CUPPA
First
cup of
coffee is
curative brew
Excites my brain
Gets my train
back on
track
© 2013 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Image courtesy of Wikimedia Creative Commons
Kim Nelson, at Poets United’s Verse First, asked us to edit, edit, edit and create a poem about something ordinary… in a handful of words. Unaccustomed as I am to brevity… !
This also appears in the left margin of my home pad, Imaginary Garden With Real Toads. Peace, Amy
WHEN WE WERE YOUNG THINGS
When we were angels
swimming in the stars,
we were but boy toys
hanging in the bars
When we were divas
dressed in les Diors,
we were with shlumps who
didn’t open doors
(Bridge)
Looking glass, tell me
When did the view change
Why not forever young
Rather than cue change
When we were sirens
singing from the cliffs
we were a jumble of
“whens” and “whys” and “ifs”
(Bridge)
Looking glass, tell me
When did the view change
Why not forever young
Rather than cue change
When we were young things
slinking down the street
we’d ne’er imagine
that ourselves we’d meet
Now we were older
greyer each season
Now we are bolder
We’ve found our reason
© 2013 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
We were asked, at Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, to write a song… a chanson, a lieder, anything that might be set to music. This is a slow waltz with a pause after the bridge (at “cue change”). Songwriting has long been my business, so I guess I’d better pen the tune now! Also “in the margins” at my poetic concert hall, Poets United. Peace, Amy
Video by Matt Logan, used by permission. Worship at the Edge
Lake Edge United Church of Christ, 8-11-13
THE ECSTASY OF EXPRESSION
It’s clear we’re here
for PRIDE celebration
To lift up all living –
Jesus’s exhortation
To love without boundaries
and love all we meet
Good news evident, everywhere
we happened to take a seat
For if there’s not love
in each person’s heart,
what good are the Gospels?
Why even start
to work hard for all people’s
true dignity
Extending to all this
expression of glee
I was born this way
That’s what Gaga sings…
We joined in the dance
and our souls sprouted wings
© 2013 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Lake Edge United Church of Christ has a “Worship at the Edge” service at 11 each Sunday morning here in Madison. Sometimes, it’s worship WITH an edge… as in this PRIDE Sunday, when Chris, Jennie, Hayley, Peter, and a bunch of co-conspirators flashmobbed the church with Lady Gaga on the overhead! Talk about real ecstasy, a true and lively expression of the Holy Spirit amongst us.
Ray, your talk had me in tears, and bless you for speaking the truth in love. Thanks, Matt Logan, for filming and editing so fast! And Lex, you rock. Not just because you’re my husband… because you’re a pastor who presents God’s extravagant welcome with a rainbow ‘round your shoulders!
This is for E at ABC Wednesday, as well as in the sidebar at Imaginary Garden With Real Toads and Poets United. Peace, Amy
THE WAY I’M GOING GREY
Grey
springs up
livens hair
God’s free highlights
upon this crone’s crown
Silver threads, valued so,
weaving their way farther up
from hairline to thatched brown fields
Growing stronger, a widening way
Accentuates mature women’s beauty
Most women bend to social demands
Face the fact, youthfulness attracts
Yet intact my grey stays, quite
stubborn am I, one of
few women I know
who find value
climbing the
shakra
tree
© 2013 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For Imaginary Garden With Real Toads Open Link Monday, a double etheree about aging and being OK with it. I stopped coloring my hair years before I started my grey streak, which has also peppered my hair. I vowed to never be a “tragically blonde crone.” In a society where women “of a certain age” are not valued for their wisdom and experience, I don’t care if people see me as an old lady. Hey, I earned every grey hair – and that goes for my wrinkles, too! This picture was taken in honor of GLBTQ Pride Day, and our church played Lady Gaga today. Really! Peace, Amy
SLIM’S SONG
Sky so black it shines
Stars dance and glimmer
Souls surely are up there
Swimmin and lookin down
We’re keepin warm by
Smoky’s campfire, we
call him that cause he
could make a fire outta rain
For once Lance brings ME
coffee, like an equal pardner
Took me years of provin myself
to get to this place at the fire
Not huddlin by the chuck wagon
Not hangin back like a shy kid
But ridin and wrangling with em
Sharin dirty jokes and talkin bout
women we had in Laramie, and
I had me a few; they were better off
for knowin me. Glad I cut off
my hair and bound my breasts
to assume this identity
They think I’m a him and
that’s fine with me, I was born
to be a he, Little Slim Lantree
© 2013 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Woke up this morning not knowing I’d be a transgender cowboy by afternoon, but here I am, thanks to dverse. This gal had upchucked the chuck wagon, born to ride, probably had all brothers on her father’s ranch and wasn’t going to be left behind to his devices. And the prostitutes, used to slam-bam-thanky-ma’am, were obviously pleased with her prowess… wink. Also for the Poetry Pantry at Poets United.
This gender bender also appears at Imaginary Garden With Real Toads. Peace, Amy
The Loneliness of the Long-Distance Trudger
Heavy burdens of life lived loudly
She would like to carry proudly
Truth is stamped soul-deep, and down
Under lines of chalky frown
Purse is German, dress is French
Shoes Italian, teeth are clenched
Shamed by family, maimed by men
Trudging toward new men again
© 2013 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Image courtesy of Bored Panda, shared by permission with Imaginary Garden With Real Toads.
Thanks to Hannah at Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, we learned about salt flats today. They are called “the world’s largest mirrors,” and you can read more about them, as well as see more examples of the Salt Flats, HERE. This woman, dressed up and traversing the salt flat, struck me as lonely and careworn.
The couplets came naturally, and when I read about the iambs and other rhythms at dverse poets, I realized that I had, indeed, come up with a poem that displayed the rhythm (I think) of the trochee, which is the mirror sister of the iamb. TA da TA da… anyway, I’m posting it and am very happy that I was able to fulfill a form prompt.
Peace, Amy Barlow Liberatore (a name that, when pronounced correctly, also employs trochee!)
Hoo Dew
Grab the cumbersome cobalt bottle
No, the one with the floating bits
Syrup it into kettle
Stoke the smoke with oak
Scratch in cinnamon and
ground wormwood
Fresh dandelions
Stir to boiling
Simmer for days
Haze it will bring, just past
the sting of its reality,
will knock the clocks dead
We shall fast while it brews
This shit is better than booze
A ruse of peace, pleasing, but
when it wears off…
© 2013 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Mama Zen at Imaginary Garden With Real Toads wanted a voodoo poem in 73 words or less.
Not familiar with the occult arts, but I tell you, I’m gonna try this recipe just for kicks! Ha ha, Amy
Diva (little cat feet)
Cats change the landscape of plans.
When orphaned Diva poked her head
out of hiding, a loving thread
filtered from her heart to ours.
She sniffs shoes, jumps at
her own shadow, eats bread crumbs
off the kitchen floor. She defies
gravity, leaping from carpet
to couch back with ease at 11 years.
She salts us with the reality that
we are parents again.
Her soft breath, her purr,
sends me into blissout mode.
We all sense the sea change
and we love it.
© 2013 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For The Sunday Whirl (see Wordle HERE); also in the margins at Poets United and Imaginary Garden With Real Toads. We adopted Diva this week, and she’s a vocal little old girl whose “daddy” died suddenly… she’s grieving, plus she was scared by two of the man’s daughter’s more aggressive cats. Still a bit hand shy, she will climb up on my lap (when she’s ready) and purr… sounds of the heart. Peace, Amy
Of Love and More
First love lost; ‘twas not worth keeping
(or it’s cheap red wine a-speaking)
Then came city boys who gave
me lessons: How To Misbehave
(Married, briefly
Much grief, chiefly)
Then I found a righteous man
Values, charm; he had a plan
Liked my daughter, and loved me
She saw “dad,” I saw me
Going for another marriage
Diff’rent style; no horse-drawn carriage
Love was true that second time
Faithful, solid, and sublime
Now I know what life has taught:
Love is cheap when cheaply sought
© 2013 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Kerry O’Connor at Imaginary Garden With Read Toads was celebrating the August birthday of poet Sara Teasdale. Reading Teasdale at first seems dated; but, like many poets, she has wisdom in those couplets and free-form writes. I read some of her poetry, per the prompt, and was inspired to tell the story of my rough-and-tumble path to Lex.
Also in the margins at my poetic love nest, Poets United! Peace (and real love), Amy
Midsummer moist, midcity malaise until
block party can be heard two blocks away
Grab a sixpack from the fridge and
amble on over, no invite needed
Scrambled egos debating
Elvis vs. Beatles which
morphs into
Beatles vs. Stones
Who’s the host? The entire
block, sweaty from setup and
quenching thirst with first
bottle that passes
Kids and Popsicles, boys
chase girls and some chase
other boys
“Steamed clams up!” shouts
a generously endowed Tejana
Her radio channel is Mexican; it
blares trumpets and voices and
drums, overtaking Mumford & Sons
next door (Mumford’s mom is mellow,
doesn’t seem to mind)
Generosity here, tamales and
samosas, curries and jello,
the United Nations of food
Drinking local microbrews or
sipping red wine in jelly jars;
soda, water, soda water
Everything free and donations
pour in from neighboring blocks
Dancing, commence
Drum circle, all welcome
Serious rhythm, bone deep and
daring anyone to stand still
Swaying to the beat, one kid
picks up a djembe and beats
a scribbled, disjointed pathway
No one tells him to do different
Block party, where police kindly
cordon off the street and some
come in to join the fun
Block party, kind of like a rave
without the pesky Ecstasy
Just noise and sweat and
as they say in Brooklyn:
It ain’t the heat
It’s the humanity
© 2013 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Joseph at Naming Constellations put up some pieces for ekphrastic poetry last year, and I revisited the prompt. I chose a Pollock, “Autumn Rhythm,” which caught my sense of smell and sound, rather a piece based on synesthesia as much as the ekphrastic prompt. I could immediately hear the drums and laughter, smell the clams in the steamer… This prompt was a feast for all my senses. Thanks, Joseph, and please find more poets answering this prompt HERE.
This can also be found at the hedgelines of Imaginary Garden With Real Toads and my poetic block party that never ends, Poets United. Peace and steamed clams, Amy
Sharp Little Pencil 