Pity Party Marathon
Feels like forever, this situation.
So sure that she is unappreciated.
Confronting the conundrum:
Is it they who take advantage,
or she who is the doormat?
Their insensitivity,
or her need for deeds to be noticed?
Are they stoking the fire,
or has she tied herself to the stake,
begging for matches?
Martyrdom is a foolish pursuit,
one that drag on a lifetime.
Yet she, as fools do, faces it; embraces it,
forgetting Dolly Parton’s immortal words:
“Get off the cross, honey, we need the wood.”
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Self-esteem is a struggle for so many women, myself included. Hard to know when it’s a valid complaint or too much navel-gazing. For Sunday Scribblings, where the prompt is “Marathon,” as well as at my poetic hangout (where all the outcasts who created the real stuff stuck together in high school), Poets United. Proud to be a member!
W.A.S.P. Apology
Dear Tribal Peoples of the Americas,
My English ancestors arrived aboard The Mayflower.
You were enslaved, exposed to smallpox, forced to forfeit your land.
No longer able to hunt. Shot like animals, sent to reservations.
I am profoundly sorry.
Sincerely and in the spirit of repentance,
Amy Barlow Liberatore
Trifecta asked us to write a letter of apology in exactly 33 words, not counting the title, salutation, or signature. The was the best subject I could write about. All my friends know of my pride in the “shanty Irish” side of my family; however, my father’s ancestors can be traced to Richard Warren on the Mayflower. While some view this as a heritage to be proud of, I’ve been trying to live it down, both as an activist and as a woman who educated herself on the facts of the matter. A racist website by some cracker named O. Ned Eddins plays down the torture and displacement Native Americans. History, once again written by the winners… yet, had we stayed with indigenous ways of respecting the land and thinking seven generations ahead, we would not be ruled by oligarchy in a despoiled land. Amy
Loathsome Lothario
Lordy! Ladies loooooove Lenny,
lackadaisical, lame-ass loser.
Looks: Lethal.
Leaver? Likely.
Lovelorn, leftover lasses
lament losing Lenny:
lemmings
leaping
l
e
d
g
e
s.
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For ABC Wednesday, brought to you by the letter “L.” Also at my poetic café where the chairs are really comfy, Poets United! Check out both sites for contributors and you’ll find some groovin’ work, including photographers and storytellers.
PAD April #7, and all while getting ready for Easter Sunday worship tomorrow. Peace, Amy
Bring Back My Heart, copyright details below
The prompt at Poets United’s Thursday Think Tank is “Music.” Hey, what an opportunity, right?
Here is a song from my CD, Jazz Baby Hits Her Stride.
You can hear me sing it if you click on the link above.
Hope you enjoy this little love song, recorded at the studio of my dear friend Jon Randel. Peace, Amy
Bring Back My Heart
Thank you for the visit, it really was sublime
To catch up on the news after all this time
I packed in such a hurry, some things got left behind
So if you wouldn’t mind…
My toothbrush and my dental floss, I left them on the sink
And a lone Peruvian earring, in the living room, I think
Some pictures of my daughter on a table by the door
And my lingerie we left scattered on the floor
It’s really quite the laundry list
But there’s one more thing I missed
Bring back my heart, return it to me
At the first convenient opportunity
It had just come off the shelf
And I had planned to keep it for myself
I didn’t leave it in the bedroom – I’m not blasé
That’s not the place where hearts are given away
Perhaps it was the restaurant where you took my hand
And told me life had not turned out exactly as you’d planned
You asked me whether I had hopes to share my life again
And I told you God had plans for me, but wouldn’t tell me when
My heart was mine alone
And until we kissed, I thought it had turned to stone
Bring back my heart, we’ll see what’s in store
Make my office gossip when you show up at the door
Bring back my heart, but until you do
I know it’s safe with you
So put it in your pocket, keep it close
Hold it with the treasures you love most
And when you return it, here is what I’ll do:
I will scent it with roses, wrap it in lace
Lay it in the lining of a golden case
And I will give it right back to you
© 2004 Words and Music by Amy Barlow Liberatore
Published by Beehat Baby Music, all rights reserved
First, continued apology for not answering your comments on recent posts. Doing my best to catch up, so don’t give up on me, OK? This is a dark take on the Sunday Whirl prompt; wordle is listed below. Thanks, and peace, Amy
The Ward and Me
Shadowy business, this
Nestled in the crook of a couch
for another shrink rap
My balance, shaky at best
This ward filled with walking open sores
Memories ooze from their psychic wounds
The runoff seeps up the floorboards
leaving smudgy, evil footprints
Traces of ghosts linger, follow us inmates:
Xeroxed Marleys, hovering phantoms whispering
what happened back when
back then
Grandma Blanche was a frequent flier,
restless for answers to
bizarre questions that made Grandpa cringe
and then commit her
They’d strap her down
They’d scorched her tortured brain
A sick science fair
I know that old game, how they
sucked the fun out of her
so I play along
I’m afraid but don’t let it show
I whistle a happy tune
This will all be over soon
I think
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For The Sunday Whirl: Straps, Balance, Sores, Ghosts, Smudgy, Bizarre, Scorched, Shadowy, Restless, Nestled, Whistle, Know, Seeps. And, as always, to be found in the right column of my poetic kith and kin, Poets United.
