The Knowing*
Extracting mem’ries
with ice picks, frozen in time…
Then, there’s the knowing
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For ABC Wednesday, Letter “K”
Also at the cozy poetic nook, Poets United!
*Redacted: SPECIAL THANKS TO VIV FOR CORRECTING MY HAIKU FORM IN THE FINAL LINE! I mean it when I say “criticism is welcome,” because if I had submitted this to a haiku publication, they’d have a good laugh over my 6-syllable former ending! Amy
I usually don’t revisit the same subject so soon, but Poetic Bloomings had a prompt with such specifics (a great-grandfather, a pocketwatch, a camera, getting film developed) to one I just wrote about my Great-grandpa Dunn that I though he deserved a special remembrance. I’m looking at the portrait as I write this… Mom looks so little, like a puppy standing next to Gary Cooper. So thanks, Marie Elena and Walt, for reading my mind! Peace, Amy
Portrait of Great-grandpa and Mom
Mom told me her Grandpa
died on the tracks
The storied train conductor
lay down to relax
and died as he’d lived
in his suit so fine
Forty-some years working
the Rock Island Line
They found him, right hand flung out
They opened his palm
His prized pocket-watch was
still perfect as a Psalm
They went to the shack
built around his prize
A massive telescope;
Mars seen with his own eyes
and papers lined in ink
detailed her Grandpa’s plan
that someday on the moon
a spaceship we would land
Mom spied a camera
sitting on a shelf
slipped it her in pocket;
this, she’d do herself
Three pictures on that film
One of his cherished Scope
One, her grandma making
homemade lavender soap
The last, my mom and grandpa
Great-grandfather Dunn
In full conductor-timepiece suit…
to his long leg she clung
That picture, now in sepia
hangs upon my wall
A testament to dreamers
no matter how they fall
In death, he chose his exit
In life, he held such hope
Great-grandma washed his broken body
in homemade lavender soap
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
The first is for Sensational Haiku Wednesday (yeah, it’s Saturday, I know!), and the second was written for my friend Kelly’s blog but never posted. This is also posted at my poetic hearth, Poets United.
Peace be with you all. Amy
FOR SENSATIONAL HAIKU WEDNESDAY: “Anticipation” theme
Red leaf shivering
ready to drop to fertile ground
Life cycle complete
——————————————–
FOR EVERYONE, so they may understand what some call “crazy.”
THE OTHER-MINDED
I am one of the “other-minded”
We filter truth through a lens tinted by our mood
or lit by the fullest moon
to create art, to fulfill our promise
Who else will capture the infinite loneliness
of the slab mattress in the suicide ward?
The blurred visions of panic in a grocery store,
surrounded by cardboard people
blithely stuffing their carts with Cocoa Puffs?
Who else will bear witness to
the undulation of one’s naked self in a mirror,
mesmerized by the sheer loveliness reflected?
Who but we have days we celebrate
for their sheer boredom
Walking the fields of home
while ceiling-gazing in midcity?
We endure darkness, yet we bathe in
the glorious light that follows
We stumble, then venture down a path
the “sane” would never dare.
Our words, our artwork,
our songs and poems
breathe both bleakness and dizzying victories;
improbable stories of
real people they’ll think we made up
(if only it were so…)
We are labeled misfit toys
but we dance on the edge
of a rolling coin
that never comes to rest
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Jazz Is…
Jazz is spinning on a turntable
Jazz is best served up vinyl
Jazz is eyes closed, mind open
Jazz is swaying, undulating, smooth moves
Jazz is a rasp, a kick in the pants
Jazz is velvet, silk, satin, sexy
Jazz is not a snob; the party’s always free
Jazz is every good season
Jazz seeped through the loam, the swampy shame
of the Old South, spinning, spinning:
Out of the whorehouses and into the clubs,
out of the clubs and onto the stage,
to enliven, to embrace,
to soothe every soul
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
ABC Wednesday, brought to you by the letter “J.” Also at my poetic oasis, Poets United. Click on these links to discover some amazing poets! Peace… and jazz, always, Amy
THE TRAIN CONDUCTOR
“End of the line,” called out the conductor, roaming car to car
Rail-thin and rangy, dignified in the spotless black uniform,
his timepiece gleamed at the end of a long gold chain.
Will was a good conductor, one of the best on the line.
He knew precisely the timeline, all destinations
His resonant voice calmed riders during bumps, holdups
and especially during inclement weather
He had a way with children; could recognize kids on their first ride,
fear and fascination dancing in their eyes
Will treated all workers with the same respect.
Never saw the color of their skin, only the quality of their service.
The last of a dying breed in the 1950s, both Will and the Rock Island Line,
as autos took to the highways and trains fell by the wayside,
rusting gravestones, remnants of the past.
He kept to himself, rarely shared stories about family.
Seemed troubled, standing off in a corner by himself on breaks.
But when tapped on the shoulder, came down to earth, immediately engaged.
The porters worried about Will, and the maids
saw his uneasiness; they prayed for him in church.
No one was surprised when, one foggy night
the man who knew the clockwork of each train, the routes of every line
was felled on the tracks and died.
