An Existentialist Speaks
We’re all in it
apart
Alphabet pasta bits
swirling in chicken broth
A sand dune of human grains
awhirl, subject to
the wind’s whimsy
A night sky filled with wandering stars
Stasis in motion
We do what we must in our
earthly bodies without regard for
The Big Judgement fairy tale
Some argue that life without God
is meaningless
a void
They seem so sure and
squint hostilely at
my assertion that
all of that “redemption” crap
is pointless as a salt lick
on the I-90
Mom thinks I’m worse than
an atheist; she’s worried
I didn’t pay attention in
catechism class.
She’s right.
Here
Now
Lost in the stars
We’re all in it
apart
© 2013 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
NaPoWriMo #3, for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, where Kerry asked for poems about Existentialism. Also, Three Word Wednesday gave us Argue, Lick, and Squint. Kim at Verse First for Poets United wanted poems with a “body” theme, whether a group or a single body. I hope I gave her both!
Existentialism is far from my own path, but I can see how people become isolated, believing there is no God, no consequence in the end, no hereafter, and no particular reason to have faith in anything. I can’t get my mind around it completely, but I gave it a try!
Come, Spring (a cinquain)
Sunlight
Pour through my pane
Melt ice around my heart
Transform my frozen mind gently
Frost free
© 2013 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Image from Wikimedia Commons, by Mohylek: “I, the copyright holder of this work,
release this work into the public domain. This applies worldwide.”
NaPoWriMo #2, for Sunday Scribblings (seasoned, although mine is more seasonal). Also at “It’s Always Sunny at Poets United,” my wintering snowbird delight and haven!
Can you believe it? An unprompted cinquain. Spring must be coming… Peace, Amy
Participating in National Poetry Writing Month “A poem a day keeps the blues at bay.”
April Fool (The Poet)
She can do it
She’s done it before
April calls for
a poem a day
She locks out
distractions, lets
herself get lost
in memories and moments
It could be a
song – she has
staff paper on hand,
after all, plenty
It won’t be
floral themes
Funeral scented as
petals fall to the carpet
No “moon June spoon”
songs; something
bluesy with peaks
of soulful wails
She has written
about stoners and
wastrels, powders
up nostrils, bad sex
Politics and pencils
Incense and incest
LGBTQs and rednecks
Allies and enemies
Today, she will
simply vow to
make it worthy,
come what may
© 2013 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For the Sunday Whirl (see Wordle HERE), and on the sidebar at Poets United, my oasis in the desert; AND for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads’ Open Link Monday. n celebration of the first day of NaPoWriMo, National Poetry Writing Month (or Naturally Panicky Writhing Motions, depending on my level of desperation).
The game is afoot, Watson. Watson, the foot is a game. A game, Watson, the foot is. Yeah, I’m ready! Peace, Amy
Nothing to Prove
Don’t need miracles
Loaves and fishes;
Lazarus wishes
Don’t need purity,
a Virgin birth
for his time on earth
Don’t need witnesses
Kings from far away
God’s voice on baptism day
Don’t need him calm
He threw over tables
Taught radical fables
Didn’t need a temple
Homeless by choice
Folks understood his voice
All I need is his words of love
His hand stretched out to the poor
To street kids, to ‘untouchables’
He was real and human
Dragged his cross to Calvary
Questioned God as he hung from a tree
I don’t need resurrection
No “Mary, don’t you know me?”
No Doubting Thomas: “See?”
All these things could have happened.
If they didn’t, I would
still follow him best I could
The Way is peace, love
The Way is easy it you let it be
If you turn off the world, you’ll start to see
© 2013 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
NOTE: I believe there are “many ways up the mountain.” As much as I follow Jesus, I don’t exclude people of different beliefs from my life. I often have amazing conversations with Jews, Muslims, atheists… anyone willing to engage in love. I am not a biblical literalist and do have a problem engaging some (SOME) fundamentalists because theirs is an absolute path, which is far from my own, and they tend to get mad when asked about “cherry-picking” Scripture. My path is very, very wide, and I truly believe Jesus’ best gift to the world was his message, “Love one another.”
This was written for Poetic Bloomings; their prompt was Easter. This is also posted at Poetry Pantry at Poets United, where I have been a proud member since 2009.
Had a wonderful, mutually respectful conversation with a fellow Christian – he’s a bit more from the right; I’m one of the (not really named) Christian Left. It was a hot topic, and we agreed that there are “many roads up the mountain,” that our aim is not to proselytize, but to put it out there for people to make up their own minds.
Thanks to Marie Elena and Walt for their work on the blog, as well as my Poets United buddies.