First off, great news! Fred Weintraub, while promoting his book co-written by David Fields and edited by yours truly, added my blog link to his page! Scroll down to the bottom right and see my picture and link there!
http://www.fredweintraub.com/index.php?page=book
I’m a bit slow at responding to comments because I visit each and every one of you who leave word with me… so be patient! Or to borrow from an old bit, “Be gentle… it’s my 385th time!”
You know it’s getting near Valentine’s Day when I get all sloppy about long-ago unrequited love… old feelings sometimes give birth to new poems. Still happy with the valentine I have, my Lex! Peace, Amy
I’ve Been There
Tell me how you feel
I’m your sounding board
I’ll play devil’s advocate
‘case there’s something you’ve ignored
She was too lovely to be real
And you loved her, yes, it’s true
But the way you looked at her
is the way I look at you
I’ve been there, too many times
Trying to find the rhythm in the rhymes
I’ve been there, tongue hanging out
Heart on my sleeve, and foolish, no doubt
You can’t understand why she
can’t be the one to adore you
I can’t understand why you
can’t see what’s right here before you
Tell me how you feel
I’ll be here forever
But will I tell you
how I feel? Probably never…
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Also posted at my poetic hearth and home, Poets United
Emotional Dyslexic
I cannot read her
She’s too confusing
Now she’s mad at me
and that’s amusing
It’s cat and mouse time
But where’s the trap now?
Oh, that’s the wrong game
I’ll give her crap now
‘Cause she should know me
My way of thinking
She never meets my needs
That’s why I’m drinking
And when I get home
Supper on the stove –
or else I’ll show her
my back hand of love
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
NOTE: This is one thing that never happened to me, but has happened to a lot of women, and there is no excuse. Men who run out of words use fists… and guns… and other weapons often discussed on my blog. Same goes for some women, but in a much smaller proportion. I am blessed to know so many men of peace, especially after a difficult, abusive childhood.
Will be posted at dverse Tues Open Mic and at my poetic home, Poets United.
Processing Me
I am at the Wisconsin DMV
I am sitting on a plastic chair
I am scolded by a supervisor for
sitting instead of
proceeding directly to Photos
I am told to sit down in another plastic chair and
wait for my number to be called
I am DY72
I am in the process of being processed
Now I know how cheese must feel
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For dverse and Poets United!
Hello all, from our new digs here in Madison, home base for recalling the governor of Wisconsin; protecting the environment of our state and others; protesting the war in Afghanistan (this includes Veterans for Peace); and sheltering the homeless during the bitter cold that comes and goes.
During my vacation from blogging (and while my computer crashed with one of those “phishing” viruses – I never fall for that), I composed a ditty for my good friend, Buddah Moskowitz, of I Hate Poetry and Virtual Poetry Reading. Thought it would be a nice “dipping of the toe in the poetic waters” to post it here. He’s SO worth it!! Peace, Amy
SILK THREAD (for Moskowitz)
There is a long, silken heartstring
Starts in the Midwest
Stretches to the Coast
(The Left Coast, not the other one)
Connects me with my
brother from another mother
in ways gutty, gutteral, giddy
and good
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
As always, posted at my “nest,” Poets United.
Sharp Little Pencil 