The Greatest Aim of Humankind (an acrostic)
Pursue the beating of swords into ploughshares
Etch onto windowpanes, “The time has come”
Aiming to embrace all peoples as one family
Chanting, not dogma, but “Love,” in many tongues
Everyone will cry out, “Enough of war, time to live!”
© Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For a new site, Poetic Bloomings, to the prompt “a goal-oriented poem.” Please check out Marie and Walt’s new prompt site – I think you’ll love their pace, their vibe. This is also, as always, posted to my oasis from all chaos, Poets United.
Peace, Amy
For ABC Wednesday, brought to you by the letter “A as in Amy.” There were two of us on State Street today, plus a Michael and an Alex (who is probably muttering, “A is for Alex, guys”). Also posted at my fave poetry saloon, er, salon, Poets United.
After All
Old friends, long time since last
we shared a table in a café
We talk old days, school,
kids when they were anecdotal fodder
Then politics, the dumbing down of America
The Hemlock Party and educating barbarians
Unions, pros and cons
Dems, Reps, Libs, and Cons
The future… they visited Glacier Park
and saw mostly wildflowers and a bit of ice
But after all our kvetching and laughter, it ends in this:
GROUP HUG!
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Just found out about a new site, launched by Leigh (“Old Altonian”) and Kwee of “Akweelife.” “The Tale Tellers” has one rule: NO PROMPTS. They invite stories, flash fiction, poetry… and they encourage constructive criticism and grammatical suggestions. So this post will be my first for The Tale Tellers! Come join in the fun – follow the link above!
FILM FILLY’S FRACTIOUS FRICTION
Feeling friendly,
phoned Fiona Fleshpot.
Faded fashion filly
facing failed flick – fetid flop.
FLASH! (flotsam for females)
fancied former, firmer,
flexible, “fine” Fiona.
Furnished factoids.
Fix festivities.
Fry fast foods…
fling fresh fare
(fodder for former fatties).
Flaming flambes,
frozen Frangipani,
Früzen-Gladje,
fudgy fondues.
Fiona feels friction falter;
feeds fairly full…
Finally, farts.
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Also at my poetic oasis, Poets United.
This is my first post for Poetic Bloomings, begun as a joint venture by Marie Elena and Walt, two of the first poets I met at Poetic Asides. Their story is unique in that they have never actually met – but collaborate often. They are seeking poems of beauty and goodness; they post prompts. They are accentuating the positive, so I’m probably the last person they will expect to see, LOL. Peace, Amy
Deer One
She drifts blithely through the trees
just beyond our parking lot.
She is the only, lonely deer of Tenney Park,
situated between apartment complexes which
must seem to her monoliths inhabited by aliens.
I call her Deer One.
Neighbor Lynne, soft spot for all living things,
feeds her birdseed, her snack of choice.
I know they say we should not encourage species
to live where they should not be, but frankly:
She was here first. We built around her habitat.
She is a Native American.
The other day, I spied Deer One
and she spied me.
We froze in one of those moments of
curiosity (mixed with dread on her part, perhaps).
I backed into my apartment and retrieved
the ripest apple I could find and,
gently,
rolled it across the parking lot.
It skipped the curb, landing at her feet.
I could swear she smiled at me!
I went to my car, humming, “When I See An Elephant Fly.”
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Abusive Remains
Siblings.
Each has their own version of What happened and How,
but most importantly, Why.
Emptied of shame, I still wonder.
Am I sure in my memories?
Have I scratched theme enough to bleed,
to tear a hole deep through to
the beating heart that still skips a beat
when HIS name is mentioned?
Did HE really hang the moon?
Was HE blameless,
spotless?
HE was, after all,
remorseless.
Should I feel guilty? Was I mistaken?
Perhaps I was demon-possessed after all.
One good exorcism and I’d be like new.
One dip in the blood of the Lamb and I’d be reborn… or so she says.
Except, as I drift off to sleep on some nights,
my head still tilts back slooooowly and
my mouth opens and
I am choked in that brutal rhythm.
It was real.
It happened.
It remains.
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Poetic Asides asked for poems on the word “Empty,” and ABC Wednesday, rather than reverting to another alphabet, started over with “A.” Also posted at the STELLAR blog, Poets United. Come to all these sites. Meet my genius friends!! Amy
Teacher Says
There was only one reason really to think about
going into fifth grade and start smiling about it
I was getting Mr. Hansen, the teacher I was hoping for
I’ve seen him in his classroom
so tall
so handsome
that five o’clock shadow always, even in the morning
like Don Draper
(Mom tapes Mad Man and I sneak peeks)
I sat up on hot summer nights
imagining chalk sliding across the board
in smoooooooth strokes
It gave me shivers, wishing the chalk was his hand
and I was the chalkboard
School started and I wore my new earrings
because Mom let me pierce my ears for my birthday
Last Thursday afternoon, I asked for extra help
with math – we’re starting to study all the different angles
(My sister calls me obtuse but I still don’t understand why)
He smiled and I could tell he liked that I asked him
For a few minutes, at his desk, just the two of us
Then he brushed his hand on my leg and said,
You shave your legs. That’s pretty grown-up of you.
I blushed and muttered thank you and tingled all over
We’re gonna do the math thing once a week
He said he’s got a way to show me how right angles work
but I shouldn’t tell anybody because the other girls
might get jealous, you know how young girls are, he said
I said, don’t worry, it’ll be our secret
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Wrote this today, no prompt, just something that was in that huge grab-bag of scraps I keep by my desk. It’s like Felix the Cat’s Bag of Tricks – I reach in, pull out a few scribbles, and expand one of the thoughts into a complete poem. Such is the work of this poet. It will, as always, be on Poets United, the poets’ collective. Peace, Amy
With The Sunday Whirl, wordler-in-chief Brenda posed the words in bold – a baker’s dozen. Also, Sunday Scribblings wanted us to write on the word “Captivate.” These are both Sunday-based poems, the second being a haiku. Also posted at my poetic home away from home, Poets United.
FOR THE SUNDAY WHIRL
Sunday Praise Service
Hot coffee to stir the ominous ache in her weary bones.
She chooses an emerald empire-waist dress;
the illusion of a full front covers
the void of her shrinking frame.
Time to observe the celestial, to worship the Divine.
As her sandals flip, flop, flap into the sanctuary,
a kid jostles past her up the balcony stairs to sit with his mom.
She smiles, remembering her own scrambles up there;
the rhythm of life is upbeat and present
here in this church.
Church services are usually holy pantomime, but
not here. The sermon moves her – and the music?
It rocks like the ages!
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
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FOR SUNDAY SCRIBBLINGS
Televangelists Are Full Of Crap
Captivate
with delusions of riches,
Joel Osteen.
Captivate
with tales of earthly wealth,
Graham Junior.
Hold captive
those prisoners of Rapture,
who crave flight.
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Poetic Asides had an interesting prompt: Sound.
I don’t often indulge in haiku, but Sensational Haiku Weds. on You Know… that Blog? posed a single word: Wish.
So it’s one cynical and one hopeful. Both are also at the poetic collective, Poets United, where I think my interview is still posted as well! Peace, Amy
FOR POETIC ASIDES (also posted on their blog)
Snap, Crackle, Plop
The sizzle of a full-pound burger hitting the grill
The crackle of a Snickers bar just dropped in a deep prayer
The burble of Mountain Dew as it glugs from a 2-liter bottle
The pop of an opened Pringles can
The crunch of hot, salted french fries.
The hiss of whole milk foaming for a macchiato,
another hiss for the extra whipped cream
The snap of a third or fourth Twix bar.
The plop of millions of butts onto sofas
for “Dancing With The Stars,”
plus whatever else will fill a full four hours
of family television viewing.
The click of the computer mouse
as Facebook meets Farmville.
The thumbpunch on a keypad, texting
from a comfy chair at the Internet café.
The huff-puff of labored breathing
and murmured swears as the businessman
struggles to climb a single flight of stairs
(elevator out of order).
These are the sounds of obesity.
The sounds of Americans feeding not only their addiction,
but the corporate coffers of people so rich, they
laugh all the way to their next liposuction appointment.
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
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FOR SENSATIONAL HAIKU WEDNESDAY
Wishing and Doing
Wishing on a star
mimics prayer, save but one thing:
Invoking God’s name
Praying for world peace
Will not ever be enough
We must work for it
We must all cry, Stop!
Take it to the streets, until
real peace is world-waged
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For the Sunday Whirl, a Wordle that gave us: World, poem, thought, logic, whim, river, resist, twisted, buzz, instinct, galloping, and fluttered. Thanks, Brenda, for another great challenge. This, as with all my poems, is present at Poets United. Peace, Amy
…where I found a poem
On a whim, bereft of logic,
in a world of twisted thought,
a poem fluttered by.
I could not resist its bee-buzz:
Following my twisted instinct,
I went galloping after, alongside that
river of rhythm and bliss and memories
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Sharp Little Pencil 