After a weekend of seeing our brilliant youth and their adult mentors in the church’s summer musical, then ministering on Sunday morning with the Edge Band, you’d think I’d be all tuckered out. In truth, it’s those busy weekends that sometimes set me behind the 8-ball of posting to last week’s prompts! Ye,t last night, I was up until 3 writing to a prompt from Joseph Harker (see last post, an ekphrastic poem), bitten by that late-night manic muse.
Here are two poems written for three sites. Enjoy, as I bask in cool air here in Wisconsin, an increasing rarity these days.
FOR ABC AND REAL TOADS:
Depression Hates Sunlight
Cloistered in my corner
Life passes by bay windows
Fresh air beckons
Big sis is on her horse today
Rides her farm, inspects the hives
Middle sis building a new home in the woods
I should be peeking at a wedding at the Gardens
Instead, birds taunt from the broad tree out back
now aglow in the burnt orange hues of sunset
Frozen in place, in space, I remain
tethered to an uneasy chair
Hiding from rays of healing
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For ABC Wednesday. This, written for the letter D, is about my Big D, Depression. Also for The poem’s imagery comes from Teresa of Razzamadazzle, hosting the prompt at Imaginary Garden With Read Toads. If you’d like to see the images from which this poem arises, please click HERE, as I didn’t have time to write Teresa for permission to reproduce them on my blog… believe me, they are stunning photos. If you’d like to read more of Teresa’s work, try here: Razzamadazzle.
FOR THREE WORD WEDNESDAY:
Empty Nest
A mother nurses her newborn
Emotion wells within me; my aging womb falters
I long to touch the face of my only child
even as she is grown, gone to graze in new pastures
Later, in the night sky
even stars mock me as they glimmerglow,
each seems a crystalline soul out of reach
None will glow within my empty nest.
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Image from Breastfeeding.com. I strongly support moms who nurse their babies in public. We have enough “Wardrobe Malfunctions” on TV; why are folks repulsed by what Mary did for her baby, a ritual as old as time, and always practiced tastefully, lightly covered. I also know some women aren’t lucky enough to experience this bonding, and my heart goes out to them.
For Three Word Wednesday (yeah, I’m running behind on this Monday morning!), giving us the words Emotion, Falter, and Touch. Thanks to Thom at 3WW for hosting this wonderful weekly challenge!
Peace be with you all. Amy
GOTTA GO!
Gotta go now
Wanna sing but day job pays bills
Run to catch the ‘bway
Pressed against other cogs in the car
We’re a movable beast
You can taste the air in here
and that ain’t a good thing
Gotta hurry up
Stop by coffee shop, grab a bialy and
some hot dark that speeds through veins
and makes brains go pop
In my cube 7 x 7
Hamster Heaven but Human Hell
Gotta run to help fix the copier
Maintenance can’t reach the tricky places
My fingers are nimble
I can take apart anything and I
joke with the guys and let them see some leg
as I crawl on the floor doing their job
I make soul-sucking misery look fun
Gotta go home to my wretched box
So square even the wallpaper is plaid
Swear to god it’s plaid
Gig tonight, no pay but exPOSURE
Pose in the mirror, pouty pretty
Gotta get to the gig
Back on the ‘bway downtown
This city is laid out in perfect lines
The A, B, C
The 1, 2, 3
The RR, bastard child of the rest
Follow the tic-tacs to find
a place to be, to become, to behave
but still believe it’s lasted
as long as it has
Here in the Gotham Game
Gotta go again
Shouldn’t’a drunk so much water
Surviving the City is easy
as long as you graph the clean bathrooms
on your mental map
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For Joseph Harker’s “Naming Constellations,” an ekphrastic poem (written to an image or inspired by same). I chose the Piet Mondrian piece, “Broadway Boogie,” but to tell the truth, I didn’t notice the name before I wrote this – I picked the image because it made me nervous, and that reminded me about deadlines and there was also a resemblance to subway maps! So there you go. Thanks, Joseph; you’re an inspiration even when you don’t throw us a prompt. (This is also in the “ticker tape” of poems at Poets United.)
Two notes: The ‘bway’ is not Broadway; it’s our old nickname for the subway (or the tube, for my European friends). The City is always and forever New York; no real New Yorker would ever refer to it as The Big Apple, either – unless you’re a surviving vaudevillian, for whom that expression had true meaning, because playing New York City was indeed getting a bite of the “big apple.” Bit of history for you!
