Sad to hear the Writer’s Island is sailing into the sunset soon, but grateful to Rob for his dedication and hard work over these years. He deserves not only a break, but HUZZAHS from all poets who have met each other online through his blog. Love you, Rob, and HAD to respond to one of the final prompts, “Incomparable,” with a pun. Peace, Amy
Two sisters, two misters
Two divergent types of wife
One Wall Street, one small street
Each to their own way of life
One greedy, e’er needy
Income never quite enough
So fancy, perchance she
might have done well with less “stuff”
Other sister and her mister
always seemed to have their share
Faith and love held above
the stocks and bonds, the truth or dare
First Recession, soon Depression
Sister One weeps over loss
Sister Two has no boo-hoo
when faith is strong, the World’s not boss
ABC Wednesday, brought to you by the letter “L.” I could have declare my last posting, a limerick, as my “L,” but today they are counting votes in Wisconsin and I haven’t gotten in trouble for voicing my polarizing views on political morality (oxymoron, I know) in almost a week. So get ready, here it comes, from the cranky menopausal mom…! Amy
Loud, Lecherous Legislators
Family Values legislators jump through hoops
to prove they love Jesus, America, and “traditional marriage”
(not necessarily in that order)
Problem is, their hero is Newt Gingrich
who has been married three times
who left his first wife while she was in cancer treatment
who the Bible says is a fornicator, since he re-married
with this ex-wife still alive.
(Maybe Mitt gets a pass on his three marriages because he’s Mormon?
Except they don’t condone divorce, so is he really Mormon now?
Lord, this gets confusing, using the Bible as a salad bar.)
Family Values should be about loving families
but for these louts, the family must be straight
and have two parents of opposite gender
and produce children (so infertile people must not count)
and not rely on any public assistance
(even as their corporate masters take massive tax breaks,
sucking on the public teat like it’s a Dairy Queen)
Family Values lackeys are also homophobes
The louder they scream how they don’t believe
in “Adam and Steve,” the more often
get caught on the Down Low, their lover
ensconced in a cozy nest (charged to taxpayers)
or sliding a loafer under the men’s room stall
“It slipped.” (No, you slipped, sir)
Lest I be taken as a “lying Liberal,” I admit:
The Left does it too, in spades
We know most of them screw around
I mean, look at Bill Clinton
The difference is, they live and let live
They don’t tell us how to pursue love
or where, or when, or how many times
or with whom
So when you hear from “Family Values” candidates, remember
their values are flawed and loose
and their families often vamoose
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Larger than life, yet in her own mind, just doing her part. One of my all-times heroes, and right now, we need all the heroes we can get. Amy
Big Little Woman
To a woman who lost it all
Widowed, her children dead from dread disease, the flu pandemic.
After her kids perished, she nursed neighbors.
To a woman who rose from grief and chose
to take up the burden of others:
Mothers, fathers, children, all laboring side by side
in factories, in fields, on farms, long hours for pennies,
as their cruel, crafty masters garnered a tidy profit.
Fat cats whose fortunes were secure.
Rich men whose better angels whispered, “Show love, compassion.”
But Greed and Hubris shout down angels.
They blot out God in a frenzied cloud
of green ink and gold coins numbering 30 and more.
Still, this widow woman knew nothing and cared less
about her own comfort. Others’ welfare trumped wealth
in her sensibilities, as she saw the rich exploit the masses.
She trod into the mines and the mills.
She talked in the fields, where the hopeless
worked long hours under punishing conditions.
She spoke of dignity (if she’d stopped there,
she would never have seen a jail cell).
She spoke of fairness (watch it, lady).
She shouted about rights (ah, the gloves were off now).
She stirred the pot, this big little woman,
pistol under her petticoat, taking on police
sent by their rich masters.
She was the voice of unions, the midwife of labor.
Let’s raise a toast in tribute to this hero,
who warned us that labor leaders should never
wear fancy suits or become rich off their organizations
(a fact that speaks volumes today)
and who taught us that, no matter what
the rank and file must be protected:
Raise your glasses high to Mother Jones.
… at least I hope I won’t! Voices are for pleading the cause of justice. And for singing! Thanks to Three Word Wednesday for the prompt: Abrasive, Loss, Handful
I’LL NEVER LOSE MY ABRASIVENESS
She’s always been a handful, that Barlow girl
Opinions up the wazoo
and a mouth on her, too
Not the type you’d ever want to curl
up next to for quiet talk
She’s one to squawk
about injustice, poverty, and greed
She never stops
She never drops
the subject, will never heed
warnings from friends
that this stuff ends
with FBI files, a permanent docket
She says what they can bite
if they have the appetite
Her heart is a silver locket
filled with blood and heaven
Film at eleven
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Meaning no disrespect to The Reason For The Season; simply pointing out that most folks have all but forgotten why they celebrate Christmas in the first place. My one cynical Christmas poem, dedicated to the true memory of that feisty, loving, prophetic man who started out a babe in rags.
HAVE YOURSELF A MERRY
Have yourself a merry little American Christmas
where mall-bound mauling marauding shoppers claw for
the latest imported Chinese toys
lead-laced crap for girls and boys
O little town of Bethlehem
creeping with hordes of consumers
No visions of Visa bills dancing in their heads
They’re masters of their MasterCards
Mary, did you know your baby boy
has turned into an excuse for excess
for booming business, parental stress
the backbone of a spineless economy
Joy to the world! The Lord & Taylor window
has a “holiday display” with Santa and reindeer
Deck the hall with Hallmarks from family and friends
and other folks we forget about the rest of the year
A day to plow through a thousand presents
overturn overstuffed stockings
stuff ourselves til we crash in front of
the new 52-inch plasma TV we bought on credit
It’s a wonderful life
Crosby Christmas never ceases
but for God’s sake
please don’t mention Jesus
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil