WHATEVER COMES (for Poets United)
Whatever you think about me
I am human
I have feelings
Feelings that have been stomped on
or caressed
depending on the person and circumstance
I am an American from Europe
whose white skin
and heterosexuality
and youth in the suburbs
gave me advantages
over those who weren’t dealt the same cards
or even given cards from the same deck
I am a woman who still doesn’t have
the same Constitutional rights as males
but who can vote and speak her mind
who doesn’t have to wear a burqa
who doesn’t risk being stoned to death
because she dared leave the house without her husband
I am not threatened by TV personalities
who admit they don’t believe half their hate speech
(they are just doing what their sponsors tell them)
who have no degrees in journalism
(one a college dropout, the other a deejay)
They don’t speak from their hearts
but from their wallets
and they freely admit it
Sure, it’s mercenary and incites violence
But it’s a living
Powers of such as these are limited
only by the willingness of their listeners
to be sheep, to blame the least in our society
for their current woes
(this time it’s Mexicans and gays; last time it was Jews;
before that, Armenians, before that…)
When Jesus was surrounded by “unclean” street urchins
he told the disciples not to chase them away
but to let them come closer
He didn’t want them deported to another town
He didn’t call them unclean or unworthy
He didn’t charge co-pays when healing the poor
He acted out of love
He also raised a ruckus
that resonates to this very day
for to love one’s enemies is an almost impossible task
and to love one’s neighbor,
harder still when he brags he ran them over,
but they were “just Mexicans”
Jesus was hung because of words
and all his words were loving
If our poetic world was only Whitman, Dickinson, Dickens
bereft of Ginsburg, Baraka, Gwendolyn Brooks
how poor this world would be
Provocation is healthy
What makes one’s blood course faster
makes one’s mind more nimble
Sure, I get provoked
But I stand by my right as an artist
to call out powerful hate-mongers
Plato banned poets because
he claimed they drew their inspiration
from imaginary worlds
Those of us who draw from the real world
do so in the name of justice
of compassion for the Other
regardless of religion or color
regardless of the consequences
in spite of whatever comes
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
HEALTHY FOOD, HEALTHY LIFE (for We Write Poems)
The prompt was about cooking, but I got stuck on ingredients! Amy
HEALTHY FOOD, HEALTHY LIFE
Don’t eat Red Dye Number Two
Skip the yellow, green and blue
Sure, your kid wants blue-tongue bliss
But there’s poison in its kiss
Wheat flour that has been enriched
Grips your colon like a stitch
Keep hands off the soda, too
Even diet’s bad, it’s true
No plastic in the microwave
Lest you crave an early grave
Phthalates leach into your food
That cannot be any good
Lest you think I’m paranoid
Thinking all food births typhoid
Rest assured, I’m very healthy
Even though we’re hardly wealthy
Whole foods do taste great, you know
Sure, they cost some extra dough
But the outcome’s worth the cost
Fat Cats bought control – we lost
Skip the fructose, shun the dyes
Don’t believe the corporate lies
Lots of crap is on those shelves
Read the labels. Protect yourselves.
(c) 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
We were asked to put ourselves in someone else’s place and write about the experience. Here is one of three I wrote today. Enjoy!
SINGLE ROOM OCCUPANCY
Safe here and comforted
by a rhythm so steady
Nourished effortlessly
All I need, I have
Voices muffled but familiar
Hearing them more clearly
as the days pass
Hoping to meet them soon
Upside down now, I think
Ready to tackle the tunnel
and emerge gasping
into the light
(c) 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
BAD INHABITANTS! BAD! (For Jingle’s Blog)
After years of neglect
the elemental truth is this:
We have failed
as stewards of our planet
as guardians of
the seventh generation to come
Our rain is acid and
wells polluted as we drill for
The Next Big Thing to power our
Next Big Honkin’ Truck We Don’t Need
Industry, single drivers, and cow farts
Too many vehicles, not enough trees
Too much red meat, not enough veggies
have rendered the air toxic
Farming was once a family business
Now CAFOS and Con-Aggravation
slosh our ground with liquid shit
Poverty rapes the rain forests
Driving up SoCal’s Highway 1
some whack job flicks a butt out the window
That spark becomes a flames becomes a wildfire
becomes death and destruction
Water, Air, Earth, Fire
Elements of the earth
Elements of our dearth of desire
to let the seventh generation be born and have their say
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
SHE IS ELEMENTARY
She is air.
Refreshing caress of a soft breeze messing with
your carefully coiffed hairdo
She reminds you to let go
to bend with the wind
She is water.
Drip drip dropping from the faucet lightly
Listen: She’s intent on stealing your attention
She could boil
but chooses to stay cool
She is fire.
Dancing on a waxy wick
A flickering flame in your darkest moment
All she needs is your spare wood and
a match to warm you woolen soft
She is earth.
Freshly tilled soil, embracing new seeds
Covering, comforting each burgeoning life
Creation begins with her, even as
you are the soil from which she herself was sprung
She is your daughter
All the elements of a true force of nature
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Thanks to progressive radio host (and proud WNYer) Stephanie Miller for the phrase “Stupid O’Clock.” She’s a wonderful antidote to Beck and Rush, along with Ed Schultz and Randi Rhodes… if your city CARRIES progressive radio.
STUPID O’CLOCK STUCK (Writer’s Island past prompt)
Jagged maze
zigzagging from row to row
frenzied search for the Big Cheese
Cheating, skipping lines, flying across the labyrinth
Cornered by repetitions of
jumbled choruses
at stupid o’clock in the
late night of soul’s mourning
My frontal lobe
a lava lamp bursting with I don’t know
Each thought glomming onto the next
Floating in inky blue warmth
Even with the pillow
pulled tight over my head
desperate for sleep, still the sight
Molasses morass glowing
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Sure to tick off the White Separatists and the Black Separatists and… go ahead, give me your best shot in the comments section! Just remember, if you burn a cross on my lawn, my husband is a pastor, so you’ll look really dumb. Amy
NATURAL BRONZE
In Sunday School we were taught
subtle suburban racism
“Red and yellow, black and white
They are precious in his sight”
Less a melting pot than a box of crayons
Let’s lay it down:
We’re all shades of brown.
Humans began in one place
Call it Garden of Eden
Cradle of Civilization
Where the Aliens Landed and Changed Stuff
It was Africa, and we all know it
Some roamed to the north and
their penance was loss of melanin
Climate, diet, you can’t deny it
Beige, buff, tan, taupe
Copper, bronze, sienna
Native Americans are not colored henna
Asians aren’t yellow
(nor are they “inscrutable,” so stop saying that)
Africans aren’t black, but ink is
And this page is white.
If we were made in God’s image,
why do we pick creation apart with prejudice?
Questioning God… the eternal flaw, the ever-present sin
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
ROUND AND ROUND WE GO (haiku)
Look me in the eye
Tell me again and again
I’ll listen all night
Speak those words of love
words that drew me to your side
and shine in my heart
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
AUTUMN LEAVES
Spring brings budding trees
sprouting fresh leaves, lushly
Green shade and shelter
With fall comes color
Magnificent, authentic
Trees turn their true shade
Crimson, golden, peach
Each are their natural hue
Green’s for chlorophyll
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Thoughts on censorship from a free speech advocate.
COLD AS A SWASTIKA
And when they had gathered all the books
Works of Jewish and other subversive writers
Thoughts of Einstein
Dark musings of playwright Bertoldt Brecht
(every time you hum “Mack the Knife,” remember him)
Lenin, Trotsky, Zola (politics)
From Sigmund Freud to Ernest Hemingway
Ironically, Jack London’s Arctic went into the pyre
And then the flames – everyone pulled out matches to participate in
a funeral worthy of a ship-bound Viking
The death of thousands of words
too dangerous to read
Thoughts polluting the minds of
pure-blooded, ‘real’ Germans
The chill pored over intellectuals
Jews and Christians alike
Frozen in time, these works
Alive elsewhere, but here during the Nazi regime
forbidden fruit
Icewater veins of torch-wielding youth
who, had they read the books
might have understood what was going wrong
Here, in America
that same icy atmosphere prevails
over “Harry Potter”
over “Huck Finn”
over “Catcher in the Rye”
We don’t burn ’em; we ban ’em
And the North wind keeps on blowing
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Sharp Little Pencil 