The painting is a low-resolution image and is in no way fully representative of the original piece. Mondrian, a superb talent; this is meant in tribute to his work, not a “snatch and grab.” Peace, Amy
One of my favorite prompting sites, dverse poets, put Brian Miller in charge (look out! Backs to the wall… wink). He asked us to write a history poem, and it reminded me of that question we always ask one another: “Where were you when…?” Excellent prompt, and I’m looking forward to reading everyone else’s work at dverse. This is also posted at my favorite time machine, Poets United. Peace, Amy
ELEMENTARY SCHOOL LESSON
I knew a lot by the second grade
The alphabet, counting to one hundred and beyond
How to write my name in cursive, and quite perfectly
What not to flush down the toilet
(all my broccoli smuggled in via dinner napkin)
How kittens are born, because I watched
Even how to make a dry martini
(kids learn a lot from alcoholic parents)
How to spit water between my front teeth and
how to get real distance spitting watermelon seeds
One thing I didn’t know
and never expected to
was something the whole class
learned at the same time
The grownups were outside our classroom
mumbling something about
President Kennedy
A grownup was sobbing in the hall
and Mrs. Darrow almost fainted
Until second grade
I didn’t know teachers were allowed to cry
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Image courtesy of http://www.scootutopia.com
Hello, friends. I have two pieces of good news. First, my entry for the Trifecta “Week 35 Challenge,” which ran an entire month, was cited as the second-place winner – check out all three Trifecta winning entries at THIS LINK, including my friend Misky (Da winner and still champeen!!), and a new friend, Lucy Robinson Miller in third place.
Also, another great friend, Lady Nimue, edited the latest edition of the ezine, Fried Eye, and one of my poems is in there as well! So a big week, and truthfully, I needed the lift, so thanks, Nimue, for asking… and thanks to the folks at Trifecta for always having a wonderful challenge.
Detour Ahead? (an etheree)
Where
he leads
she follows
Whether he’s right
she dares not question
If she does, usual
answer, the back of his hand
Unfortunate girl, brought up by
a mother whose own questions were rare
Mirrors mock them both: Their “normal,” scarred, scared
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For Poets United (Follow/Lead and Usual/Rare).
NOTES: An etheree is ten lines with the first line having one syllable, the second two, and so on until you have ten lines with then syllables. There are variations. I only use form when it comes easily to my theme, and I hope Viv is proud of me! (She’s seen me struggle.)
The song “Detour Ahead” was (in my opinion) best sung by Billie Holiday, and best played instrumentally by pianist Bill Evans. Just in case you were wondering where the title of the poem came from. One of my favorite songs when I was in jazz clubs.
Canvas
Clotted mottles of burnt ember
anchor spindled legs: beige, green, bearbrown
From these spring tangled weaves in shades of
olive, speckled moss, faun tendrils
dodging one another, cat and mouse
Then triffidian horror movie monsters
crowned by iridescent tangerine, muted lavender,
or snow white as biblical innocence
First rains dribble weaker petals back to clay soil
Garden in bloom
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For We Write Poems (unexpected descriptions, with thanks to the inimitable Joseph Harker for leading the way!) and ABC Wednesday, brought to you by the letter “C.” Also at my poetic garden (the one without the toads), Poets United.
NOTE: The adjective “triffidian” is made up in honor of one of my favorite sci-fi movies, “Day of the Triffids,” original story by British writer John Wyndham, about root-bound plants that suddenly become mobile after a meteor shower. The story is every bit as good as the movie, which starred Howard Keel as an American in London, one of his few non-musical roles. Read more about the story HERE. Peace and firmly rooted plants, Amy
Going the Distance:
“Who Do You Think You Are, Amy Barlow Liberatore?”
Let’s hear what everybody else says first:
“You were born 40 and you’re working your way backwards,”
said my mom, when I was 7
“Charmful little armful,”
said my musical mentor
“She can SANG!”
said our African-American piano player
“Get that bitch off the podium!”
snarled the Buffalo cop at a peace rally
“Please don’t say that about your dad,”
cried my mom, when I was 35
“You’re not a dyke, why should you care?”
asked a Fundie at a PRIDE rally (when I challenged their ‘God Hates Fags’ sign)
“Good thing you can sing. Your dancing sucks,”
joked my friend at a big band concert
“You’re not a victim; you’re a survivor,”
said my therapist
“You wear manic depression well,”
grinned my psychiatrist
“You have the soul of a dinosaur,”
said the oracle Sidnie
“Don’t hold back, tell us how you really feel,”
say bloggers (with a wink)
“PLAY ‘FEEEEELINGS’!!”
slobbered countless drunks at my piano bar
“You’re just a gay man trapped in a straight woman’s body,”
said Jeffery, may he rest in peace
“You’re going to hell for encouraging those homosexuals,”
say… too many people to mention
“If you’re going to hell, it’s gonna be in a FABulous handbasket,”
giggled Jason
“Thanks for the lessons,”
said my BFF (and only he will understand that comment)
“I have no dramatic coming-out story because you were so accepting,”
laughed Riley
“She’s a pain in the ass,”
said the FBI agent, flipping through my file
“Take it off! Take it off!”
cried Christopher after I sang a comedic song about stripper envy
“Because she questions my authority,”
said the principal to my mother, as I sat in detention
“You are SO worth it,”
says my husband, over and over again
My life is chaotic peace.
