We were asked to write about winter or cold. Poets went from temperatures to coldness of heart to…
COLD AS A SWASTIKA
And when they had gathered all the books
Works of Jewish and other subversive writers
Thoughts of Einstein
Dark musings of playwright Bertolt Brecht
(every time you hum “Mack the Knife,” remember him)
Lenin, Trotsky, Zola (politics)
From Sigmund Freud to Ernest Hemingway
Ironically, Jack London’s Arctic went into the pile
And then the pyre – everyone pulled out matches to participate in
a funeral worthy of a ship-bound Viking
The death of thousands of words
too dangerous to read
Thoughts polluting the minds of
pure-blooded, ‘real’ Germans
The chill pored over intellectuals
Jews and Christians alike
Frozen in time, these works
Alive elsewhere, but here during the Nazi regime
forbidden fruit
Icewater veins of torch-wielding youth
who, had they read the books
might have understood what was going wrong
Here, in America
that same icy atmosphere prevails
over “Harry Potter”
over “Huck Finn”
over “Catcher in the Rye”
We don’t burn ’em; we ban ’em
And the North wind keeps on blowing
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
The prompt at We Write Poems was Yesterday, Today, Tomorrow. Bleak but possible. Amy
AND SO IT ENDS
Yesterday
the flash filled the evening sky
blinding us at first
A fireball, unearthly and
something told me to hold my breath as long as I could
Then came strong hot winds from the North
and with it, ash, falling slower than snow
suspended in deathly calm air
the stillness, the dreamlike atmosphere
Today we’re still waiting for Mom and Dad to
come home from work
The generator is working but we’ll need fuel
Tommy said Let’s see what’s up in town
People were stealing stuff from the store
No one was at the checkout so we came away with
cans of fruit and Spaghettios, juice, milk
some eggs that weren’t smashed in the carton
The ice cream melted overnight
We drank it out of the carton
and chugged warm soda trudging back home
through sifting ash in the middle of the street
Tomorrow I pray I wake up
and it will all be a bad dream
But Tommy and Sandy are counting on me
til our folks get home
Sandy cried tonight because SpongeBob wasn’t on TV
(nothing was on TV, I checked)
Tommy hauls out board games we haven’t played
since we got the X-Box
We roll the dice
and wait
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
PalinDrone
I ran for Vice President
while killing a moose with an assault rifle
from a helicopter
during labor for my 28th child!
But my daughter flunked her abstinence class
While not as glamorous as the White House
Fox News gives me lots of air time
I go to lots of Tea Parties
and I finally got rid of Todd
Running for President? I’ll get back to ya!
I like to shop at consignment stores
like Bonwit Teller, you betcha
and Macy’s and Tiffany’s
But my favorite accessory is Trig
I carry him around like a badge
(c) 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
written for the Pyramid prompt at Poetic Asides
Thoughts about the Obama presidency and the dearth – not the death – of activism. Time to wake up!
CHANGE 2009
He stood to take the oath of office
Both the white guy and the biracial guy blew the oath
but an Asian cellist became a rock star that day
Miles of humanity surrounded the Capitol
Standing as one and chanting,
“Yes we can! Yes we can!”
Now, a year later, half are disillusioned and
too damned lazy to call their legislators or take action
They should have been shouting, “Yes HE can!”
He can’t do it alone
The road to change is long, deeply furrowed and
littered with sharp stones (lest you cut your foot)
Change doesn’t come from a place of comfort
especially your own smug armchair in front of a plasma TV
Change comes hard. Raise your voices. Get off your asses.
YES. WE. CAN.
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
While I don’t view abortion protesters per se, I am pro-choice for the simple reason that rich women will have and have always had access to safe, doctor-performed abortions. Why should the Karadashian sisters be able to have an abortion when they have an OOPS!, while a girl who was hit on by daddy, or a woman worn down by dealing with the eight kids she already has, and bound by her religion to not insist her husband wear a condom, have less? Opponents of abortion should also put themselves in the shoes of those poor sisters. Amy
ABORTION PROTESTER (WWP, walk in the shoes of enemies)
Man and women together in mutual embrace
create life within the woman’s womb
At first it looks like tissue, merely a cyst
but so quickly it assumes human form
How can a woman who created in love
vacuum away this baby like so much flotsam?
How can a man stand by with no opinion
as this precious fruit is torn ruthlessly from the vine?
A doctor who swears to “first, do no harm”
is murdering an innocent child
and, offering no counseling to the mother,
calmly points her toward the desk so she can pay
Small wonder I’m out here with my sign
and a fake fetus in a jar, here in the hot sun
I’ll scream til this profitable industry is ended
I don’t believe in the death penalty, but then again…
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore, Sharp Little Pencil
Well, I had two people on my mind this week. I pray for them both, as Jesus told us to pray for our enemies. My prayer life is very busy – for the first, I pray that the true spirit of Islam enter his soul; for the second, I pray that he find his way past the pretense that he’s a model Christian. When wars are fought, God – Allah, Jehovah, Adonai, Mother and Father – can only weep.
TWO MEN, SO DIFFERENT, SO ALIKE (WWP Prompt)
I was called by God
to seek revenge for what they did to us
Gathering my forces
Forging alliances as I was able
(usually with cash aplenty)
Together we blew up symbols of
their greed, their avarice, their hubris
And now they whittle away what resources they have left
trying to make sure we don’t hit them the same way again.
In this way, I have led our people to triumph.
I am Osama bin Laden
I was called by God
to seek revenge for what they did to us
Gathering my forces
Forging alliances with one major country and a few smaller ones
(and borrowing the funds from the Chinese)
Through no-bid contracts and undercover torture, we fought
their conspiracy, their evil, their hubris
And now they are running, hiding, cunning
We will never catch them on their home turf.
By handing the quagmire over to the next president, I retired, smug.
I am George W. Bush
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore, Sharp Little Pencil
This poem, a ghazal, was chosen by Poets For Living Waters, a project calling for submissions in response to the Gulf Coast travesty, as an Open Mic poem. I hope these words will spur YOU on to call your members of Congress and demand they re-institute tighter regulations on Big Oil, which were loosened drastically when Dick Cheney round-tabled with CEOs – not environmentalists – in forming our country’s energy policy. Another inheritance of eight years of unbridled greed, this one implicating Cheney’s pet, Halliburton, as well. Off the soapbox, onto the poem:
Ghazal for the Gulf Coast Tragedy
by Amy Barlow Liberatore
We watch the deadly ebony flow
Fossil fuels in free-form flow
At first, the movement seemed so slow
Relentless, hostile man-made flow
As more is learned, we’re shocked to know
that one part could have stopped the flow
One switch, and costing not much dough
Compared with damage from the flow
Big Oil lobbyists, strictly pro
Primed Congress’ campaign flow
Regulations were tailored so
that BP had their profit flow
Now shadows blot out coral’s glow
And wildlife chokes from crude oil flow
For every time the Gulf winds blow
Disaster follows with the flow
This sharp little pencil writes, although
I’d give my soul to staunch the flow
Amy Barlow Liberatore is a poet and jazz and gospel singer/songwriter. Her work has been published online in melisma and The Pink Chameleon; three of her works recently appeared in The Awakenings Review. Her blog can be found at https://sharplittlepencil.wordpress.com.
Amy and her husband, Rev. Lex Liberatore, are longtime activists for racial and social justice, the environment, LGBT equality, and health care for all. They live in the Village of Attica, NY.
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