Broken Record
Once I prayed for a lover who would
treasure me, pleasure me, measure me by
no other standard but my own.
Together on the porch swing,
humming that Simon & Garfunkel tune
(and what a time it was, it was…)
Me, the deer who steered clear
of headlights, and he, my
melancholy golden boy.
Long sweetsweat hours of
erotic coupling, rolling, gripping,
souls afire, blinding, shining oneness.
Picture him as he stays to graze,
then strays to the next aster-speckled
pasture, scent of honey drawing him away.
Betrayal, best rendered in coal black,
ebony spray to cover the mirror and the
rosy glasses though which a love
was seen blooming in pale, fragile hues
of pink and yellow, delicate colors
of columbine swaying in our meadow.
Uproot it all now, fling it into the coals
of after the afterglow. Let lost love
crackle until only powdered ash remains.
Once I prayed for a lover who would
treasure me. Golden was he indeed,
and golden still, shining out of my reach.
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Triple prompt: Sunday Scribblings asked for Treasure, while Poetic Bloomings wanted Betrayal. Those two concepts seem like star-crossed lovers at times. Then the Sunday Whirl gave me inspiring words: Swing, Gold, Melancholy, Rosy, Pray, Spray, Powders, Glasses, Erotic, Pale, Fling, Strays, and Cover. Also posted at my poetic meadow, Poets United. Also for dverse Open Mic Night!
Blue Babe
Funk-flattened by that man,
the one who stole her whole,
heart, soul… grassy knoll.
Blue, blank, busted,
burnt by a formerly formidable passion
that now passes for bitter brittleness.
Lost love takes the shape of
a long tall martini, in her limp hands,
as she holds up her part of the bar,
awaiting her next mistake.
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For Trifecta, use the word “blue” in a 33-333 poem as an adjective meaning melancholy… Been there, done him…
Also at my poetic watering hole, Poets United. Peace, Amy
Well, I’m not one for bragging (and if I am, will someone please let me know so I can stuff some humble pie in my face), but Polly Robinson of Polly: Writings and Witterings posed what may be her first prompt, and I could not resist. After posting, I found out it was one of three favorites! To see her comments, and other winners as well, please see: THIS POST. And now let’s get down to some poeting. Poemizing. Poemization. Er, writing poetry:
Remember Passion
Passion – all-consuming,
glorious blaze of every
sense alive and alight,
every synapse snapping,
a fire for
the belly
the brain
the heart
the hearth that hums beneath
her sheath and his jeans
Passion burns benevolently
for a time, somewhat contained
(but if the team mascot loves the
place-kicker, they head for a
fireproof locker, kissing in shadows
of the homecoming bonfire)
The fire can consume lovers.
The burn doesn’t always hurt.
Passion will wane, but
the reflection will remain
in the rearview mirror of their minds,
glowing on lonely nights,
a long-gone ember of…
Remember?
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For Poetic Bloomings, a poem about fire, burning passion… and all that follows. Also at my poetic bonfire, Poets United. Peace to all, Amy
Vessel
(based on the Prayer of St. Francis)
Make me an instrument of your peace
Make me a vessel of your love
Your walk, my way
Your truth, my life
Your light, my joy
Your breath, my song
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For ABC Wednesday, brought to you by the letter “V.”
The prayer of St. Francis has always intrigued me, because Francis took Jesus’ teachings on giving and acted on them all his life. His is a good example of a life lived in pure love. LOVE is not only for Christians – it’s for all faith paths and for those who don’t believe in a Higher Power… but I wrote this hoping that I, too, will be a vessel of love, at all times and in all places. Peace, Amy
dverse wanted poems about music. How about lyrics to an original song, WITH the music track? (smile)
A lot of you know I’m a singer/songwriter. This is a demo (no great studio quality here, just the straight voice and piano) for a long-planned but yet-to-be-financed jazz album to follow up “Jazz Baby Hits Her Stride.” Click on the track name; lyrics are below. And John, my BFF, this one’s for you!
CLICK HERE TO LISTEN TO THE SONG:
My Cat Sure Misses You A Lot
My Cat Sure Misses You A Lot
Words and Music by Amy Barlow Liberatore © 1998
She sits on the window seat and waits for your return
She stretches lazily, ’cause she’s got time to burn
She thinks you’re running late, or maybe you forgot
But oh boy, oh boy, my cat sure misses you a lot
Remember how she’d snuggle up and commandeer your lap
And how you’d hold her tenderly when she’d settle in to nap
I’m sleeping well these days, or so I thought
But oh boy, oh boy, my cat sure misses you a lot
She’s mine and always was, but she gave her heart away
To a man who up and left one day
I’m fine, I’m over you… I only called to say
There’s someone in the house who wants you back to stay
Why don’t you come around and visit her sometime
An hour on the front porch swing would do just fine
Or maybe you miss her the way she’s missing you
Why don’t you take her home a day, or maybe two
‘Cause oh boy, oh boy, my cat sure misses you a lot
She’s mine and always was, but she gave her heart away
To a man who up and left one day
I’m fine, I’m over you – I only called to say
There’s someone in the house who wants you back to stay
Why don’t you come around and visit her sometime
An hour on the front porch swing would do just fine
Or maybe you miss her the way she’s missing you
Why don’t you take her home – and take me, too
‘Cause oh boy, oh boy, my cat sure misses you…
Recording published by Beehat Baby Music, copyright 2012
MY MAN (the texture of his soul)
Jagged thorny corners where
nuns did a number on him
Nearby, a fountain that weeps salt
for this father, gone too soon
On one side, blown glass
Cool to the touch, warming now…
Burlap covers newly planted notions
He will wait for blooms
Devotions in denim, closed eyes
weary after work of worship
A patch of stubble – not 5:00 Draper
but his biting, familiar sarcasm
A kazoo juts out of one side
waiting to play “Bridge On The River Kwai”
Settling in to meditate will be hard
what with all the racket, but he’ll get there
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For ABC Wednesday, brought to you by the letter “M.” Also for the Poetry Pantry at Poets United.
This seemed to be the week to write about Lex, who pastored during a Seder on Thursday, spent quiet time on Good Friday, went to the vigil with me on Saturday, and rocked the church with an amazing sermon on Easter Sunday. Love of my life; man of God; sweetheart of a guy. Trust me, you’d love him.
Loathsome Lothario
Lordy! Ladies loooooove Lenny,
lackadaisical, lame-ass loser.
Looks: Lethal.
Leaver? Likely.
Lovelorn, leftover lasses
lament losing Lenny:
lemmings
leaping
l
e
d
g
e
s.
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For ABC Wednesday, brought to you by the letter “L.” Also at my poetic café where the chairs are really comfy, Poets United! Check out both sites for contributors and you’ll find some groovin’ work, including photographers and storytellers.
PAD April #7, and all while getting ready for Easter Sunday worship tomorrow. Peace, Amy
My Favorite Bouquet
Buy me no roses, I begged him.
Spare me the sight of their bloom.
They wither and die,
and depress such as I,
but I do so adore their perfume!
Two things – a vial of rose essence,
The other, a sunrise sweet kiss.
I love a nice gift,
one that gives me a lift:
Love, your self is my ultimate bliss.
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Just because we’ve been married 13 years doesn’t mean I don’t love Lex more every day. May our Creator grant us the gift of growing old together. Peace, Amy
For Poets United, my poetic hearth and home.
At ABC Wednesday, we’re still on the letter “M.” Also, as always, posting to Writer’s Island, so bop over to both sites and see what other poets are doing! Peace during this holy week, Amy
Mmmmmmmms
Snuggling as we watch the sunset together from the patio
Hoisting a Wisconsin ale with new friends
The crumbly crunch of fresh shortbread
A quick call to my best friend that turns in to two hours of
trying to right the wrongs of the world (while taking time to
trash Joan Rivers’ new show)
Occupying small space in a roomy chair,
scribbling poetry as I ponder life oozing by on State Street
My first bite of Barb’s Angel Cake
How the wick crackles when first I touch match to candle and
knowing the sweet mysteries that will unfold when he
sneaks into the room
So many moments that make me say,
“Mmmmmm, life is good”
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
At Poetic Asides, the prompt was, Celebrate. Could not think of a better celebration than the day two of my dearest friends were united in love and dignity. Amy
Celebrate Today
(For Christopher Kennedy and Jimmy Ricketts)
Christopher and Jimmy
both in tuxes, Dapper Dans.
Not the groomsmen,
but the grooms.
I’m running around in
a dress tight as Saran Wrap
(and just as pliable).
My heels click click click busy busy…
So light the candles!
Bring on the guests!
Family and friends;
Amy’s taking requests
at the baby grand with candelabrum
As I sing, I meditate on the wax
slowly slinking down the tapers.
This is real romance.
The pastor was beautiful;
the buffet, sublime.
Every state should have gay marriage –
their catering businesses would thrive.
I sing the song I wrote for their wedding,
“The Best I Have To Give.”
Then Jimmy yells, “Do the Santa song!”
I grin and launch in.
It’s my rendezvous with Kris Kringle
Naughty but nice. The glasses clink
and the newlyweds share a little peck.
Nothing gross like at straight weddings.
A tasteful affair from beginning to end,
all couples dancing, bubbles in the air.
I remember Mom saying that true love
is marrying your best friend. Amen.
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Sharp Little Pencil 