Writer’s Island wanted an answer to the prompt: SIZZLE. Perfect time of year to contemplate that notion! Also posted at my poetic home-away-from-blog, Poets United. Peace, Amy
Summer Sizzle
Surrender your boots and your tight-knitted cap
This summer, silk underwear’s taking a nap
Let’s throw all the earmuffs into winter storage
And stock up on ice cream, forsaking hot porridge
Unpack all the swimwear and beach towels as well
Sunscreen 64, lest I burn all to hell
The long winter’s passed, all we see is sunshine
Surrender to summer, a true state of mind
The burgers will sizzle out on the gas grill
We’ll put local microbrews on ice to chill
And speaking of “sizzle,” because I’m so teeny
Just wait ‘til you see me new hot-pink bikini
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
RENDER SURRENDER
Give it up
Push it away
that ego, whispering “me me me”
(like a bad soprano warming up)
Let it go
Open your mind
Listen to the echo
(the voice that says the world revolves around you)
Let it in
Breathe it in
Creation, the Creator, who loves you
(and only wants you to give love back to the world)
Come full stop
Close your eyes
Let love catch up to you
(you were running too fast anyway)
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
This is in response to a challenge from We Write Poems (make up a prompt/form that may be used in the future. I call this Formulaic: 3 + (x) = Poem) and my poetic home, Poets United.
Damp Laundry
Mom and damp laundry
Despite new products, incensed:
The skid marks remained
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For Three Word Wednesday: Damp, Incensed, Skid
…and your second helping (hope you already ate dinner!):
Rank
The new apartment was spotless:
Creamy carpets calming, yet daring any mud
to tread or trespass.
Spacious closets; bathroom, a religious experience.
We moved in, delighted to have found
a small space offering big comfort.
Then I stepped into the hallway
shared by a dozen apartment front doors.
Smacked in the schnozz by a complicated, rank odor.
Some good: Spices, worthy chefs working ethnic magic.
Much more body odor… culturally acceptable
where the bodies originated, harking back to my East Side days.
Worst – cigarette smoke sneaking out to play hookie,
curling, wending its way from under some front doors.
Lingering like a London pea-souper, toxic fog.
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
ABC Wednesday – R, and Poetic Asides, “Telling it like it is.” Also at my poetic home-away-from-blog, Poets United!
Triskaidekaphobia
Silly to be scared of a number
But there it was
She was scared to celebrate
her first official “teen” birthday,
thought the house
would go up in flames
because one of the candles
would flare and
that would be that.
She could not move into a flat
on the 14th floor
because she knew
the numbers skipped
from 12 to 14.
Karma was bound to catch up
in the form of
falling out the window
being squashed by a toppled ladder
(even though she hadn’t walked under it)
or being slowly gnawed to bits
by a black cat.
© Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Also at Writer’s Island in answer to their prompt, “Superstition,” and my poetic home, Poets United.
Mirror Grows Up
Girl standing on tiptoe to see her reflection
in the grown-up glass
Teen crying over ravages of acne
on her nose, her neck, her back
Bride at home wedding, same mirror
as this morning, but suddenly she’s changed
Single mom, single crease forming
over her left eyebrow, souvenir of divorce
Second time’s the charm, as she eases back
greying bangs from her smiling face
And just this morning, taking stock
More circles than a box of Cheerios
More wrinkles than a pug puppy
More fire in her eyes than Mrs. O’Leary’s cow ever wrought
More twinkle than Tinkerbell
More love than she thought she’d ever have
All shining back as her husband slips his arm around her,
whispering, “Love how you look today, babe.”
© Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
From a prompt about mirrors at my poetic home, Poets United.
Quandary
Words haunted her, hounded her
Phrases dogged her footsteps,
nipped at her heels.
Thoughts butterflied about her head,
no shoving them away.
Fanciful images and rhyme
began to work they way
into the margins of her mind.
At work, she inked them on her arm
(transcribing them before nightly oblations).
When at last she found her voice,
the words rejoiced, flutterflapping, then
settling on her desk or clinging to the walls
like hastily taped reminders.
Carefully, she pasted them into a book
in a certain order
(like a ransom note)
and the captive was set free.
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore
For ABC Wednesday (brought to you by the letter “Q”) and my poetic home, Poets United.
Women’s Work
(a cento, from Carl Sandburg’s “Working Girls”)
over the way, the women who know each one the
lunches wrapped in newspapers under their arms
so here are always the others, those who have been
going, so many with a peach bloom of young years
arms that passed around their waists and the fingers
woman life I feel a wonder about where it is all
on the downtown streets
that played in their hair
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore
From We Write Poems, a prompt for a cento: Another poet’s writing, taking only certain lines and rearranging them to form a new poem. These lines are from my favorite poet, Carl Sandburg, and his poem, “Working Girls.” Also posted at my poetic home, Poets United, where you can find a plethora of amazing poets on their right sidebar, constantly updating with links.
Amending this post because I was a week ahead on the prompt… “spontaneity” got the best of me, ironic, no? The actual prompt was “Addiction.”
Stageheights
Living in limelight
Not fueled by ego, rather
talent to amuse
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore
————————
Whoops
Precious sucking babe
Never will she know, born of
Spontaneity
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore
Written for Sensational Haiku Wednesday for the prompt… Spontaneity! Also posted at my heart, my home – Poets United.
And now for something completely different, song lyrics. You can hear the song at my music link below (sorry, can’t upload it here.)
Hope you like it! Amy
Tioga Moon (free listen at amybarlowliberatore.com – my music site)
Tioga moon starts her song around eight
High above the maple, the color of marmalade
Spills on the rooftops and dances on the dewdrops
And drenches all the sumac in the glade…
Tioga moon, shining clear and bright
Tioga moon, shining on you tonight
When Cape Cod gets colder
and chills your shoulder,
that old Tioga moon will keep you in her sight
Oh, say…
when the gardenin’s done today
let’s escape the sun, and
run off to a place I know
where there’s shade
a little glade where the jack-in-the-pulpit grows
And then…
we’ll linger on ‘til after ten(derly you’ll call my name)
And then we’ll start to whisperin’ low
While the owls’ eyes and the fireflies
put on their show
Tioga moon, like a big brass bowl
Tioga moon shines like a prophet’s soul
When Buffalo winds blow
snow through your window
that old Tioga moon will make your insides glow
(repeat last chorus)
So stay well, sleep warm;
when the cold starts to bite,
that old Tioga moon will be your blanket tonight.
(Words and Music © 2009 Amy Barlow Liberatore)
Sharp Little Pencil 