had prepared
a “goodie bag” for their wedding night
“What kind of goodies?” he asked, and
she just winked and smiled.

The Marriage Bed, they called it,
laughing (the baby was due in May)
They sat on the edge, making small talk
by the light of TCM classics on TV

She grabbed the mystery bag
Vanished into the bathroom and
squeezed into the silken nightie
she found on Clearance at Victoria’s Secret
(a bit swollen, but still sexy)

At that moment
the TV flickered off and
lights outened themselves with a snick
“Babe,” he called, “power’s out…
You OK in there?”

Her answer, opening the bathroom door
She held a basket with wine, crackers and cheese
In her long red lingerie, she stood
bathed in candleglow

“When I said I put all we needed
in the goodie bag, I wasn’t kidding”
His answer, a low, appreciative whistle

A single candle, stuck in a precious bottle:
The very first Chardonnay they ever shared
It was in the cab of his truck
They’d traced constellations and snuggled
and the baby was probably conceived
under Venus’ approving gaze

Now wax stribbled down the green bottleneck,
obscured the label, pooled on the night stand
as wick flickered…
a newborn light

© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil

Poets United’s Wonder Wednesday asked for poems about wax, candlelight, and such. Candles are the cheapest accessory for romance, so I thought about a young couple who didn’t have much but each other and took off from there. Peace, Amy

Heart. Heart. Heart.

Heart.
Muscle.
Pump.
Can be defeated by eating “to your heart’s desire,”
yet your heart desires it not,
only your want to fill
that empty spot.

Heart.
Symbol.
Red.
A child hangs his Valentine on the fridge,
only to find the dog
thought it interesting;
she nuzzled it down, chewed it to bits.
He runs crying to Mom.

Heart.
Soul.
Passion.
She now grants access carefully. Her heart
has been broken before,
but it healed, gained resilience.
The scars may show,
but she will live
to love again.

© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For Imaginary Garden With Real Toads: We were asked to post the song that helps us through our heartbreaks and write a poem about it. This prompt caught me by the tear ducts.
The YouTube track is, of course, Rickie Lee Jones (not “Ricky,” spelled wrong on the title page). Tom Waits wrote this song for her, and she sang it every night as the encore during her first national tour. I went to this song for solace time and again, in the years before Lex. She is a treasure trove of writing talent on her own, but here is where an angel’s voice meets the song the actual writer could never sing to great effect.

Red Roses (dverse)

Red Roses

She answered her front door
The bouquet, ceiling to floor
Roses, red and silky, fragrant

Behind them stood the Count
Whom she soon hoped to mount
(without seeming too flagrant)

But first, dinner at Le Grande
Champagne warming their bond
Holding her hand, caressing her wrist

Then back to her secluded place
Where, in their first embrace
The bond was sealed, her neck kissed

She transformed by the light of the moon
He called it the taste of maroon
He was a man of great resources

Their gory nights, filled with laughter
And they both lived forever, ever after
Until global war killed all their sources

Wooed
Chewed
Screwed

© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For dverse, the prompt was, of course, vampires.

Bring Back My Heart (song included!)

Bring Back My Heart, copyright details below

The prompt at Poets United’s Thursday Think Tank is “Music.” Hey, what an opportunity, right?
Here is a song from my CD, Jazz Baby Hits Her Stride.
You can hear me sing it if you click on the link above.
Hope you enjoy this little love song, recorded at the studio of my dear friend Jon Randel. Peace, Amy

Bring Back My Heart

Thank you for the visit, it really was sublime
To catch up on the news after all this time
I packed in such a hurry, some things got left behind
So if you wouldn’t mind…

My toothbrush and my dental floss, I left them on the sink
And a lone Peruvian earring, in the living room, I think
Some pictures of my daughter on a table by the door
And my lingerie we left scattered on the floor

It’s really quite the laundry list
But there’s one more thing I missed

Bring back my heart, return it to me
At the first convenient opportunity
It had just come off the shelf
And I had planned to keep it for myself

I didn’t leave it in the bedroom – I’m not blasé
That’s not the place where hearts are given away
Perhaps it was the restaurant where you took my hand
And told me life had not turned out exactly as you’d planned

You asked me whether I had hopes to share my life again
And I told you God had plans for me, but wouldn’t tell me when
My heart was mine alone
And until we kissed, I thought it had turned to stone

Bring back my heart, we’ll see what’s in store
Make my office gossip when you show up at the door
Bring back my heart, but until you do
I know it’s safe with you

So put it in your pocket, keep it close
Hold it with the treasures you love most
And when you return it, here is what I’ll do:

I will scent it with roses, wrap it in lace
Lay it in the lining of a golden case
And I will give it right back to you

© 2004 Words and Music by Amy Barlow Liberatore
Published by Beehat Baby Music, all rights reserved

Let’s Get Lost (Trifecta)

Let’s Get Lost

Fingers interlaced
Candles placed, optimum glow,
because we know:

Sex may be the province
of novice lovers
(all sweat and victory)

Lasting love meanders
Loses track
Edges slowly toward lava

Sighs
…and stays

© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
(Inspired by my wonderful husband Lex – 15 years this April!)