I’m a sharp little pencil, still writing my life.
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For Poetic Bloomings (“Who Do You Think You Are?”), for Sunday Scribblings (distance), and for the Poetry Pantry at Poets United.
Corner Shelf Onstage
Young: First round on me
Stay ‘til last call
Partied hard,
some success
Now: Wiser,
ready for rowdiness, revolution
Dichotomy:
Shy, depressed or
Manic, obsessed with
peace, poetry, politics,
my past
And always singing…
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For the whimsically titled Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, the challenge was to write a poem about yourself in 35 words or less. Peace, and please do come to the Garden – you’ll meet interesting poets and photographers and other artists!
TO ALL MY WONDERFUL READERS: If you are uncomfortable with the growing phenomenon of “cutting” among young women, please skip this – or scroll down and learn. There’s a new, hopeful trend among teens and 20s of tattooing the word “Love” on one’s inside wrist as a reminder, either for themselves to not cut, or in solidarity with and compassion for those who do. Peace, Amy
Bleed
Awesome with a razor
She’s straight-edge all the way
Cuts in patterns
Endangering her health
for the sake of
force-feeding her psyche
She sees no hazard
in this habitual ritual
She knows what she’s doing
She gets in lots of practice
She’s waited all day to
be alone with the one…
The blade that understands
her pain and her release
The pain she cannot name
and isn’t ready to claim
Today, perfect lines, sleek
and hardly bleeding at all
Tomorrow, she’ll wear
a long-sleeved hoodie
in the torrid noonday sun
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For ABC Wednesday (B) and for Three Word Wednesday: Cut, Endanger, Hazard.
Girls who are numb to the world because of depression or other mental disorders, may cut themselves in order to feel. The warning signs are long-sleeved shirts in the hottest weather, parents finding an Exacto knife or other sharp instrument under her bed… just know they are in need of help, not irredeemable nor incurable. They are hurting themselves because they were hurt, and getting down to the problem starts with counseling. Peace, Amy
This is a twofer Wednesday for me. (Woofer Wednesday? Dog days of summer?) Both short poems, each for a different site. Peace to all, Amy
FOR WE WRITE POEMS
Gathering
Birds shelter
Squirrels, helter-skelter
Leaves reveal silver underbellies
Thunder
Hallelujah!
Rain
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
We Write Poems requested a poem employed brevity: no more than 12 words. Suffering through a prolonged drought, I’ve prayed constantly for some rain to help our small farmers here in the Midwest. Hooray, it rained twice this past few days… even now, a fresh, ozone-tinged breeze brings the good news to my window. (Viv, I hope your rain is coming my way!)
FOR MAD KANE’S BLOG
Semantics vs. Values
The Right don’t mind sweatshops in China
So what’s the big deal ‘bout “vagina”?
There’s no room for maybes
They cannot make babies
Without women’s penis combinah
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
With all the problems in our country, the Right chose to censor two members of Congress for uttering the word “vagina” in speeches. But they still reserve the supposed right to legislate what I do with mine. Maddening! For Madeleine Begun Kane’s Political Madness, because she loves limericks and is my acknowledge queen of that genre. Do yourself and favor – click on her link and get ready to laugh. Really hard. And maybe be a little outraged! She’s a gem! Peace, Amy
Real Women
Real women have curves
nerves of tempered steel
Watching promotions
granted to men of
lesser talent,
their hearts stolen by
lesser loves
until…
Real women revel in truth,
revive opinions stifled
again and again,
say their piece and
back it up with actions.
Some women shape the future
by giving the world
the next wild, willful
generation of humanity,
nurturing and guiding.
Others act as guides,
spiritual doulas,
friends who also nurture
the character of those children.
The Aunties Extraordinaire.
Real women love.
We love to love.
To make love, to share body and soul.
Even when swallowed by self-doubt,
surfacing with the pliable beauty
of sirens,
assured,
assuring,
ascendant.
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Photo from History Central, archival shot of the inimitable Mae West, who once said, “No man ever loved me like I love myself.”
For dverse Open Mic Night, because real women ROCK!
Sharp Little Pencil 