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

Category Archives: Drinking

THE DRINKING YEARS

The drinking years poured on
in various degrees of fizzfriction

My dream manifested: 18 at last
My tribute, a friend bought
the first round and round we went

Soon, my lonely heart found itself
nestled in the arms of some shlump
I met the night before… score

I had envisioned losing IT
over Chateauneuf du Pape
Not snotlockered over boilermakers

Finally I was a space cadet in
launch mode: “If I am to…
stay here for a… p-period of time,
will someone pleeeeeease
persuade the floor to pleeeeease…
stop spinning?”

© 2013 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons

The Sunday Whirl gave us a Baker’s Dozen of words. Click the link to see what others have done with this unique prompt, and, as always, thanks to Brenda Warren for her sharing the list!

This is also “in the margins” at Imaginary Garden With Real Toads and Poets United.

Suffice it to say, after watching my mother die from a combination of 50 years of smoking and 40 of drinking (she was in recovery toward the end), I gave up partying. Besides, I’d much rather enjoy the occasional microbrew beer than depend on Gordon’s for a lifeline. Thanks, Mama, for showing me the better path. Peace, Amy


It may be the wee hours of Monday, but it’s never to late to answer ABC Wednesday‘s prompt for poems using the letter “Y.” This goes out especially to my high school buddy and still great friend Michael Weil, who visited from Potsdam, NY (think colder than Madison!) with super wife (and also old friend) Amy Jo and verrrrry cool son Alex today, along with new friends Paul and his partner Dean. Mike and I reminisced about the ever-abundant supply of Yuengling beer at our house, and how he just “converted” to their Black and Tan variety. I had actually written this “snowball” poem days ago, but now I HAVE to post it, right? Safe travels, you “Weil things!” Amer

Also at the poetic collective, Poets United.

YUENGLING

Sun,

summer,

cold Yuengling.

Man, our basement

fridge was full of it.

Easy access for teens

to grab a brew, hit the pool,

and bask in alcoholic bliss.

Mom never kept inventory, so

we drank, swam, laughed, and tanned all summer long.

© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil