Fall Moves In (a lament)
A hearty breeze brings
a shower of shattered shedlings
scattered on the lawn
At dawn, slippery, slothful
lying low; sunup warms and
wakes them to crunchcrackle delight
Within the crowd, can you see?
Lost souls… no tree to shelter them
Fodder for the loathsome length
of punishing, pewter-sky winter
© 2013 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Artwork © Amy Barlow Liberatore (open image in new window for closer view)
More artwork from me, drawn this time for the theme of the poem.
I already have a head start on the winter blues.
Lots of you know what I mean, and I’ll take on the subject of “holly jolly consumerism” later on.
The thought gave birth to verse and art, so I guess something good came out of it!
For Poets United’s Poetry Pantry and Imaginary Garden With Real Toads.
Peace and light, Amy
Peace, the Unknown Commodity
Our world has been at war
since the eighth decade. EIGHTH
Constant bickering plus weapons
equals humans either dead or “victorious”
Where is the victory in bloody children
lying in the street next to their dead mothers?
Will it take violent protest to end war?
That would be quite ironic, but
marching hasn’t done it; even Lennon’s
music was decried as hippie drivel
All we are saying is give peace a chance
And yet the war machine goes on
A peaceful world takes LOVE and respect
A peaceful world means children go to school
A peaceful world means women are not battered
and adults are given meaningful work
In a peaceful world, the Halliburton crew
and Blackwater would have spare time.
Perhaps they could work on clean energy
and free health care for Americans instead
© 2013 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Image courtesy of WikiMedia Commons
I know I wrote more about war than peace, but let’s face it, folks. As long as Stale Pale Males (emphasis on stale, as in same old crap) are large and in charge of the military/industrial complex; as long as we are dependent on fossil fuels; and, of course, as long as there are “American Interests” abroad, we will never know peace. “American Interests” is a catch phrase that does not mean people – it means Starbucks in Baghdad and McDonald’s in every nation! Beware the sound byte.
This is for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads’ “Blog 4 Peace” highlight. I am so proud to be a “Toad” and to take part in this wonderful cause. I’m also posting this for dverse Open Mic Tuesday. Peace, Amy
The Face Behind the Mask
Safety lies in firm foundation
hiding eroded skin, the wrinkles
that bend around her mouth
Immeasurable moments of
yearning for time to stand still
Clots of inky mascara pebble
her lashes, yet she holds fast
to youthful illusion… every
new conquest a king, every bed
suppled by silk sheets
Then comes morning, mask
peels off to reveal clay skin
Lines that were hidden last
night; her flame of youth
doused by shivering reality
© 2013 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For The Sunday Whirl (click the link to see the words) and also my poetic lilypad, Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, where Grapeling challenged us to write about masks. I’ll write more about this woman another day… and no, it’s not autobiographical! (Hell, I let it all show, just like my grey. I earned every wrinkle; in fact, some have names!) Peace, Amy
To My Cuppa
Here we sit by a fire
The dynamic duo: Coffee and me
Dinosaurs of the old cliché,
“I was sitting in a coffee house
when this poem came to me.:
But that’s how it is.
Hands warmed by
ceramic cup, aromas of
roasted beans, baked goodies,
and the occasional
stinky college student
combine to create aMuse-ment
There is nothing so sweet
as a bite to eat and a sip of
my dearest co-conspirator
© 2013 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Pictamy also © Amy Barlow Liberatore (click to enlarge)
Food and Writing, Writing and Food. Yeah, that’s the call from Kim Nelson at Poets United. It inspired both the pictamy® and the poem. Food and writing are an inseparable combination… unless you prefer Drinking and Writing, but than try reading what you wrote the next morning, much less tracking down all the cocktail napkins. You know who you are, ha ha.
While the coffee is first with me, always, there’s a nosh… Right, Buddah? Also in the margins at my poetic lilypad, Imaginary Garden With Real Toads. Peace, Amy
An actual fracking site in Warren Center, PA
The Marcellus Shale runs under my home, Binghamton, NY
Image courtesy of WikiCommons
Frackers (and the TPs who love them)
Takin no flak from
frack-attack NRA
plushies
Takin no crap from
gumflappin’ Tea Party
Rushies
Dittoheads filled with…
(no, that’s not nice)
misinformation
Sleazy pols with vols
pandering to their meandering
with dolls from the intern pool
Pools they listen to
more than constituents
Consequently, their
incontinent pieholes spew
FOX from their boxes
(the Constitution gets the axe)
Rights only for the Right
We get what’s “left”
Two Rights can make a wrong
Look at the NeoCon bromances:
Bush and Dick
Incestuous Koch brothers
On and on, while our tap water
becomes flammable, we suck
dino juice like it’s a teat
Money for war? Sure!
