Sad to hear the Writer’s Island is sailing into the sunset soon, but grateful to Rob for his dedication and hard work over these years. He deserves not only a break, but HUZZAHS from all poets who have met each other online through his blog. Love you, Rob, and HAD to respond to one of the final prompts, “Incomparable,” with a pun. Peace, Amy
Income Parable
Two sisters, two misters
Two divergent types of wife
One Wall Street, one small street
Each to their own way of life
One greedy, e’er needy
Income never quite enough
So fancy, perchance she
might have done well with less “stuff”
Other sister and her mister
always seemed to have their share
Faith and love held above
the stocks and bonds, the truth or dare
First Recession, soon Depression
Sister One weeps over loss
Sister Two has no boo-hoo
when faith is strong, the World’s not boss
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Also seen at my poetry home-away-from-home, Poets United
Triskaidekaphobia
Silly to be scared of a number
But there it was
She was scared to celebrate
her first official “teen” birthday,
thought the house
would go up in flames
because one of the candles
would flare and
that would be that.
She could not move into a flat
on the 14th floor
because she knew
the numbers skipped
from 12 to 14.
Karma was bound to catch up
in the form of
falling out the window
being squashed by a toppled ladder
(even though she hadn’t walked under it)
or being slowly gnawed to bits
by a black cat.
© Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Also at Writer’s Island in answer to their prompt, “Superstition,” and my poetic home, Poets United.
And now for something completely different, song lyrics. You can hear the song at my music link below (sorry, can’t upload it here.)
Hope you like it! Amy
Tioga Moon (free listen at amybarlowliberatore.com – my music site)
Tioga moon starts her song around eight
High above the maple, the color of marmalade
Spills on the rooftops and dances on the dewdrops
And drenches all the sumac in the glade…
Tioga moon, shining clear and bright
Tioga moon, shining on you tonight
When Cape Cod gets colder
and chills your shoulder,
that old Tioga moon will keep you in her sight
Oh, say…
when the gardenin’s done today
let’s escape the sun, and
run off to a place I know
where there’s shade
a little glade where the jack-in-the-pulpit grows
And then…
we’ll linger on ‘til after ten(derly you’ll call my name)
And then we’ll start to whisperin’ low
While the owls’ eyes and the fireflies
put on their show
Tioga moon, like a big brass bowl
Tioga moon shines like a prophet’s soul
When Buffalo winds blow
snow through your window
that old Tioga moon will make your insides glow
(repeat last chorus)
So stay well, sleep warm;
when the cold starts to bite,
that old Tioga moon will be your blanket tonight.
(Words and Music © 2009 Amy Barlow Liberatore)
Springing to Life Again
‘Tis the season of Winter’s evaporation
as Spring supersedes chill,
tugs at our trowels,
breathes into us tiny moments of joy.
Water, as mist, rising in the fields
as fodder for mudslides in the canyons,
as morning nymph, awakening seaweed
beneath the shoreline.
Water, released from stasis;
then, in Nature’s tightly embroidered womb
disappearing in the evaporation
that will bring the earth full cycle; back to balance.
World awakening. Welcome!
(c) 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore
For A Whirl of Wordling Sundays, Writer’s Island, and as always, Poets United.
Wordle words: tugs, seaweed, mist, tiny, released, breathes, slides, evaporation, embroidered, water, river, supersedes
The prompt at NaPoWriMo was to write a poem using words you hate. This covers a wide spectrum from one part of my life. I miss you, Jeff. Love, Amer
Panel from the Memory Project
Pneumocystis Pneumonia (PCP)
Prone on the steel-back chair.
Probed straight down the gullet.
Cysts and rancid breath emerge
as he lay stupefied.
He will awaken and count the hours.
Tick, tock, curse the clock.
Swabs grabbed cultures.
Petrie dishes cook up the fetid truth:
He has it.
He has full-blown AIDS.
It is 1985.
He is 32.
Tick. tock, curse the clock.
Skeletal soon enough, too soon.