Whatever your path, deist, theist, atheist… I wish you peace and acceptance. Amy
He Was Eating and Drinking
(Click to play with ITunes or Windows Media Player)
He Was Eating and Drinking
Not like a thief in the night
Jesus came down
Walking his disciples
Straight through the heart of town
Even when he whispered
You heard about it for miles around
(Chorus)
‘Cause he was eating and drinking
With the sinners and the slaves
He was healing and praying
With the rich and the depraved
He was suffering and dying
So we could be saved
(Chorus)
No one expected to see
A king with no crown
Riding on a donkey
Straight through the heart of town
The fat men in their fine robes,
They couldn’t wait to put Jesus down
(Chorus)
How could this Messiah be
Beaten and broken down?
Dragging his cross
Straight through the heart of town
‘Cause God knew his suffering
Would lead his followers Heaven-bound
(Chorus and rowdy out!)
© 2013 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Song published © 2009 Beehat Baby Words and Music
This prompt was found at Margo Roby’s Wordgathering Free-For-All Friday, where she generously supplies a whole lot of prompts. The fabulous Mary Kling at Poetry Jam wanted the usual/unusual or anything else… You can find Mary’s site HERE. Also, as always, it’s at my poetic haven, Poets United. If the song doesn’t work on your computer, please email me at my blog name @gmail.com, and I’ll send you an mp3!
I have to say, the contrasts in this story of Jesus’ ministry seem to go against the grain. He was more than unusual; he was radical, discomfiting, altogether loving, and nondiscriminatory. He was a prisoner of conscience, executed by the Roman State. Amnesty International would have been all over his case if he lived now, right?
This song was produced in Binghamton, NY, at a very, very cold studio in March 2009. I’m on keys, Scotty Compton is on bass, and Mike Ricciardi is on drums. (Drums were added later, then the song was mastered.) Someday I’ll get this praise and gospel stuff on a CD, when the dosh is ample and the corn is high… and the moon is blue! Blessed Pesach and Easter to my Jewish and Christian friends, and to everyone else, peace. Amy
“Strong Dream” by Paul Klee (1879 – 1940)
Healing the Wounded Womb (an ekphrastic poem*)
Years ago,
the midnight cramps
the passing of the piece
One whole fetus
in the palm of my hand, and
calling the doctor,
was told that, if in fact
the baby was intact,
I should take it to his
office tomorrow.
Sorrow wrapped it in plastic,
stored in the egg cutouts
of the fridge door
(irony thick as blood clots)
‘til morning came
Years later, at an
est Training** (the one
where you couldn’t pee),
I offered up a vision
of a blood red moon
The moon was
that perfect,
imperfect egg;
the red, my womb;
and beneath all
a sheltering golden arm
holding my heart
holding my soul
holding me as I wept
for my long-gone loss
© 2013 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
*Ekphrastic poems come from studying a painting and creating a poem based on your own impressions. Paul Klee, along with Kandinsky, certain Pollocks, and the Blue Period of Picasso, all favorites. I used to be strictly Impressionist, but then my mind exploded upon seeing some Picassos at the Met Museum of Art in the City. (That would be NYC!) In a single moment, I got it. I also developed a knack for reading Gertrude Stein’s Toklas book and Russell Hoban’s classic, Riddley Walker! Major synapse release, I suppose, and all for the good.
**This is based on (shudder) an attending est (Erhard Seminar Training) a mind- and money-control project cobbled together by a former used-car salesman who changed his name to Werner Erhard. (Who remembers him now? Ah, yes, a much-deserved obscurity for that money-grubbing pseudo-something, although he continues to lecture and has posted all positive reviews from former esties – obviously, he neglected to ask me, but who can blame him? He ripped concepts off from the best… Gibran, the Buddha, the Dalai Lama; as well as the worst, like Wayne Dyer and other then-motivational speakers, creating a synthesis of New Age bullshit and timeless quotes used to his own advantage.
I managed to have one good revelation there, and this Klee reminded me of that… Thanks to Margo Roby’s prompt, which I discovered via Joseph Harker’s Naming Constellations – brilliant blogs, both! Peace, Amy
Lucky Girl Child
Our second sister,
birthed still as stone
Never to serve as
our father’s very own
little plaything – then relive,
after years of self-doubt,
what evils her Daddy
had carried about
I think it lucky
she heard God’s sweet call
Was she not graced
by good fate after all?
© 2013 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
As always, I speak on behalf of myself, not for anyone in my family. This is my truth, and I tell it willingly to help others.
