THE ESSENCE OF DEPRESSION
there was a time, long ago
yesterday
when i thought it was wasn’t worth it
this living thing
so hard to catch my breath
standing in one place slackjawed, staring
forcing, willing myself – one step, then another
finally achieving the second floor
but why did i come up here?
something about cleaning or laundry or
taking a nap instead – then be up all night writing
ceiling fan whirling overhead my only company
But this morning I woke up and was alive all day
Wrote letters, paid some bills
Crafted poems, worked on my blog
Went outside for an actual walk
My neighbor was mowing her lawn
The scent filled me with memories of our yard when I was a kid
Lying in the grass next to the wildflower riot
of the Back Forty, past the carefully mown grass
Queen Anne’s Lace, milkweed, sumac
Timothy grass, pussywillows, wild lilac trees
Black-eyed Susans swaying flirtatiously
As a light rain fell in a rainbow mist
The colors of the yard after the shower let up
Golden light cast stark afternoon shadows
Grass glowed lemon-lime
The indomitable magnolia bush was ablaze
I lay on my belly
Inspecting Indian Paintbrush and
Wild violets, small miracle of
Haphazard, brilliant, fulsome Nature
We could leave our bikes in anybody’s yard
Dogs belonged to all of us, and we belonged to them
Everything seemed possible then
And today, it still does
When the dark days hit
I accept them for what they are
I am familiar by now with the depths
I can see in the dark, dimly
I cannot smell the fresh-cut grass
From that distant place
I can’t roll in wildflowers
Those things are out of reach, cut off
But not forever – it only feels that way
Hang out hang in hang on
It will slough off like snake skin
Scaly, dead, useless
And I will emerge reborn
Senses awakened, songs of life
Reverberating, a chord struck
From deep within
© Amy Barlow Liberatore, 2010, Sharp Little Pencil
Poetic Asides prompt. This is what happens when you spend three hours at Barnes and Noble, sipping cappuccino and reading Pablo Neruda love poems!
THE MEANING OF SILK STOCKINGS
Shiny satin garter belts with buttons and clasps
The sexiest, most alluring of fashion details
Stockings that slack a bit during the day
reminding her of their silky selves undercover
Tantalizing tug of war under her skirt
She never knew sensuality until she abandoned L’eggs
and smoothed sheer silk over
sturdy, smoothly shaved legs
Rolling the first carefully over calf and thigh
Easing the hem over the button
latching it securely, then
the other leg, this time more slowly
Later, on the dance floor, he hand on her hip
His eyes flash and she knows that he knows
What’s in store for the rest of the evening
It makes the wait agonizing bliss
He carefully eases the dress off, purring
with the subtle confidence of a true lover
His delight in the details of her undergarments
His appreciation of her shape, her way
Finding the treasure beneath
first teasing, pleasuring, then
slowly, cautiously unwrapping her
an undulating, whispering bundle of lace and linen
No awkward peeling back of pantyhose
She is old-school, The Book of Betty (Grable, Page, and Boop)
He leafs tenderly through the endless pages of her body
The journal of her journey to this timeless moment
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore, Sharp Little Pencil
FUNDAY
Today she will wear pjs to the market
part her hair on the other side
run a teabag through the coffee grinder
and put orange juice on her cereal
Today is a turquiose-eye-shadow kind of day
A braless Wednesday
as The Girls dangle near her belt
A day for Dollar Store shopping
She’ll buy a Liberace DVD
and two cans of Beefaroni, even though she’s vegan
Barefoot on the sidewalk
Deliberately stepping in dog poop just to feel the squish
and leaving human pawprints behind as she
heads for the library to read Ayn Rand
backwards
Today is a day for yodeling
on Main Street
And writing lesbian love letters to Sara Palin
Wednesdays are made for fun
(c) 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
One Single Impression asked us to write a poem around the theme, “Dawn.” I was going to write about Mary Ann on Gilligan’s Island, Dawn Wells, but darned if I didn’t go a little deeper!
IT DAWNED ON ME
It dawned on me during a down
that depression is a gift
A room all to oneself
dim, yet habitable
with the sure knowledge
that gloom will fade; the haze will lift
Shifting moods
sifting sand between my toes
Depression’s night is so dark
one doesn’t look up
seeking stars
nor speak of the moon
The lifting is like dawn
a clean new day
made for venturing
beyond the front door
Flowers’ scent sweeter
sun illuminating
individual blades of grass
as they cast minute shadows
And then there’s
the thanking God part…
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore, Sharp Little Pencil
If you are manic-depressive, you’ll understand. If you’re not, try to understand… and ‘walk a mile in my Keds’! Amy
ON A DIME, IN A FLASH
Flopped on the couch like a road toad
flat as flannel
Brain accepts invisible code
BING! A channel
goes live – I’m up and about
Pop! Goes the manic
Look! The sun’s shining after all
Outside in a panic
Walking so fast my mind can’t keep up
Store. Buy. Food.
On the way walk home, starting to slip
home… not so… good…
Now that was one fast-cycling episode
Food barely to the kitchen
I’m back on the couch, potato load
Bipolar bitchin’
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
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
Insomnia never felt so good.
MOONSTUCK (Stuck, Poetic Asides prompt)
Slip of a moon, sideways smile
beguiles me from my perch
Searching for words and
lingering long past bedtime
To find the perfect phrase
Elusive, diffused thoughts race
out my ears, past my face and
Oops! Out the window back to the moon…
monthly changing yet
ever my constant companion
as I’m stuck in my room alone
awaiting the whisper of words
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Didn’t need a website to prompt me for this one – just Lex! Dedicated to a wonderful partner, husband, and friend.
MATCHES
Shadows play on the walls
bathing us now in
a simmering glow
Candles everywhere
in this room
ready to light the fuse
or simply illuminate
hours upon languid hours
of our tender embrace
Candlelight romance
That sexy sound
of a match being struck
© 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
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