Diva Heart in Denial
Her heart was not one that accepts age as
progress toward wisdom a crown of silver
Hot flashes were mere preludes
In tinny wraps, her stylish tinted glints of
highlights, long tresses still brisking bare shoulders
in waves of tragic peroxide passion
The insidious flaps under arms, on her belly,
her lazy limbs and gut splitskinned and resewn
A Bonwit Teller Raggedy Ann
French tip the perfect nails; affix false lashes:
Color her vivid. Boy Toy Nick not allowed to drift far
He stands flexed, assurance of her youth, her comeliness
She will not go gentle into that good night
but brittle, breakable, frightened, but
always with a mirror at hand
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For the Sunday Whirl (Wordle belw; thanks, Brenda!) and Trifecta, which wanted a poem about heart as personality or disposition. Also at my poetic salon, where we’re all GORgeous, Poets United. I’ve known women of means who have had their faces lifted so many times, their noses begin to turn inside out, a slight ring around each nostril.
August 22, 2012 at 12:54 pm
August 22, 2012 at 12:54 pm
I like how defiant this is to be feminine and sassy. There’s tremednous depth is (her) fighting the fight.
This reminds me of my daughters, especially the youngest
August 22, 2012 at 1:30 pm
Yes, keep the fight going anyhoo!
August 22, 2012 at 1:52 pm
aging gracefully….a bit of any oxymoron doncha think?
August 22, 2012 at 3:07 pm
Isn’t disgracefully more fun? You know you’ve gone too far when the navel becomes a nostril!
August 22, 2012 at 3:36 pm
ha….i hope i age gracefully….today i entered my last year in the 30s…ugh…where did time go…oh yeah there it is…in the crease corner of my eye…and the few pounds i need to drop…ha….
August 22, 2012 at 3:37 pm
Whoowee! You blasted the doors off with that one! The ending is absolutely fantabulous–you know how to call it 🙂
August 22, 2012 at 8:58 pm
Real good writing here
August 23, 2012 at 12:28 am
There are so many good phrases in here (chuckled at the tragic peroxide passion). It’s only a matter of time before she brings out the big guns (botox and silicone :))
August 23, 2012 at 7:39 am
Made me think of the film Brazil..grey and arm flaps are badges of honour..jae
August 23, 2012 at 10:35 am
Great last line, and so much good language throughout. Well done.
Sherry Blue Sky
August 23, 2012 at 12:17 pm
Oh this is so well captured…but what is really scary is the inside-out nose! Yoiks!!!!!
August 23, 2012 at 3:38 pm
I love her attitude. And all those descriptive words provide great imagery.
August 23, 2012 at 4:28 pm
What incredible sadness there is in this piece. The fight to achieve immortality can look so ridiculous to those that accept life is beautiful in all it’s seven ages. Is a wrinkle less worthy of love that a baby’s smile? Your words were so telling.
August 23, 2012 at 7:06 pm
So sad. Amy, you really have a gift…your characters are so see-able. Well written. 🙂
August 23, 2012 at 9:39 pm
I’ve entered my 7th decade and I either accept nature’s joke or behave like your lady of the poem. I choose to accept because I am well-loved and that’s more important than what the mirror reflects back to my eyes.
My blog is http://scrappygrams.blogspot.com
August 24, 2012 at 12:20 am
I love the way I could picture the underneath her from your words. The old, stretched, broken down, scared her. Nice work. Thanks for linking up. Be sure to come back tomorrow for the new prompt.
August 24, 2012 at 1:12 am
Wonderful imagery ~ your words describe a simple truth ~ we see her through your words, sad yet identifiable
August 24, 2012 at 7:47 am
just love that last verse. That’s me as I edge on 50!
August 24, 2012 at 11:26 am
Aging is a process, the same for everybody. Whether we can age decently and gracefully maintaining our dignity is of significance.This may appear strange but I’ve seen the debilitating effects of dementia that makes me want to puke. It may turn out to be a lot of things unhygienic. Great imagery Amy!
August 25, 2012 at 11:56 am
I do know some like your Mme. I like how you used ‘Nick’. New words out, but I’m not looking until I glance at a few more from last week…
I shall not go gently – but I shall leave the mirror at home. 🙂
I’m here (rather last week anyway):
August 27, 2012 at 3:13 am
I echo what Old Egg said, there is a bit of sadness here. A losing fight is sad to me, I guess. Verses two and three were fantastically built, deprecating but defiant.
August 27, 2012 at 6:58 am
I could really picture this woman, Amy. A sad caricature. I truly do not know why women do ALL these things to themselves thinking that they become more attractive. I think, for the most part, they all the falseness makes them look like cartoon characters. Methinks they have too much time and money on their hands and hang around with the wrong people! Smiles.
August 27, 2012 at 9:51 am
This is such a topical theme, and coincidentally I saw a picture of Sylvester Stallone’s mother in a magazine today. Apparently she is 90, but is trying to look like someone in their 30s. It’s a travesty of nature.
Eileen T O'Neill
August 27, 2012 at 1:05 pm
I can only conclude that the subject in your poem must be a celebrity, possibly Z-lister:) Such a pre-occupation these days, while trying to halt the progress of nature.
I could see the sad image as I read your poem.
August 27, 2012 at 6:11 pm
I sing professionally in the classical world–you have hit the nail on the head–unfortunately–it is a sad world for the aging diva
August 27, 2012 at 11:26 pm
The dewy, soft, taught skin of youth fades entirely too quickly but resolve to be alive to witness another day. Red lipstick doesn’t stick any more. Mascara can’t find eyelashes. Facts unattractive to reality…
September 2, 2012 at 11:58 pm
French tip perfect nails and the lashes – i think i know her