Amy Barlow Liberatore… stories of lost years, wild times, mental variety, faith, and lots of jazz

Category Archives: Angels

Sunday Scribblings prompted a single word: Sweet. This past Sunday, I witnessed the event below. Enjoy! Amy   (Also posted, as always, at Poets United, a collective of dynamite poets.)

 

Anything Sweeter

Is there anything sweeter
than baby Cale at the baptismal font?
Mama hands him off to the pastor;
this child makes no fuss.

Once, twice, thrice
crossed on the forehead with water;
even as it drips down his nose to his chin,
he takes it all in stride.

And when the congregation applauds
this new member of our church,
Cale doesn’t cry.  Doesn’t even blink.
He looks as though he expected the ovation!

© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil


At Poets United, the Thursday Think Tank prompt was Ghosts.   Everyone should have a favorite one, right?  Amy

So Near

The spider web draws past my cheek
I know she’s near
A whisper in the back of my being
A tug on that loose thread on my sleeve
A feeling of longing to see her again

She’s here, unseen but wholly present
when I need her most,
conjuring a smile from my sullen face,
reminding me that death is not the end,
but a beginning.

Blanche floats along
with the cloud of witnesses
especially for my benefit.
I am not afraid, for she is my angel:
My reminder of connection to the eternal.

© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil


At We Write Poems, we were asked to write about a guardian angel. I have always known mine, but in this particular circumstance, I do believe she nearly saved my life. Filed under “Amy: The Lost Years.”

Who Did I Hear?

We’re hangin’ out back
in a converted garage
that is tacky but serves
as a home, for now.

Rafters overhead hold
mic stands that belong to
The New Riders of the Purple Sage
(I can’t make this stuff up).

I’m comfy on a couch but
suddenly extremely thirsty.
Someone offers me a beer
from the lukewarm coffin,

but I need something cold.
RIGHT AWAY. Can’t say
what’s in my brain, but I
jump up and go out the door.

Two seconds later, CRASH!
And looking at the couch
where I was sitting moments before,
a mic stand had fallen, base first.

If you ever lifted one of those suckers,
you know they’re damned heavy,
plus it shattered a framed picture
on its way to my former nest.

Something, someone told me,
YOU NEED TO MOVE NOW.
Must have been my grandma Blanche,
who knew all about brain trauma…

…and the need for a really cold beer.

(c) 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil