At Three Word Wednesday, the prompts were: Dainty, Haunting, and Tantalize. Took me days to get to this place… and not one I relish being in. But some things must be said. Amy
Desserts (3WW: Dainty, Haunting, Tantalize)
Petit fours, marzipan
Dainty cupcakes set
in a tantalizing row
each night for his consumption
Little girls on display
Sleeping delights to his watchful eye
This patisserie from Hell
is haunting me still
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Here in Madison, we are fighting for unions and for fairness – PEACEFULLY. Don’t believe the FOX BS. There have been no laws broken, except by the Governor and the Legislature. Please read and remember – I have been there, on site. I tell you the truth: There are no marauding throngs of thugs (unless the Gov. decides to plant them, as he has admitted on tape to considering); there have been NO windows broken at the Capitol Dome (that report was retracted.) In fact, the Gov. ordered the window jambs sawed off to prevent them from being opened, patently illegal and a safety risk – this is why the “cleanup” of the Dome is up to $7M.
Yes, I’m an activist, and proud of it. So sue me. Make a lawyer rich with another frivolous lawsuit! For ABC Wednesday. Amy
Here, Heroes
Have you heard?
Hope is heralded here in Madison.
Hands up if you heed the Constitution.
Hands up if you’ve heard about Mother Jones,
Headlining the cause of unions
with the heart of a lioness.
Heading to the Capitol Dome,
heeding our call as citizens
to have our grievances heard.
Head of Wisconsin, the poster boy
for hubris, hedonism, and dishonesty.
Have you heard? Do you care?
Heads up: Greed is heading for
your hometown next.
Wisconsin is ground zero:
It will halo out from here.
Jesus said, Help the hungry, the homeless…
or are Hannity, Beck, and Hagee your only heroes?
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
At Writer’s Island, the prompt was, “Secret.” Something I know a little about… Amy
Bound
Bound-up little girl
heavy with secrets
she never understood
or could quite remember.
Faint whispers in
darkened rooms.
Shamed feelings.
Questions without answers
danced in her mind
in recesses, shadows.
When her truth
was at last unveiled
and then conquered
the psychic straps
that held her captive
were loosed,
and she unfolded slowly.
A Japanese fan
expanding, revealing
dizzying glorious colors
for the world to see.
“Here I am,” says she.
“Unbound.”
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Simply a meditation on power and overcoming its shackles. Amy
More Than This
She burned with the anger of the powerless.
That incendiary pissed-off-edness:
Light the fuse, fueled by years
wriggling under the thumb of
a cruel, oppressive man…
There must be more than this.
Seething through silent beatings
which left no marks, bruising only her ego,
mangling her tangled inner weavings,
thread by thread he delighted in pulling apart
the uniqueness she had once treasured.
There should be more than this.
When at last the reaching occurred
(God to her? Her hand outstretched to the Divine?),
the tinderbox of regret, hatred, guilt
burst forth in flame, melting away
tarred resins of the past.
There can be more than this.
Emerging from the fire,
refined to her pure self,
she took her little girl’s hand and smiled.
His pursuit was futile,
for she finally possessed an unbreakable truth:
There will be more than this.
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Ah, the beloved Wordle landed once again at Big Tent Poetry. Like a Rubik’s cube of words, except there is no right or wrong way to assemble it. Check out Big Tent to see others’ work. Peace, Amy
Parade of Smiles (Big Tent Poetry)
The parade of smiles, boyish slips of things
that turn out to be teenage girls,
seems to defy explanation.
I gasp as they slump by,
stick figures who should be
waking to full womanhood.
I question silently their choices
of salad over Chinese in the food court
and hope they get enough protein and fats.
My daughter’s love of moccachinos speaks volumes
about her state of mind and body.
She may be a tangle of emotions…
but her body is aflame with curves.
Thighs with musculature and form;
she is aware of herself and fully awake.
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Dallying on Writer’s Island is a pursuit every poet should indulge in. This week’s theme, “Improvise.” Yeah, like I’ve never done that! Amy
Fill In The Blank (Writer’s Island, “Improvise”)
So I arrive at my gig, hauling my rig all by myself.
I snag my stocking on a stack of speakers,
speaking in a pitch only a poodle could discern, “!!#*$!!”
Into the Ladies’ cause I don’t wanna start late,
I rummage through the rucksack that
passes for my purse.
On my thigh, one big hole in my black tights…
a dollop of whipped cream on an otherwise
dark-chocolate-frosted plane.
Dredging up a Sharpie, I fill in the blank, then
sketch in the run, the pen climbing
up and down a ladder.
I’ll deal with scrubbing it off tomorrow;
for now, it’s beg, borrow, or steal my way to the mic
with as much dignity as stinky ink can afford me.
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
This is another double prompt, courtesy of two sites from Poets United: Poetry Tow Truck (my first time there) wanted a poem based on the beginning and ending words (in caps), two lines from “At the Doll Hospital” by Robin Ekiss (from the book The Mansion of Happiness) which, when read vertically, form a full sentence. That’s the best I can do in the way of explanation… just go with it!
Also on the Poets United page, I found Sepia Saturday, and these both blend to fit the poem that follows (sorry, I can’t figure out how to recreate the picture here, but if you follow the link you’ll see it there!). Enjoy. Amy
Blanche and Bill
AMONG the regulars at the café, WHERE
SOphie and Ruth frequently stopped, their friend WILL
(MANY girls fancied him) met Ruth’s sister, Blanche. SHE,
EYES big and brown, was considered a real FIND.
FIXED them up, Sophie did, bless HER.
IN June the Blanche and Bill forever sealed their TENDERNESS.
GLASS covers their wedding portrait, where they look a bit grim,
but they laughed the same laugh and loved like no couple since.
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil Continue reading
CHARMING THE SNAKE (for Thursday Tales)
He spoke only in monotones
His voice, the flute
And I, foolish cobra
drained of venom
danced to his tune
his orders
Performing at his whim
That day has passed
I found my fangs
Reclaimed my venom
And dance to my own tune
Pity the snake charmer
He is always left with
an empty basket
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
While I am editing several poems on the public protest over workers’ rights here in Madison, I need to take a break and answer a call to a prompt. Too much politics leads to personal unrest, and self-care is a huge part of successfully managing my manic depression… so meditation and writing are a big help!
At We Write Poems, we were asked to write about “safe places.” I was a rover in my twenties, and these are but a few of the places were I laid my head to rest…
Safe Havens
An unheated, leaky garage at an old rocker’s compound
A couch in a flophouse
The egg-crate pads laid on the floor of a nudist commune
Haystacks in a barn, as we helped with the harvest
Marcia and Jesse’s closet, the door unhinged (as was I),
the most comfortable vortex of all…
The beach in Venice, where I lay under an umbrella of starts
watching the slivered silver moon dance through my tripping eyes
An SRO, hot plate heating Chunky Beef Soup
Looking back at these havens, all were safe
Some were filled with love.
others with the scent of cow patties
and the sweat of an honest day’s work.
And still others bore the sweetness of smoke
from Mendocino County’s finest…
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
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