It may be the wee hours of Monday, but it’s never to late to answer ABC Wednesday‘s prompt for poems using the letter “Y.” This goes out especially to my high school buddy and still great friend Michael Weil, who visited from Potsdam, NY (think colder than Madison!) with super wife (and also old friend) Amy Jo and verrrrry cool son Alex today, along with new friends Paul and his partner Dean. Mike and I reminisced about the ever-abundant supply of Yuengling beer at our house, and how he just “converted” to their Black and Tan variety. I had actually written this “snowball” poem days ago, but now I HAVE to post it, right? Safe travels, you “Weil things!” Amer
Also at the poetic collective, Poets United.
YUENGLING
Sun,
summer,
cold Yuengling.
Man, our basement
fridge was full of it.
Easy access for teens
to grab a brew, hit the pool,
and bask in alcoholic bliss.
Mom never kept inventory, so
we drank, swam, laughed, and tanned all summer long.
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Just a quick one. Sorry I am so terribly behind in responding to your comments… the Poets United article generated a lot of interest. I promise I’ll get back “on par” soon. (Groan – you’ll see why when you read my response to Sunday Scribblings‘ prompt, “Woods.”) Amy
Woodsman Lost
Tiger, Tiger, what the hell?
‘Twas a time you cast a spell.
Now you ache from stress and strain;
credibility down the drain.
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Three Word Wednesday prompted us with: Cease, Heat, and Nasty. A million ways you can go with that, but I was reminded of those punishing Manhattan summers. Thom G, thinking of you and my other NYC friends now.
This is also at our poetry collective, Poets United, which (if you scroll down to the second article) has an interview with… MOI! I was so honored. Thanks again, Sherry Blue Sky, for tapping into my brain. A brave chore, that! Amy
City Summer
City sidewalks
drink in summer heat
absorbing as through pores and
releasing a scalded, nasty smell:
Part spilled lattes
Parts updraft of subway tracks, their litter and rats
Part dog who missed the tree
Part dog owner who didn’t bring a plastic bag
Part bare feet of the homeless,
never to cease their quest for
the shelter of a bit of shade
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
This is for Sunday Scribblings, which gave the prompt word, “Hitch.” Also at Poets United, my poetic home-away-from-home. Enjoy, movie buffs! Amy
HITCH
Close-up, sloooowly, Grace leans in
and Jimmy Stewart wakes to a kiss.
Raymond Buff commits a sin,
but Grace and James still find their bliss.
Tippi Hendren, without words,
the schoolkids must deliver:
Running from the pecking birds
to a house where they all shiver.
Wartime Cummings, Saboteur?
Joel McCrea, war correspondent.
Ingrid, a provocateur,
leaves Claude Raines despondent.
And how can we forget the sight
of Janet Leigh’s ill-fated shower:
Black and white blood, one stark fright.
Tony Perkins’ finest hour.
When the planes swooped o’er the grain
Hitch made Cary Grant look tough.
We won’t see Hitchcock’s like again…
but Tarantino steals his stuff.
Alfred Hitchcock, Lord of Thrills,
his wife an aide in everything,
he still brings us stellar chills.
Screw “no Oscar,” Hitch is king.
Two for ABC Wednesday. Two divergent subjects: Innocence and Iniquity. First, free verse; second, another “snowball poem,” with a descending number of syllables, one through ten. Don’t ask me why, but this form has me spellbound. Thanks to Joseph Harker for letting me know the name of the form!
Welcome
Welcome to the world
little wonder, who
worked her way
from my womb,
winding through the waterslide
into the waiting hands
of a woman who already knew
we two would make it work
without him.
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
————————————
Witch
She’s
a witch,
there’s no doubt.
Vipers emerge
from her mouth; venom
paralyzing those who
get in her way, considered
inconvenient or bothersome.
You’d never guess, beneath her perfect
new frock lies a heart cold as charity.
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Also posted at the poets’ collective, Poets United
Three Word Wednesday gave us Gag, Maintain, and Omit. Also at Poets United, my poetic community of friends. Peace, Amy
Who’s Crying Now?
The only way he could shut her up
was to gag her with a bandana.
The only way he could maintain control
was to try tying her to a chair
The only mistake he made was to omit
searching her pockets for pepper spray.
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For Poets United, Thursday Think Tank, we were asked to think about the beach. I’ve lived in Santa Monica, where many nights were spent on the beach (under various influences); Bermuda, where the sand really IS pink… but for my money, there was a romance in the salt air of Puerto Rico that remains unmatched. No offense to Bermuda or LA! Amy
THE BEACH AT SAN JUAN
San Juan beach at twilight
Strolling barefoot on cool sand
Sandals looped round my finger
Arm round the waist of a sweet soul
Head resting on his shoulder
We stop to regard the city from this place
The casinos at full tilt, the street filled with tourists
Then, as lovers do, we turn away and disregard
the frantic pace and rumble of night life
to discover and rediscover the essence of closeness
The sky holds a sliver of silver, stars shining all the more
for the moon’s modest reflection
Tide moving gently, water licking our toes
We sit in silence/not silence
Rhythm of a shared heart
Swish of Corona sipped from bottles
Breeze playing brushes on tall palms
air tinged with salt and
heavy with jasmine
filled with promise
© Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Just when you thought she’d reached her maximum ditz quote, Sarah makes that mistake… opening her mouth about Paul Revere “ringing them bells”! So ABC Wednesday wanted a “V” poem… and of course, Poets United will also get a posting! Posting from the Left, I wish you peace… and a break from FAUX News! Amy
Vile, Yet Vapid
Her smile is so sweet,
but vile is her mind.
Her style, “thrift store” neat –
beguiling her kind.
Her words are quite vapid
(though written by others)
Her speech, shrill and rapid;
she’s one grizzly mother.
She writes talking points
in the palm of her hand.
Just where her sycophants
all want to stand…
Don’t call her a Guv:
Never finished her term.
So why do folks love
this Tea Party germ?
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Sharp Little Pencil 