Couldn’t leave the letter “E” without a more serious take. Amy
Elegy (ABC Weds.)
Ending was not without effort
She simply missed the effervescence that had ever been
part of her existence
Without the ever-present spark
emitted by Eros and elegant inspiration,
there was evidently no point in going on
An emptiness of energy
Please, summon empathy for
this exiting soul
who could not endure
the lack of
an eagle’s wing.
© 2001 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Posted by Sharp Little Pencil in Free Verse Tags: ABC Wednesday, Death & Dying, Free Verse, Troubled Souls
Not for the faint of heart. ABC Wednesday is a new prompt for me; I found it via a fellow poet, Nanka. Click on her link and bask in the glow! Peace, Amy
D is For…
D is for Daddy, whose Damnable acts
nearly Destroyed her confidence as a woman
Doubt plagued her every move
When asked why, she’d mumble, “Dunno”
(because she truly Didn’t)
Down the road, through many years
her journey brought her to Divine intervention
No, not Jesus and the bloody bath of redemption
Nothing as Dimly simple as that
But the Delicacy of therapists who
helped her Dig Deep, because
they knew she had the Determination to
sort it out, sort of and finally to her satisfaction
Death took him years ago. Doubtless
he Died believing himself spotless, blameless
and in some Damned way, a victim
But she stands as a witness to Dreams fulfilled
after going mano-a-mano with that Devil
whose name is self-Doubt, unearned guilt
(c) 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Posted by Sharp Little Pencil in Daughters, Family, Free Verse, Poets United, Sexual Abuse Tags: ABC Wednesday, Bullies, Children, Daughters, Death & Dying, Family, Free Verse, Poets United, Sexual Abuse, Troubled Souls
Re-posting, as the first version kept re-starting in the middle of the line. This was a prompt for a will from Poets United. Please click on their link and read some other poets’ thoughts as well! And don’t worry – rumors of my impending demise are (hopefully) simply rumors!! But that dark humor runs in the Irish side of my family, and I embrace it heartily.
Last Words
These are the last words you will hear from me
as I have recently ceased to be
To my sisters, I leave my rainbow flags
To my parents, I leave forgiveness in bags
To Jack, pour the bourbon – I’m headed your way
To Sarah Palin, read a paper at least once a day
To RJ, Sheila and Colette, three copies pristine
a pic of my bum on a xerox machine
To John, all the books full of music and lyrics
To Leslie, the “Dead Man’s Eyes” hysterics
To Christopher, HAH! You thought I’d outlive you
Now whom shall you the baby grand give to?
And know that I’ll be in great company
With Jeffery and Jimmy and Bill and Marcie
To Marcia and Jesse, my thanks for the light
To Greggie, close your eyes and I’ll be in your sight
To Sweeney, my rants and my ravings and Lex
Your best buddy – don’t take him to Mme. Orr’s for sex
To GW Bush my wish for long life
to witness his hubris, his headstrong-caused strife
To Barack, prayers for peace and a tougher demeanor
To FEMA, that they FINALLY clean up Katrina
To elected officials, no more of my protests
But FBI, I’ll rally, in spirit at best
To Lex, all my love and may you find another
To Riley, long life and my pride I’m your mother
My girl, find someone who deserves all you can give
To challenge and cherish as long as you live
And after the tears have finally been shed
Remember, I’m dancing… I’m just overhead
So raise up a toast to the girl with the brass
Recount all the ways I’m a pain in the ass
Sing out the songs, pass ’round a doobie
I’m headed to heaven in slippers of ruby
(c) 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Posted by Sharp Little Pencil in Activism, Faith, Free Verse, Humor, Music, Poets United, Prompts Tags: Activism, aging, Death & Dying, Faith, Forgiveness, Free Verse, Humor, Music, Poets United, Prompts
Another take on the Sunday Scribblings “December” prompt, but also for Jingle, Poets United, and other friends. This, in memory of houses and people facing neglect. Amy
OLD HOUSE IN MIDWINTER
Chipped clapboard snags bits of falling snow
The sagging porch, bulwarked by drifts
Cats wander in and out from underneath
through the hole in the latticework
ripped back in 82 by Greg’s whisky-fueled Ford sedan
The eaves troughs droop under weight of icicles
A sure sign of neglect
Bad insulation breeds stalactites
The poorer the family, the longer the crystals
Fernbeds of frost, delightful even on broken panes
Nature’s articulation of frozen beauty
Footprints a sign of life within these walls,
clomp clomp up the stairs, bristled Welcome mat
tracked by carefully brushed boots
Inside, the old man reads every word of the Pennysaver
It was their Sunday pastime years back; now it’s his alone
He clips coupons for items he will never buy
and gazes out, waiting for the gas company
to turn off his heat, the bastards.
