One last poem before they shut off the Net access and I welcome the movers. This meditation is one three days without my Lex smiling at me across the dinner table; it’s also a remembrance of days before his loving help in the kitchen.
A SOLITARY PLACE SETTING
Dinner for one
Single chicken breast pounded, powdered with
a bit of flour, salt, pepper
No flourishes here; no guest to impress
Olive oil flashes as poultry meets
onion-green pepper-garlic melange,
the Holy Trinity of kitchen worship
A lonely head of broccoli pipes up, steaming
I sip Pinot Noir from a jelly jar
Finer glasses sit on the shelf
waiting for someone who will one day join me
chatting over chopping of veggies
as he compliments my talent
for producing perfect brown rice
The table is set now
One placemat, one napkin in its ring
One cat mrrrowing that it’s his suppertime, too
Swirling a second helped of wine, I wonder
when the Fates will serve me up
someone for whom presentation is everything
and dessert doesn’t come from the oven, but
the slow cooking of romance
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
The Writer’s Island prompt was “Wondrous,” and I knew exactly where this would lead… Amy
BALM
O, the wondrous healing balm
comforting consolation
Whether this wellspring of pain
came from a broken romance
a broken promise
or a broken nail
All is made whole and well
by the soothing touch
of chocolate upon one’s tongue
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
This came from a “wordle,” a group of words you can form into a block of art; to create one yourself, click HERE.
Thanks to whichever poet’s blog contained the block (and I apologize that you remain anonymous, I was all over the place today). I can’t reproduce it here, but all the words from the block are in bold. Enjoy! Amy
FIRST TIME (wordle)
Smoldering like an ash-pit and
lush with promise, but
clunky teenage moves
His one hand, awake, cupped my breast
The other was passed out under my back
then resurfaced to hold my head for
a quick nibble at that well-hung boy
The First Time
The Lune is an American variation on haiku. The form is: Five syllables, three, five. I don’t often delve into forms, so here are a few for your enjoyment. Hope none of you got trampled in the “Black Friday” creation of every big box store known to humankind. Don’t fall for the hype – give to a charity in your family’s name. I guarantee you a merrier Christmas with simply stuffing the stockings! Amy
SOME KELLY LUNES
HOLY SPIRIT
Calming is her voice
Sofia
She, Divine Wisdom
—————————
HAPPY POVERTY
To be rich like some
No, thank you
Angst, grasping worry
—————————
EMBRACE
Softly his calm arms
enclose me
in safe, serene warmth
————————-
IVORY WISDOM
Of eighty-eight keys
Middle C
is the foundation
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore, Sharp Little Pencil
DON’T FORGET TO TAKE POLAROIDS
Never one to take instruction
well, welcome to
THE EVE OF MY DESTRUCTION.
That’s me, going to hell.
Hand-basket by Longaberger.
So say the Bible thumpers
Because I insist my daughter’s
Divinely made, perfect…
and, yes, she loves women
If all she did daily
was love women,
I’d be worried, but fortunately,
she does other things, too:
art, music, movies;
she has a full life.
“I’ll bet you and Lex
do stuff besides
hanging in bed being straight!”
That’s right, baby, it’s true
We get up
sometimes for breakfast, lunch, dinner…
(c) 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Thanks to Riley for permission to use her experiences for this poem.
SO MUCH MORE
Love is not best expressed
through sex, yet sex sells
on the squawk box. From
VH1 videos to BET, you
can bet our youth are so
deprived of anything more
thank the depravity of the
booty call. Of women as
moving, bump and grinding
blow-up dolls. Of men with
faces only a mother could
love, whether country stars
(ten-gallon disguising their
hair plugs and plaiding their
paunches), Promise Keeping
Brothers who still leer at
the camera, or rappers who
pull teeth in favor of diamond
implants. These images imbed
like a cancer; only one answer:
The parental counter-punch.
Demonstrating healthy, loving
relationships. Turn off the
TV and unplug the modem;
talk about what lies beyond
the birds and the bees. Soul.
Spiritual bonding. Looking
your partner in the eye, not
sneaking peeks at anatomy.
Friendship first; hormones in
harness; self-esteem before
chasing the false, fleeting
dreams of sexy steam.
Ahhh, thanks to Poetic Asides for today’s prompt: LOVE. We could write all day, about everything from romance to our dachshunds to spiritual fulfillment to coffee… Click on the P.A. link and you’ll see what I mean! Scroll down and read some fantastic poets writing about our favorite mutual subject! As for me…
NO RUSH
Words. Gestures. Eye contact
in flickering candlelight.
Easy conversation over dinner, no rush.
Hushed hints of the night to come.
Yes, the tell the waiter, we’ll share
a piece of red velvet cake,,
which they discreetly feed each other
as they sip Arabic coffee,
thick, ebony sweetness.
Helping her on with her coat,
he whispers something – she giggles,
“My place.”
What happens next is
best left to the imagination.
But they share a heartbeat, a love
that transcends the clock
tick-tocking the moments of this evening:
A long-married couple
playing “Date Night,”
haven’t lost their appreciation
of the sensual pleasures
and the long, blissful
doorstep kiss.
(c) 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Sharp Little Pencil 