My first time at this site, Sunday Scribblings. We were challenged to think up our own super power and then write a poem. Start the rhythm track and get ready to rap!!!
VOLUME CONTROL GRRRRRL (the rap you wish was true)
Sidewalk café, we’re having a bite
Big fat Hummer pulls up at the light
White kid low in the driver’s seat
Windows up but you can feel the beat
“F* F* motherf*in bitch ho bling”
Don’t you hate it when the singer can’t sing
Flick of my wrist, there goes the sound
One more nuisance off my merry-go-round
I’m Volume Control Grrrrrl
Volume Control Grrrrrl
Turn it down to low, girl
I’m Volume Control Grrrrrl
Down the block, the lawn boy’s at work
He looks like a hottie but he’s kind of a jerk
Six am, already gunnin’ the mower
Then he’s goin’ at it with the damned leaf blower
We’re trying to sleep here, the neighbors yell
It’s Saturday morning, so what the hell?
He can’t hear cause he’s got an IPod
I throw back my curtain, they say, “Oh, thank God, it’s
“Volume Control Grrrrrl
Volume Control Grrrrrl”
The neighbors say, “Go, girl
She’s Volume Control Grrrrrl”
Superpowers came easy to me
Started shutting people up when I was only three
Big sister sassin’ at my mom and then
WHAM! She went mute, never talked again
Now I’m the scourge of the city street
Cell phone shouters, they can feel my heart
Don’t turn up the CD til your windows shake
Cause Volume Grrrrrrl won’t give you a break
I’m Volume Control Grrrrrl
Volume Control Grrrrrl
Turn it down to low, girl
I’m Volume Control Grrrrrrl
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
True stories are always the best!
WHERE YOU FIND IT (SoCal Christmas)
That winter we were broke
Broken into bite-size pieces by our
Topanga Canyon appetites
Doobies opium hash wonka windowpane
drink snort smoke toke more more
wasting days and wastrel nights
By Christmas Day we had nothing
to give our friends
but canned vegetables
lifted from the local market
wrapped in the funny papers
Presents taped carefully, lovingly
exchanging gifts with one another
as though we had each one of us found treasure
Opened the cans and found a pot
to make Stoner Soup
The most generous Christmas of my life
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Dorothy Miller Richardson’s “Pointed Roofs” was presented to us at http://www.wavepoetry.com/erasures/ by Angie at We Write Poems, where we answer a weekly prompt on Thursdays. The process is fascinating; wavepoetry gives you the chance to click and unclick different words in a block of text until you come up with what is essentially your own poem, but always giving credit to the source text. Mine is entitled, “Long Lace Faces” and is rather serious.
I attempted to write mine out and to save it in different formats; having failed at that, here is the link so you can see the finished product in its original form. When you’re done reading, have at my second erasure, also listed under “more poems,” (a funny one: “Mooning Has Its Consequences,” based on Aristophanes’ “Clouds.”
Then try one yourself! All I’m saying is, words are fun to play with, and the Internet has provided, through sites like wavepoetry.com, opportunities to stretch oneself.
A PRAYER FOR THE ONE WHO WATCHES AND WAITS
She sits
She waits for the nurse’s words of – assurance?
Reversing crossed legs, she rehearses responses
for the outcome of this round
Doors part, she holds her breath, guards her heart
and exhales as the news pours forth
He’s stable, able to speak, to move
Readying himself for the next step in the process
the peculiar art of surviving survival
But she
knows the names of every nurse on every shift
And she
knows the feel of styrofoam against her lips
the acid burn of instant coffee
The gelatinous gruel they call gravy
instant whipped condensed processed creamy cafeteria mashed potatoes
(damn, forgot to bring my muesli…)
She watches and waits and can’t using her cell phone
She sits on a plastic chair in a sweltering waiting room
with a flat-screen TV bigger than an MRI
Idol’s on
She stares without seeing, numb
hoping for good news to come
She’s alone for now
She likes it that way, when people stay away
they say they pray for him every day
She sits. She waits. She prays.
And God watches over her tonight
by the light of a fluorescent full moon
(c) 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Sharp Little Pencil 