He could do without the cable, even the electric…
Tonight he will sleep in their four-poster and let go.
The house senses this; from the crumbling chimney
comes the mournful whisper of a sigh
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Posted by Sharp Little Pencil in Free Verse, Poets United, Prompts, Seasons, Social Justice, Sunday Scribblings Tags: aging, Death & Dying, Free Verse, Jingle Poetry, Poets United, Poverty, Prompts, Seasons, Social Justice, Sunday Scribblings
Jingle asked us to write about pastimes this week for Poetry Potluck. I love going through this box of treasures, so much that I put it in the chapbook (shameless plug, see right column!).
Hope it gives you a smile! Amy
THE PRECIOUS BOX
My mother’s “precious box” held sentimental doodads
The box was left to me when she died
Inside were Grandma’s fake diamond screw-back earrings
(“Real ladies” didn’t pierce their ears in those days)
Grandpa’s ring, raw turquoise set in carved silver
Girl Scout leader pins, Dad’s cuff links
A clip-on bow tie from Mom’s singing days
And a skeleton key, antique silver, dim patina
For years I’ve pondered what lock would respond; where the “open sesame” lay
A room in a past apartment? The front door to a secret house?
A desk filled with dusty volumes of Kipling and Whitman
Perhaps a cache of cash?
Somewhere there is a house, a door, a drawer
Whose treasures will remain hidden
Because I hold in my palm
The answer to a question
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Posted by Sharp Little Pencil in Beginnings, Daughters, Free Verse, History, Motherhood, Poets United Tags: Beginnings, CHAPBOOK, Daughters, Death & Dying, Fantasy, Free Verse, History, Jingle Poetry, Motherhood, Poets United, Reminiscence
There’s going to come a day in the near future when anti-war protests will start up again. Even if I have to start them. In the meantime, just as a reminder of how “free” we were during the Bush years, a snapshot of a Buffalo city protest, “back in the day.”
ORANGE MESH (the Bushista years)
We are herded behind
the orange mesh fence
hastily erected by minions to protect
Dick Cheney from our opinions
Residents vs. the vice president
Local police, paid overtime (by our side) to ensure
there will be no crime, no ordinance breached
such as burning and looting and freedom of speech
We are cattle herded into our enclosure, our stall
Orange mesh strangling the voice of the people
encasing us, muffling our rage, this cage
“Why not trample it, stampede the Code Orange?” says I
“Because.” My friend points to
snipers on the roof of an old Buffalo landmark
Our turf is their turret
We have changed species
We are sheep bleating
shorn by orange nylon and rubber pylons
© 2008 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Posted by Sharp Little Pencil in Activism, Free Speech, Free Verse, History, Protest, Social Justice, War Tags: Activism, Capitol Hill, Death & Dying, Free Speech, Free Verse, History, Protest, Social Justice, War
SILENT AGREEMENT
As she lay dying
The nurses stopped by to say goodbye
and ordered an ambulance,
sending her home to die in her own bed
as was her wish.
“Here,” whispered Doris, “you’ll need this.”
Slipping me an impossibly large bottle of Valium.
“It might be days… save you a trip to the drug store.”
And so armed with ambulance, copious drugs,
and the “DNR” in my pocket, we set out for home.
Mom had lived a life of addictions:
Smoking, drinking, unnecessary prescriptions,
moaning about minor pains to a doctor
whose only function in life was to sign Rxs.
She was 69; looked 85 but pregnant, her liver shot.
Only two hours later, she died
after receiving a single crushed Valium stirred into juice
and sluiced into her mouth via straw.
My sister and I took the 199 Valium left over and,
in silent agreement, flushed them down the toilet.
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Posted by Sharp Little Pencil in Daughters, Family, Free Verse, Poetic Asides, Poets United, Prompts, Women Tags: aging, Daughters, Death & Dying, Drugs, Family, Free Verse, Mental Health, Poetic Asides, Poets United, Prompts, Troubled Souls, Women
Sharp Little Pencil 