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

Category Archives: Friends

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


A Wordling Whirl of Sundays gave us some great words:  Fading, flew, hurtles, limbs, clears, toss, turned, reaching, fresh, flossed, flecks, and siren. Thanks, Brenda, for a good challenge! Also posted at Poets United, the poets’ collective.

Unexpected Turn

Her mom’s car hurtles down the road,
windows down, fresh air, CD player cranked.

Amanda glances at her IPhone and waves it, yelling:
“Mindy says she just flossed her butt with a new thong!”

Cath is a new driver wishing they’d be quiet.
(Wait’ll they get their licenses, then they’ll understand.)

Amanda and Kara, texting like mad, oblivous to
the nerves of the new driver, who clears her throat.

Flecks of sunlight obscure her view.
(Damn, I shoulda worn my shades.)

“SHUT UP, GUYS!” she finally yells,
reaching the limits of her patience with her friends.

A deer darts across the road; Cath swerves and
heads straight for Mrs. Hardy’s fresh-painted fence.

They hit the ditch first and flip,
tossturned as limbs fly in slow motion.

The ambulance flew, sirens screaming,
but Kara and Cath were already fading.

© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil


What can I say?  Three Word Wednesday asked for poems with the words Grin, Jumble, and Naked.  So first a little fun, and then… a little more fun.   Peace, Amy (Also posted at my fave poetic collective, Poets United.)

Rugby Gone Wrong

Post-rugby match, Stan, with a grin,
said, “Never mix scrumming with gin:
From deep in the jumble
We heard someone mumble,
‘Good Lord, I’m as naked as sin!’”

© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil

““““““““““““`

Time Goes By

They mesh peacefully
‘neath sheets weathered
from years of laundering

He grins; her finger traces the deep lines
engraved from years of laughter and from struggle,
the hardscrabble jumble of their lives together

Her naked breasts sag off to the side
She doesn’t care; he thinks she’s as lovely a lass
as ever a man was blessed to wed.

© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil


The prompt at NaPoWriMo was to write a poem using words you hate. This covers a wide spectrum from one part of my life. I miss you, Jeff. Love, Amer

Panel from the Memory Project

Pneumocystis Pneumonia (PCP)

Prone on the steel-back chair.
Probed straight down the gullet.
Cysts and rancid breath emerge
as he lay stupefied.
He will awaken and count the hours.
Tick, tock, curse the clock.

Swabs grabbed cultures.
Petrie dishes cook up the fetid truth:
He has it.
He has full-blown AIDS.
It is 1985.
He is 32.
Tick. tock, curse the clock.

Skeletal soon enough, too soon.
Patches of scabs peel off his scalp.
Bactrin on every sink so that
if he barfs, bleeds, or brays
we can wash it off.
Tick, tock, curse the clock.

© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil

Also posted at Writer’s Island (Day 28) and Poets United.