If you don’t “mind” the “V” word, read on. But remember, I warned you. Also, to anyone who objects, please remember: COPYING, XEROXING, AND DISTRIBUTING MY WORK IS A COPYRIGHT VIOLATION. YOU MAY GO TO JAIL. (I have had mean “stalkers” lately.)
OK, the snarky scolding is out of the way. Fasten your seatbelts!
Me & V
I am a woman.
Each morning I
sit on my vagina and drink coffee.
Every day is
Take Your Vagina To Work Day.
“Betty” watches
while I pee and used to
participate in my monthlies.
She knows my husband. Well.
Me and my vagina have been
through thick and…
not-so-thick.
I’ve taken care of her for years.
In return, she opened wide and
helped deliver my baby girl.
Me and my vagina: BFFs.
So, Congress, don’t tread on us.
Together, we are a formidable foe.
Just ask my ex.
© 2014 Poetry and Artwork by Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
First, a disclaimer: Betty is not really my BFF. My friend John in Philadelphia is. Somehow, I know that this particular order in the greater scheme of things will bring him comfort… and a laugh.
When ABC Wednesday asked for poems about the letter V… well, ’nuff said!! Peace and reproductive rights for all, unless you want to outlaw Viagra and submit tests on fathers before termination of pregnancies, Amy
Words Fail Me
When I look at
the box to check that
asks me if I’m white
(like Apartheid, right?)
Words fail me
When I hear a slur
thrown at his/her
clothing on the street
(too butch or too sweet)
Words fail me
Then I remember what
my ancestry is, and cut
straight to the chase –
Whether it’s race
or “homoqueerdyke” –
Riley sure didn’t like
it, she took them on
Must have gone til dawn
Whatever the abuse
There is no excuse
I find my mind; suddenly
My words do not fail me
© 2014 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
The great Brian Miller at dverse Poets asked for the theme “when words fail you.”
It’s one thing to be stopped in my tracks by utter stupidity, insensitivity, and hate speech. It’s another to let it pass. I will always calmly try to talk them in off the Limbaugh Lemming Ledge… even though we have “concealed carry” in this state. It’s worth the risk, if only to stand for justice and work for peace. And it always ends up with a moment of standoff and an apology. (Caveat: I don’t take on the clearly unmedicated who could do me real harm, because they are speaking out of their own illnesses.) Peace, Amy
An Inconvenient Seed
In the Senate men’s room
where Left and Right
meet in the middle
to piddle (and diddle)
my “magic beans” await
Every time a member
ignores the attendant
or doesn’t even tip,
my seeds spring into action
attaching to silk socks
Growing between their toes
vines twining up lazy legs
over pompous paunches
anywhere they can find
purchase
Buds bloom into small papers
the size of dollar bills
All his corporate sponsors are listed
for the world to see and to know
that this putz don’t know shit from shinola
After the lines are laced, the other shoe
gives way to a bud, a roll of
Kimberly-Clark toilet paper
(T.P. made by the Kochs)
and every square squawks
WalMart… WalMart… WalMart…
© 2014 poem and sketch by Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Shanyn at dverse Poets askied for our thoughts on seeds. Of course, Congress sprang to mind (on so many levels, ha ha ha).
Even though these are horrible times for our government, we must never forget the biggest villain of all: MONEYPOWERGREED. Peace, Amy
Back and Forth
Sometimes I lean toward the field
Jovial grasses invite me to abandon the chase
grasp grassy terrain, drink in the scent
of lilac, honeysuckle; witness the
fluid flit of hummingbirds
Yet there is a rough road to pave
Real life
Sturdy construction of countless lives
Lunch-houred, launched, propelled into
the known now and
the uncertain future
© 2014 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
OK, somehow, I found my way back to the Sunday Whirl, and so glad I found this group of words: Lean, Field, Paving, Terrain, Jovial, Sturdy, Launch, Propel, Countless, Scent, Chase, and Fluid. The list seemed to divvy up the two worlds of my years as a single mother… lollygagging in a field with Riley (not often enough) and chasing the almighty buck so my girl could have endless luxury… such as jeans, T-shirts, and a new lunchbox every fall! Peace, Amy
Erasure of Self
Like goosebumped skin
erasure sets in
Eyes closed to sun
Energy, none
The me people know,
the warm glow,
cedes to the smear
of what is now here
Go, thou dread curse
Take with you your hearse
Better days will come
If I ( )
© 2014 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Imaginary Garden With Real Toads. Artistic Expressions’ Margaret asked us to write to a sketch. This one I completed at the onset of my last depression. As always, I crawled out, just in time for Riley’s triumphant graduation! Peace, Amy
As I’ve been absent once again, I did want to mention a wonderful honor: I have been published! Barking Sycamores (a journal dedicated to autism in its many forms), published my poem in the very first edition. Link to my poem HERE. Thanks to Nicole Nicholson for her outreach and sensitivity.
Now, on to poetry: This Memorial Day, I have chosen a different group of veterans, ignored and consigned to ultimate death when the illness became the subject of gossip and hateful condemnation.
