Sad to hear the Writer’s Island is sailing into the sunset soon, but grateful to Rob for his dedication and hard work over these years. He deserves not only a break, but HUZZAHS from all poets who have met each other online through his blog. Love you, Rob, and HAD to respond to one of the final prompts, “Incomparable,” with a pun. Peace, Amy
Income Parable
Two sisters, two misters
Two divergent types of wife
One Wall Street, one small street
Each to their own way of life
One greedy, e’er needy
Income never quite enough
So fancy, perchance she
might have done well with less “stuff”
Other sister and her mister
always seemed to have their share
Faith and love held above
the stocks and bonds, the truth or dare
First Recession, soon Depression
Sister One weeps over loss
Sister Two has no boo-hoo
when faith is strong, the World’s not boss
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Also seen at my poetry home-away-from-home, Poets United
Well, two days of being unable to post on WordPress. Let’s see if this one takes! A Three Word Weds. prompt: Fond, Alter, and Tranquil. Also posted at my poetic home-away-from-home, Poets United.
Thanks to all for having patience with this blog bug. Peace, Amy
Prompt Etiquette
Fond as she was of fulfilling prompts,
she never altered a poem
to “use” the required words.
Tranquility found in
honest expression;
cheating the muse being
sloppy mortar,
bound to be found
lacking in quality.
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
What can I say? Three Word Wednesday asked for poems with the words Grin, Jumble, and Naked. So first a little fun, and then… a little more fun. Peace, Amy (Also posted at my fave poetic collective, Poets United.)
Rugby Gone Wrong
Post-rugby match, Stan, with a grin,
said, “Never mix scrumming with gin:
From deep in the jumble
We heard someone mumble,
‘Good Lord, I’m as naked as sin!’”
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
““““““““““““`
Time Goes By
They mesh peacefully
‘neath sheets weathered
from years of laundering
He grins; her finger traces the deep lines
engraved from years of laughter and from struggle,
the hardscrabble jumble of their lives together
Her naked breasts sag off to the side
She doesn’t care; he thinks she’s as lovely a lass
as ever a man was blessed to wed.
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
From Brenda Warren’s blog, A Wordling Whirl of Sundays (a new favorite prompt of mine – check it out!). Words from the Wordle form appear in bold within my poem. Check Brenda’s blog to see what other poets came up with, and to view the actual Wordle block, which for some reason would not reproduce here. Peace, Amy
Twilight Ablaze
Deep in this planet’s twilight,
a confidently striding soul has fallen.
His head came up against a heavy branch; both cracked.
Now he lies still.
His cigarette smolders,
its sparks set dry leaves afire.
A light breeze spreads flames as
the night wind tails toward the valley below,
turning a slight accident into
the full-throated cry of hundreds of neighbors
afraid their homes will not be spared.
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
This poem is also at Poets United, my poetic collective home. Click on their link and discover a WORLD of amazing poets!
Creation Circles
Circling dew-drenched winds
Particles settle, drawn into a core
Water seeps over to shore
and upward to the clearing sky
A sphere, then
Slowing moving, a circular wholeness takes shape
Revolving, arcing around a star
as other spheres form
In the waters, moving creatures differentiate
Unique beings, yet still part of the whole
They swim, consume, reproduce
as nature will allow
Some beings are drawn to the shore lines,
dwelling near coral reefs for eons
until fins lengthen, gills morph into lungs,
and land beckons them to a new home.
They reproduce as they did in the sea:
Those with penises plunge into waiting wombs;
babes pop from the penetrated and drink milk
from that parent’s body as they learn to live.
Some come to shore without gender.
They adapt as they must to continue the species.
Some beings take to the air, darting into water
to devour their forgotten cousins.
There is a Creator of all this fecund beauty
Whether it is Nature or God or Gaia or a
legend born of necessity to explain the world…
We will only know when we leave this place
Once there was a void of intermixed, intermittent
molecular flotsam floating, flung far and near
Now there is something so ancient, so precious,
all humans do is fight about where it came from
But I know this much…
It is and
it is beautiful and
it is worth preserving for as long as we deserve it
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For We Write Poems (Creation) and my poetic home, Poets United
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.
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.
Sharp Little Pencil 