The Drifter
Maybe this town’ll be different.
Friendlier.
Or leastways not as bad as the last place.
I ain’t felt so low since my draft notice in ‘69
except for the three years in Nam (Hell)
and an awful lotta times since then.
First thing off the bus, I locate an empty bench
so nobody’ll smell my stench. Then out of the blue,
this lady says, “How do you take your coffee?”
Then she brings out two cups of killer Joe
and sits down and talks, tells me where the shelters are
and about an AA meeting two blocks over, it’s tonight.
Didn’t give me them damn Bible papers
or try to drag me to her church, just a nice person.
Hope there’s more like her round here.
Cuz it’s gonna take more than the Serenity Prayer
to keep me on the wagon. Long road.
Lotsa potholes. And a little hope…
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For Three Word Wednesday (Draft, Locate, Serenity)
Photo courtesy of http://www.nccca.org, a Christian organization mobilizing to help the homeless, including veterans.
Journalism and the Bush Years
Misinformation was the most potent weapon
of the Bush Regime. How soon we forget.
Remember him clowning at the Press Club?
Journalists laughed with him, not at him.
(The new crop of undereducated – but
photogenic – media types are a sorry lot.
Unlike Morrow, they’re not hired for their brains;
unlike Cronkite, they’re not to be trusted.)
“No WMDs under here!” he bozoed, to
wave upon wave of pandering giggles.
While I, the Christian,
and my Riley, the Jew,
and our friend Muna, the Muslim,
used to sit on her porch and drink “ka-hway”
(which is Arabic coffee powered by something
stronger than nuclear fission could EVER produce;
this bunker-buster brew with thick black syrup on the bottom
is the stuff of dreams except you never go to sleep
until two days later and even then
you are still talking VERY fast).
On 9/11 we sat in her kitchen and cried.
Later on Muna’s porch
(all too soon snarled at by passersby)
we sipped her coffee
and cried some more.
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Also at the poetic oasis, Poets United.
Poetic Bloomings, scene of my scandalously honest interview with the ever-gracious Marie Elena last week, asked for poems on the theme, “The harvest I reap.” Enjoy, and peace to all, Amy
SEEDS
Years upon years
of mistakes and teary-eyed
talks over black coffee or
beer from the bottle,
swearing the air blue.
Dancing at Fiesta…
I don’t really dance
but if I smile and
show a little leg, todo esta bien.
Staring blankly out the window
in a small town
rain punishing my petunias
(parched, anyway),
wondering if the library
has any books I haven’t read yet.
Watching the baby emerge
from within Massive Me;
everyone is crying. She
latches on. I call her Little Bee.
Seeing Carnegie Hall for the first time…
from the stage at sound check.
Teaching fellow Psych Ward inmates
how to practice yoga
instead of watching
the big-ass TV all day.
All these memories are stored
in a quiet room within.
Open the door, grab a random handful.
Toss onto the fertile loam and see them sprout.
I gather the ripest fruits and
squeeze ink from their juices.
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
GRASS
To legalize or not to legalize pot?
That is the question I was sort of
pondering while preparing a
killer omelette this morning after
imbibing my usual cup of coffee that’s
so strong you can stand a spoon up in it.
Now, the secret of my omelettes
is in the herbs…. when they’ve been dried
you toss them in after the chopped onion
and garlic are just beginning to sizzle and
that opens up their flavor, their savor,
and their real power.
Then the rest, the squash, the whatever is
residing in your crisper and not all
squishy and globbed from the humidity
man it is hot outside and even the A.C.
won’t keep the molecular damp from
seeping through the cracks and crevices and
oh, yeah, the omelette. So last thing, you add your
favorite cheese, but what really turns my creation
into a work of art is not the presentation because
it usually falls apart before it hits the plate, and
I’m like, you’re just gonna chew it up anyway,
what’s the big deal about presentation?
Cheese. Cheeeeeese. Oh yeah. Wisconsin aged
cheddar we get at the co-op, so dry it crumbles.
But if you get off on brie or swiss, like the song says,
Love the One You’re With.
So anyway, I finished my omelette and booted up
the puter and the Poets United prompt was GRASS!
How fortuitous! Coincidence?
I THINK NOT. It was simply the universe
whispering in my ear about
sharing my love of creative cooking!
What a grooved-out day to daydream (too!) about my
lovely brunch (I got up pretty late today) and
the secret of its blissful herbalicious goodness…
Bon appétit. Buen provecho. Happy eating, y’all!
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
So sick yesterday I didn’t post. Now THAT’S illness at its worst!
Today, I pay tribute to that nesting place of computer-surfing, caffeine-addicted folks everywhere. Me, I prefer local bean, but lots of people love the taste of burnt coffee… perhaps the laptops distract them from the taste? (Ok, if you are a confirmed Starbucker, I won’t go all WalMart on your ass, I promise!!) Amy
Laptopia (Ode to Starbuck’s, haiku)
Baristas, big lungs:
CARAMEL LATTE EXTRA
FOAM SKINNY UP HERE
Ladies who lunch ne’er
linger long here; they prefer
linen and light fare
Day trading greedy
lucre lizards, looking for
elusive landslides
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
At We Write Poems, a prompt went out: Write a poem about writing a poem. You never know when or where the inspiration will strike. I’ve long since given up on sitting down and deciding to produce something… and yet, the more I write, the more I want to write!
This poem is also posted at Writer’s Island, where I’m posting daily for National Poetry Writing Month. Amy
Prelude to a Poem
Teapot screams meeeeeEEEEEEEE
demanding attention
Drip of the French Press into the mug
Pressing grounds through as
ground falls from under my feet
taking me back to that cafe in the Village where…
Drifting with the breeze down State Street
Lots of UW students hang and hacky-sack here
Whole lives ahead of them
One potent whiff of a fattie gives me
a contact high and suddenly I’m on Venice Beach…
We march in solidarity with unions at
Madison’s Capitol Dome
The golden statue atop is called Miss Forward
The governor inside is called Mister Backward
My anger at injustice boils inside my gut
I plop down on the pavement and start to
scribble on the back of my sign…
Startled awake, sweating, full-body tremble
recalling those nights when
a little girl was tucked in tight until
HE decided it was her turn
I switch on the light – it’s NOW, dammit, not THEN!
I pick up a pen…
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
At Three Word Wednesday (AKA 3WW), the words were affinity, fidget, and mention. I’ll also post another after this one. Busy girl today!
Affinity for Coffee
My affinity for coffee is legend, Jack.
Since the age of 12 I’ve sipped it black.
My blue-eyed sisters said, with presumption,
My eyes turned brown ‘cause of my consumption.
(Of course, friends know the cause is less:
My brown eyes are from my B.S.)
And did I mention that without it,
I fidget during church? I doubt it.
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Sharp Little Pencil 