Patches of scabs peel off his scalp.
Bactrin on every sink so that
if he barfs, bleeds, or brays
we can wash it off.
Tick, tock, curse the clock.
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Also posted at Writer’s Island (Day 28) and Poets United.
Poetic Asides had an interesting challenge: “A World Without ____________.” Yeah, go figure how this one came to mind (wink)! Amy
A World Without Gay Men (what a bore)
No Dr. Kildare
Nor “Night and Day”
No “Pillow Talk”
‘cause Rock was gay
No Sistine Chapel
Virtruvian Man
No Mona Lisa
No inventions grand
No Karloff’s Monster
(James Whale’s work of art)
No Benjamin Britten
Johnny Mathis, my heart
Gershwin, Sweet
Embraceable You,
the Man I Love
is a classic, it’s true
Greg Louganis’
diving perfection
Leonard Bernstein’s
symphonic direction
The list could go on
til night turns to day
but what a dull world
without men born that way
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Also posted at my NaPoWriMo home, Writer’s Island, and at Poets United.
Absolutely true story, and managed to write it in Poetic Asides’ 10×10 form as well. My cousin Gregg and I are a lot alike: Complete unimpressed by celebrity, and able to get off a one-liner without cracking up (until later). You go, cuzzy!
Carradine vs. Laughlin (0-1)
You’re not supposed to speak ill of the dead
But this one’s too funny to go untold
David Carradine, in his “Kung Fu” days
Came to a rest’rant my cousin Gregg ran
Carradine went barefoot a lot back then
and Gregg said, “Sorry, no shoes, no service”
All puffed up, the star went on to protest
“Don’t you know who I am? Any bistro
would be glad to serve me, barefoot or not!”
Gregg deadpanned, “I suggest you go find one.”
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Also posted at Writer’s Island, my NaPoWriMo home, and at Poetic Asides, plus, as always, Poets United.
AGING DISGRACEFULLY (and proud of it)
Old age ain’t for sissies, said Bette Davis
and she was doggone right
Boobs hanging so low I have to
set ’em in rollers at night
and shoved into “woman-friendly” bras daily
The way they swing wouldn’t make Frank
sing “ring-a-ding-ding”
Took up yoga to get flexible
advice courtesy of my physician
(not “Physical,” thanks anyway, Olivia)
Noticed that, in the Down Dog position
my skin of my thighs draped off my legs
like a curtain valance, but at least
I kept my balance.
That is, until the Salutes to the Sun,
when I grandly and loudly fell on my face,
laughing so hard I snorted at my own contortions.
This got other 50+ women chortling and
soon we were all flat on our mats doing
what older girls do best: Sharing a laugh
about ourselves, on our own behalf.
We finished class and Betsy blurted:
“A latte! Who’s with me?”
Soon around a table filled with decadent desserts
(which we dutifully split, counting calories somewhat)
we decided: Stay with yoga class, stretch at night,
walk in pairs or groups, eat (almost) right.
But never skip dessert: Old age ain’t for sissies,
nor for grumps, nor frumps. Just real women,
having our say and doing it (cue Nelson Riddle):
“Oooooooour Waaaaaaaaaay!”
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Went to visit my new psychiatrist today for the first time. Good session, but I think he had more fun than I did, since hearing my story… locales, incidents, and stories of my mom’s family, all make for quite the first impression, clinically speaking! Thanks for all your prayers and good thoughts over the past week. I am indeed well again! Amy
THE BIG TOP
Under the big top streaked with gray
They dance and perform; they’re at constant play
One is careening across center ring
in a clown car with spears – a most treacherous thing
The acrobats tumble across beds of nails
Trapeze artists regularly slip amid wails
There’s no net to catch them, so when they have fallen
for sweepers with hoses the master comes callin’
The freak show’s so real even grownups grow faint
There’s one star: it’s me, off my meds – fun, it ain’t
A banshee, a dervish, and funhouse in one
My bipolar circus has merely begun
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Sharp Little Pencil 