Forget wind and solar –
our gas is now Natural
So natural, it seems
the hometown of my dreams
will go down in flames
from its faucets
© 2013 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
I’ve written about FRACKING before, but Sherry Blue Sky, a good friend and Canadian activist, produced an excellent report (click HERE) on how the frackers are taking over in Canada, too. Got my Irish up, but at least people rose up in protest… in the States, we think of Canada as a peaceful country, but their police have been learning since the Bush years and yes, through the Obama years: Rubber bullets in LaBatts country. What the hell is going on?
This is my cheery little Monday piece for the Open Link at Imaginary Garden With Real Toads! Peace, Amy
Mama Needs New Ones
Teeth trashed, vacancies galore, by years of
barely-there dental care; many are
little more than amalgam fillings
One side had no molars, no
balance in chewing my food
Migraines and TMJ the result
Still, the news hit me like a brick:
UPPER PLATE. Trash the few
remaining enamel pieces on the
sorry chess board known as
my mouth. Like the man said,
You can’t cheat breath.
In the office, equipment fences
me in, a gravelly voice says,
“Here we go” (WE?!) And me,
stranded in a loop-de-loop of
tentacled dental equipment –
over, around, inside – yikes
Everything was done in a snap
A temporary plate was shoved in
and it’s so thick it makes me
lithp, but I’ll get a final one soon.
Everyone notices I’m smiling once more…
Encore!
© 2013 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Yes, it’s true. Years of second-hand smoke from playing in jazz clubs apparently didn’t help the enamel on my teeth, either. THANK YOU Philip Morris and co. But at least I can smile as widely as Julia Roberts, and somehow, I had come to miss that smile, as I tried in vain all those months to half-grin to hide the missing teeth.
This used the “baker’s dozen” words at the Sunday Whirl. Hop over and check out some great poetry from all over the world! Also in the sidebars at Imaginary Garden With Real Toads and the Poetry Pantry at Poets United. Peace – and don’t forget to floss, Amy
Pink, Above and Below
Pink
above and below
She knows this tavern
is a cavern of
half-truths and full-blown lies
Icarus and ice
Yet, this morning
la colorosa* bathes
the barstools and bodies
laid waste by last night
Sunrise brings the glow
of a knowing
that this day
there will be change
Her heart will melt
inthe pink glow of sundown
© 2013 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Image by Oxag at Wikipedian Commons:
Sunrise at Angkor Wat (Worldwide Usage Permission)
* la colorosa means “pink” in Spanish – at least, in Puerto Rico.
Hannah at Imaginary Garden With Real Toads wanted color, a cave (and what better cave than a bar!), a hunger, adventure, and ice. Pull up a barstool and tell me yours. Also on the margins at Poets United. Peace, Amy
In the Palm of God’s Hand
I dreamed I was in God’s palm
Not alone – a hundred or more
sought the same succor
I explored this miracle
Felt a callus on God’s finger
Sensitivity for the laborer
No silken luxuries in this hand;
traces of humankind’s misdeeds
His right eye, littered with shrapnel
Her left eye wept tears
black as the rains of Hiroshima,
thick as dredged Gulf Sea Tar
One arm was tattooed with a number,
the other bore scratches of barbed wire
from Matthew Shepard’s execution
The pinkie, blowing off bit by bit
by IEDs and drone strikes
His nose broken by bar fights,
her cheek bruised from spousal abuse
A rainbow was painted on God’s cheek
The children on God’s palm cried
One sold, one raped, one homeless
Adults cuddled them, sang songs
to them, and God smiled
“You are my angels on earth,
the face of Jesus, the form of
the Divine Sofia, and the human
evidence of my love for all
“Wake up and help me heal”
When I awoke, I prayed thanks
for this visit, and promised God
I’d give my all, with a servant’s hands
© 2013 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Not written to any prompt, but on the Open Link page of Imaginary Garden With Real Toads and sidebar of Poets United. This was an actual dream… and there was so much more to tell. Peace, Amy
I Beg Your Pardon… really
For my sisters, who have had to
put up with my leftie ranting and
defense of my gender-queer daughter…
I beg your pardon
For my daughter, who had to
endure a childhood with a single mom
who was not yet diagnosed as mentally ill…
I ask your forgiveness
For my husband, who has seen me
through hell and back, fat and thin, and
bears my depressions with understanding…
I’m sorry I’m a high-maintenance partner
For my dead parents, about whom I write,
who defend their actions, their hideous
alcoholism and abuse of their daughter…
I regret nothing
Finally, to myself, for all the mistakes, the
mysterious paths I’ve chosen, the years of
drugs, the booze, and the frozen career just thawing…
I repent. And I sharpen my pencil once again.
© 2013 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Fireblossom Friday at Imaginary Garden With Real Toads asks for poems about repentence. I won’t go into the God thing here. I’m keeping it tangible and earthbound. Shay, you rock! Peace, Amy
Sharp Little Pencil 