“Accident,” read the report, thus ensuring widow’s benefits
for the wife he never talked about.
But she knew in her heart that for Will,
it was simply the end of the long, sad, lonely line.
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Magpie Tales asked for poems about our ancestors. My great-great grandfather was a train conductor, amateur astronomer, introverted, extremely depressed man who help out my mother’s family during the Midwest Depression of the 1930s. I figured out the puzzle of his death, which the rest of the family never discussed.
I missed church this week because I was down with the flu. So it’s only right that, I should post a revised version of a religious “food-for-thought” poem I wrote long ago.. Whether you agree or disagree, ALL comments are respected and appear unedited on this blog (unless you use the F word or something really tacky like that). Only hateful comments which are directed at OTHER bloggers will be deleted; hateful comments directed at me are fine, I don’t mind the heat and I love all haters (which just kills them!).
Also posted at Poets United, the poetic collective. Peace to all, Amy
ACCORDING TO SCRIPTURE
When confronted with yet another conundrum,
the umpteenth tease to ensnare the “troublemaker,”
the Learned Ones asked,
“Should we pay tax to Rome?”
Jesus replied, “Give to http:Caesar that which is Caesar’s;
give the rest to God.”
If we wiped “In God We Trust” off every coin,
all forms of currency,
would God be offended?
Cease to exist?
Wipe a soon-to-be-designation “sinful city” off the map?
(Those pastors never predict; they only proclaim)
“Under God” inserted in the Pledge in the 1950s
assuring all that we were not a Godless nation
(like those Commies in Russia)
Would God disappear from our lives should we
revise the pledge, restoring it to the original?
If the Word is written on our hearts
why do we need it minted as well?
What reassurance does it give the poor man
who inserts In God We Trust into a slot machine
hoping to stave off foreclosure?
God is our Creator, and genderless:
This is my personal belief, not a universal truth.
Do schoolchildren, reciting the Pledge by rote,
paying no particular attention to one word over another,
believe in God more because God’s name is in it?
No Godless person am I
nor spiteful
Just pondering what I read in my Bible today
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Still under the weather – and yet, there’s that dizzy, “you ain’t goin’ nowhere” feeling of the flu that still gives rise to interesting thoughts.
First off, you MUST check out this link if you interested in (and, like me, vociferously object to) the Nazi/Fascist/Far-Right phenomenon of banning and/or burning books. Some might not like it (not because of subject, but because the title is something about “booksluts” and they use the “vee-jay-jay” word (yes, I have one, too. What’s the big deal?). There are some useful links. I BOUGHT my daughter a copy of The Jungle by Upton Sinclair when she was a teen. BANNED! SOCIALIST LEANINGS! Click HERE.
Please do check it out, but NOT until you have read this poem, for ABC Wednesday, and, of course, my poetic heartbeat, Poets United. Amy
I Never Lost Faith in Love
For all the sorry-ass excuses for men
who double-crossed my path,
through every mischievous menace who
left me drained and feeling inadequate,
I never lost faith in love.
Through many mistakes whose lips met mine
with divinely inspired kisses
(but the Devil’s own heart), plus
all the power of commitment God gave an ashtray,
I never lost faith in love.
For every hairy-dick tomcat
who yowled ‘til I let him in,
through every door that slammed in my face
once he got his share of the kitty,
I never lost faith in love.
On this earth, once I found the one
who is plush to my blush,
ever-after to my laughter,
I thank God every day,
I never lost faith in love.
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Walk, Talk, Persevere
Our hands in our pockets, we walked.
‘Twas of Lila’s cancer we talked.
“Oh, sure, it was one fucking jolt!
One week, all is well, then this bolt
from Doctor X come a-roaring
in our ears, but then my adoring
Meg said, ‘Give us some options, Doc.’”
“In the past, it was urgent – tick-tock,
to cut off the woman’s whole breast.
But now it’s the simple way’s best.”
The importance of one single fact:
Lila’s dignity would be intact.
There’d be scraping and chemo, but then,
their future to build was the plan,
“Rebuild Lila’s health” was the rule.
They married; bold women: They’re cool.
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore
From Brenda Warren’s Sunday Whirl, and just in time! Wordle words are in bold. This is dedicated to all women and men who have survived breast cancer… and in memory of those who did not. Peace, Amy
Catching the last breath of Sunday Scribblings, laid low with flu that comes and goes. If I hear, “it’s going around” one more time, I’ll… cough unproductively!
Sunday Scribblings asked for a sensation (in this case, I borrowed that of another), and Three Word Wednesday used Backward, Ease, and Omission. Seemed to go together… Peace to all, Amy
Tightwire With Glass Shards and No Net
Her uncomplicated memories of growing up
The ease with which she blocks out
who dad was and what he did…
Insisting he hung the moon and stars
Not a sin, but a shame, this omission.
She remains his prisoner, unbalanced,
dreams filled with violence,
legs kicking away at something,
she can’t quite see its face…
Look backward, angel.
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Also at my poetic collective home, Poets United.
Sharp Little Pencil 