For Trifecta: Poem in exactly 33 words, using “Lost” in the title but not within the 33-word poem. A special Hell has been created for poets who refer to the TV show “Lost,” in any way, shape, or form.
Also hangin’ with my crowd at Poets United in the right-hand column.

I’ve Been There plus more on Fred’s book!

First off, great news! Fred Weintraub, while promoting his book co-written by David Fields and edited by yours truly, added my blog link to his page! Scroll down to the bottom right and see my picture and link there!
http://www.fredweintraub.com/index.php?page=book

I’m a bit slow at responding to comments because I visit each and every one of you who leave word with me… so be patient!  Or to borrow from an old bit, “Be gentle… it’s my 385th time!”

You know it’s getting near Valentine’s Day when I get all sloppy about long-ago unrequited love… old feelings sometimes give birth to new poems. Still happy with the valentine I have, my Lex! Peace, Amy

I’ve Been There

Tell me how you feel
I’m your sounding board
I’ll play devil’s advocate
‘case there’s something you’ve ignored

She was too lovely to be real
And you loved her, yes, it’s true
But the way you looked at her
is the way I look at you

I’ve been there, too many times
Trying to find the rhythm in the rhymes
I’ve been there, tongue hanging out
Heart on my sleeve, and foolish, no doubt

You can’t understand why she
can’t be the one to adore you
I can’t understand why you
can’t see what’s right here before you

Tell me how you feel
I’ll be here forever
But will I tell you
how I feel? Probably never…

© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Also posted at my poetic hearth and home, Poets United

Lakeside Conversation, Poetic Bloomings

LAKESIDE CONVERSATION

An autumn breeze caressed my cheek.
A moment with no words to speak
aloud, but softly, with great care:
“The end of this; we know it’s there.”

The carefree days, each careful kiss;
I know that life holds more than this
for me,” I sighed, and waited for
response from him.  Then, this he swore:

“I’ll like you ‘til my dying day.
Please be my friend, although we’ll lay
apart, and in the arms of others.”
This is the love time never smothers:

The gift of letting passion go
because true friendship deems it so.

© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil

Poetic Bloomings was the first to inspire me after my break, with a lovely photo by Walt of lovers lounging by the lake. Please click HERE to see it, as I am unable to download from the site. Thanks, Marie and Walt! Also at Poets United, the poetry collective that rocks! Peace to all, and I’m SO relieved to be back! Amy

La Bella Luna (Poetic Bloomings)

Poetic Bloomings (a newer prompt site – check it out!) asked for poems using the most irresistible prompt: “There’s a moon out tonight.” Aaaaaah. Amy

La Bella Luna

Grab a jacket and take my hand, darlin’.
Tonight, Monona’s lakeside is calling out to us.
La bella luna want to bathe all lovers
in beams of reflected light.

Here by the shore, slight chill of the autumn to come,
we’ll stroll, serenaded by so many crickets
and the soft paddle of ducks, looking for a late-night snack.

Though full-faced Old Man looms above, silverfoiled and shining,
the lightning bugs are not overwhelmed.
Blinking gold, ruby, emerald… just out of reach,
yet so near, teasing us, same as they did
when we were kids lying in field of wild grasses.

City lights are low, revealing buckets of stars
spilled in horoscope formations.
We needn’t prove our love beneath this panorama.
We are no longer teenagers, needing it now, now.
The silver moon lingers in streaks of our hair
as we walk and whisper, my hand in your jacket,
you arm slung around my shoulder as we make our way home.

© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil

DISCLAIMER: Actually, we live near the shore of Lake Mendota; Monona is to the north of our skinny stretch of the East Side of Madison, WI. I felt the name “Monona” was a bit more poetic. Apologies to all Tenney Park neighbors!

Laundromat (Sunday Whirl)

Laundromat

Wasted the night before,
I’d screwed the chance
to do my dirty laundry.

Doobie ashes on the floor
Discretion cracked open,
my values in a quandary.

“Don’t do strangers,”
was always my creed,
but he’d been on my couch

‘cause he possessed dangers
highlighting my need…
Granite jaw, killer slouch.

Now, in desperation,
I’m at the Rinse ‘n’ Spin
‘til cleansed, my clothes are done.

Cheap soil eradication
but it won’t remove sin…
A revolution!  Fridays are fun!

© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For the Sunday Whirl, with thanks to Brenda; Wordle words are in bold. THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. Strangers were never in my romantic repertoire! Amy

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