Other Veterans (GMHC, 1983)
Gay community’s response to the crisis
They didn’t know what to do with
the first straight girl who strode into
the waiting room, awaiting instructions
Witnessing wills, filing, odd jobs
Then a delivery, with deliberate orders:
“To Paul Popham. Into his hands only.
Upstairs office at NYC Central PO.”
Paul Popham,* one of six founders of
Gay Men’s Health Crisis, prominent attorney
At the PO, the BS began ASAP
Never forgot their condescension
“His office,” sneered receptionist,
“round back, by the bulk mail”
This prominent attorney with
inconvenient, indelible winestains,**
consigned to makeshift quarters
Breathing delivery trucks’ diesel
contributing to possible PCP***
Far from the “healthy” ones
Greeted me, standing tall
His small frame with grey suit
and suspenders to hold up his
shrinking self, like Daddy’s clothes
Such dignity, as though still possessing
the upper office he once commanded
Our eyes met, our hands grasped
the confidential package together
He shook my hand; he opened his arms
“No shame in crying,” as I bled tears
Total resolve in facing death
even as Reagan ignored the epidemic****
I hope the president’s inaction?
haunted him the rest of his days
and beyond. In the meantime,
Paul Popham carried on his work…
And we still pray
© 2014 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
*Paul Popham (1947-1985), whose Wikipedia bio can be found HERE, was one of the first AIDS activists in 1981, when the disease was known as GRID: Gay-Related Immunodeficiency Disease. Paul is portrayed as “Bruce Niles” in Larry Kramer’s Pulitzer-Prizewinning play, “The Normal Heart.” The long-awaited film version will air soon on HBO. SEE IT.
** Winestainss, dark purple lesions, were visible signs of Karposi’s Sarcoma, one of the many autoimmune diseases brought on by HIV/AIDS. If you’ve seen Tom Hanks and Denzel Washington in the groundbreaking film, “Philadelphia,” you will see how Hanks’ character disguised his winestains with makeup for as long as possible.
*** PCP, or pneumocystis pneumonia, was a lung-wrenching, usually quickly fatal infection of the lungs in those days. A depiction of testing for PCP can be seen in the William Hurt film, “The Doctor.”
****President Ronald Reagan was in a position to order funds for research; instead, he did nothing. He would not even utter the word “AIDS.” I am not ashamed to say that I hope this decision haunted his until his death.
Guttural (Meditation on the Heart)
When Bible speaks of the heart
it really means the gut
Feel your heartbeat there
in the center square
Worries tether the gut
crowd the diaphragm
Anxiety’s program
from the great I am
We “feel in in our gut”
A gut feeling to avoid
that thug, that drug,
that way of lesser angels
The gut guides and
cautions us when we
need unspoken advice
God guides our gut
BUT…
“The Gut Is a Lonely Hunter”
would not have sold many copies
© 2014 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Virginia Deep
Bittersweet days and
sleepless nights
Days spent on park benches
regarding passersby
as butterflies
tethered to their lives
Wings pinned down by convention
Nights in her convent
the room of her own:
Smoke, coffee, tension
The quill stung with her blood
No control and again
voices voices voices
No rest, no cure
No choice, save the obvious
Stop the voices
Drown them
Condemn them to
watery oblivion
© 2014 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Imaginary Garden With Real Toads’ Mama Zen gave us a challenge: Write about Virginia Woolf. I have not been posting much lately, but this was inspiring to the nth degree. Thanks, Mama, I knew you could raise me from my slumber! Peace, Amy
Isn’t this prehistorically fantastic? A sci-fi movie buff’s dream!
Westward into the Sun
Chuggin our old used one
cross country, west of west
Buffalo to LA; I know
how these solo road trips
settle my nettled head
Riley-bound; she needs
the wheels but so chill
she was willin to wait
for a not-so-late model
sun-bleached redmobile
Utah. At first, a burst
of tumbled weeds and
You can have this, Brigham
Gradually it blooms with
looming, wise granite cliffs
as if the earth began here
I see the turtle’s back, legend
of indigenous peoples and
remember we are but riders
on this weathered, whirling rock
In my sights, a magic range
Undeniably and completely pink
I think, where is passage?
Answer: Men blew a hole
straight through, a stark arch
How rude, I say aloud
Typical of humans to blast
a magnificent thing of beauty
in order to accommodate
RVs, SUVs, and I, who
would have driven many miles
to go around this mound
of natural wonder. Now I
understand why the Mormons
saw this as paradise on earth
© 2014 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
dverse Poets wanted poems about the road. This was one of the best trips in my life; on my Bucket List, actually, to make a cross-country trip. Stayed with friends, saw my girl. Happy time. Image courtesy of WikiMedia Commons. Peace, Amy
Keepin It Real
You’re keepin it real
ly? You sure a
bout this? A sin
gle night of his
tory and a life
time of raisin
g it
© Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Recently, Imaginary Garden With Real Toads had us looking at the work of e.e. cummings, asking us to play with poetic form in whimsical ways, unusual forms. Although I did not get the inspiration in time for the prompt, thank my lucky stars Real Toads has a Open Link Monday! It’s like winning… Amy
Whoops! forgot to credit image from Wikimedia Commons, and isn’t it a great portrait? Gyula Basch [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons
Sharp Little Pencil 