As frequent readers here at Sharp Li’l know, I was sexually molested by my father. Long before I was born, my mother suffered a stillbirth during her second pregnancy. Fortunately for Charlotte, subsequent pregnancies went well; however, there were consequences regarding my father – which she finally acknowledged knowing about, during the last year of her life.
Sexual molestation is more frequent in families that most would acknowledge. Fathers, uncles, teachers, and friends of the family, of whom over 90% identify as straight men, are the most frequent perpetrators of pedophilia. If you know a little girl or boy who is easily startled, wets the bed past the usual age, seems unusually shy (or gravitates toward adult figures with inappropriate affection), or even tries to tell you about “bad touches,” please take notice. It may be nothing… or it may be everything for that child to be noticed and taken seriously.
For more information on the signs of child sexual abuse, click HERE.
This was written in response to the weekly Trifecta prompt, Lucky, with 33-333 words, including the third definition below.
LUCKY (adjective)
1: having good luck
2: happening by chance : fortuitous
3: producing or resulting in good by chance: favorable>
May the children near you, and all children worldwide, be freed of this tragic circumstance. Until then, I bid you peace. Amy
SHADOWS OF GHOSTS*
The shadows of ghosts
are most feared
among the living
For the phantoms themselves
are but empty illusion
Yet their inkblot trails,
once perceived by mortals,
are evidence that
unfettered souls are still privy
to the whispers of men
Shadows of ghosts,
silent witnesses to
humankind’s
immoral deeds
on this earth
© 2013 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For Open Link Monday at Imaginary Garden With Real Toads; also at my poetic haunt, Poets United. Image by Wikipedia Commons.
This poem flew out of my pencil while watching “Elizabeth: The Golden Age.” Many good things to say about this movie, except that it reprises Elizabeth’s putting on armor and rallying the peasantry once more. Having said that, Clive Owen, Geoffrey Rush, Abbie Cornish, and especially the luminescent Samantha Morton (as Mary Queen of Scots), and Elizabeth herself in the person of Cate Blanchet, all did very well.
* The phrase, “the shadow of ghosts,” has nothing to do with the poem (plus it’s singular in the movie), but I had to give credit to the screenwriters, William Nicholson and Michael Hirst, for penning it and inspiring this poem. Peace, Amy
WILD CHILD
From Day One, I was
a wild child.
Well-schooled but wayward.
Never pleaded for parental pardon.
Worldly wise wisp
wrapped in ribbons,
wants to be unspooled,
twirled, awhirl with
winsome, wastrel wiles.
Wishes for what she wants;
wants more than she gets;
gets what’s coming to her,
all the while knowing
there’s way more in store.
Her wickedly wanton waylays
wend their way into herstory.
© 2013 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Wrote this for the “Wild Woman” prompt at Ella’s Edge in the Imaginary Garden With Real Toads. Also posted at Poets United, in the Poetry Pantry, and for Sunday Scribblings… their prompt was “energy,” and if this doesn’t fill the bill, I’m in big trouble. ALSO, Poetic Bloomings is celebrating 100 posts, and they wanted a “celebration of self.” Oh, yeah, honey!!
NOTE: I was feeling pretty down until I read Ella’s prompt. I summoned my inner Sherry Blue Sky, Shay/Fireblossom, Lady Nimue, Jae Rose, and a few more … and before you know it, I was as Edgy as Ella! Thanks, you wonderful wild women, o ye of the Sisterhood of the Traveling Rants. (Don’t look now, but Gretchen Leary is catching up to us!)
Finally, about that photo. It was taken in Bermuda at the Princess Hotel, where I was artist-in-residence for two seasons. Didn’t know it yet, but I was newly pregnant with Riley when this was shot. My girlfriend Bev, from the cast of their Dreamgirls-type show, is with me. (I still have the skirt, for Halloween costumes. I’ll wear it as a head wrapping!) Peace, Amy
Photo © Kim Nelson
The One That Got Away
Within
Gentle droplet
Humanity begins
Viewed at doctor’s, yet that same night
Taken
Woman
Mother-to-be
Seemingly, “Nevermore”
Her womb emptied by dark forces
Grief reigns
© 2013 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
This poem, a cinquain (yes, I wrote a form that was not specifically requested!), for Poets United, is based on my first impression of the fabulous artwork of Kim Nelson (Poet, Artist, Blogger, and FRIEND – check out her work by clicking on her name).
Even though it’s in shades of red, my take was an ultrasound screen, with the fetal head at the top. I did have a miscarriage years ago, which probably explains the red connection, and it haunted me for so long, until I got pregnant with Riley and knew she was ‘in with Velcro.’ Peace, Amy (Proud Member, Poets United)
Sharp Little Pencil 