The Last Time I Danced
Grocery store run
Jeans with a big raggy hole
where my knee protrudes
Tan sneaks with pink shoelaces
(no big panama with a purple hat band…
but then, that’s a long time ago)
Chugging along with a cart full of
healthy foods for our responsible diet
and in consideration that we are both
in our 50s now and then
over the intercom
“Dancin’ in the Street”
Martha and the Vandellas,
none of that Mick and whosis crap
Another woman looks at me from
the cereal section and then we both
lay excited eyes on a dude in
Harley jacket and old boots
trolling the Gatorade
Who’s on first?
As if you have to ask
I take the lead line, inciting the riot
The three of us break into song
and dance like the freaks we were
like the freaks we still are
with every ounce of hippie left in us
She’s showin her tat of Marley on her
left arm, he’s swappin a picture of Jesus
on the back of his neck and me, I got no marks
but smile lines chiseled on my cheeks
We’re reeling in total abandon and
oblivious to the folks at either end of the aisle
Even the vegetable guy left his post
And at the fadeout, we’re fading out too
back to our carts as though nothing happened
The other shoppers burst into applause
and we all run back together in the
middle of the aisle to take a bow and
hug each other like there’s no tomorrow
Haven’t seen them again
Perhaps we were all each other’s angels
if only for that moment
Reminders that you can always let that
freak flag fly high enough to glide
as long as you keep enough freak inside
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For dverse, who called for Carefree Hours, or the last time you did something out of pure delight. This is delight, rebellion, and a three-person unplanned flash mob all in one package! Also for “Strange Bedfellows” at Sunday Scribblings and “Walk of Life” at Poetic Bloomings. I don’t walk; I dance, and as for strange bedfellows, I thought it would be nice to have them be total strangers with something in common but NO business dancing in the middle of the grocery store!! Peace, Amy
Quick note: I’ve been quite vocal (well, I AM an activist, right?) about the “auto-check” option that WordPress foisted on us without notice, flooding our (and our followers’) email boxes because “Keep me posted on follow-up comments via email” was now automatically checked. Complaints flew this way and that; I posted a series, including a “fix” for the “glitch.”
Apparently, many WordPress followers made their voices heard, and together (go, WPbloggers) we AFFECTED CHANGE. This was a wonderful, peaceful activist movement. Y’ALL DID IT AND Y’ALL ROCK! Next time you feel a call to action, take it. You’ll be amazed at what happens. As Margaret Mead said, “Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has.” Amen, ma’am.
AND NOW, ON WITH THE SHOW!
Song of Psychiatry
Paperwork presentation
plus insurance information
Explanation of condition
(that part really saps ambition)
Process of elimination,
might need “bin” incarceration
Finally, the prescription(s)
matching your description(s)
(If you didn’t tell it well,
your mental health goes straight to hell
Then you end up in “The Bin,”
feeling like you’re lost again)
Follow-up examination
Tweaking meds, anticipation
that he’s found the incantations
to relieve these odd sensations
(Ennui and extreme malaise,
lasts for weeks or only days;
MANIC, I could climb a tower
but that wears off in an hour)
Diagnostic confirmation:
Bi-Po PTSD-ation,
winter bluesy affectation…
Happy Light, a true salvation
(All these meds for downs and panics!
I may Kafka into Xanax…
Lex will look for me until
he finds me, morphed into a pill)
Don’t skip therapy’s vital function
Psych meds only, mental unction
Counseling’s for exploration,
finding roots of situation)
Now shrink gives me medication
Spirit gives me meditation
Thus my balance has been struck
(Thanks to doctors, God, and luck)
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For ABC Wednesday, brought to you by the letter “S.” Also at dverse Open Mic and my poetic haven, Poets United.
NOTES: I have a generally productive, sometimes difficult life, a fantastic husband and daughter who understand all the facets of my chemical imbalance, great friends and a supportive faith community, and I’m not on public assistance – because I have solid mental health coverage. WE NEED UNIVERSAL HEALTH CARE. It would half-empty our prisons and save many homeless people from the isolation of despair. I’m an advocate for Health Care For All. How about you?
Shot Glasses and Shop Classes
Hammerin down bourbon like it’s
five minutes before Prohibition.
He only looks up when a
been-there blonde rasps,
“Don’t mean to chisel, but
can you screwdriver me?”
He knows she’s talkin OJ and a shot
but his gaze is stapled on her form.
Still staring, he scrapes up a sawbuck
and plunks it down on the bar.
They carve conversation
out of thin air til closing time.
They file out, arm in arm… maybe he
nailed her, but she ain’t tellin.
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For dverse, asking us to pick a profession and use the “tools of the trade” (in this case, woodworking) and make the nouns into verbs. Wordworking?
Also at my poetic workshop (sawdust and all), Poets United! Peace, Amy
Memories of Neisse (for Hanna)
Traditional Seder plate
Looking back, it began slowly.
Happy memories of sacred Friday rituals
Mama lighting the Shabbat candle
Everyone singing songs in Hebrew
Relatives visiting on significant holidays
Passover in Neisse, their little town
Up and down streets, the strings of
small shops owned by proud families
Wandering Jews who’d settled so long
they felt like indigenous Germans
Then, change in the air, a foul stench
as demons plotted in biergartens
with one who had a Master Plan
First is was spittle on Father’s shoes
as they walked to temple
Elaboration: Book burning
Brecht, Freud, Dos Passos, Proust
Einstein, Kafka, Joyce, Helen Keller
Genius flashes turned to ashes
Artwork was destroyed, replaced by
white marble gods and goddesses:
The. Ideal. German. Is. Not. A. Jew.
Young Hanna was told to leave school
and never come back. She glanced
over her shoulder fighting back
bitter, Jewish, no-longer-real-German tears
as a swastika flag was affixed above
the entrance to her (no-longer-her) school
Their summit was yet to be reached
The nadir of Hanna’s life as they
boarded the train for…
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For The Sunday Whirl: Goddess, String, Elaborated, Flags, Sacred, Visit, Demons, Summit, Rituals, Significant, Intentions, Indigenous. Also for dverse Open Link Night.
Dedicated to Riley’s Oma (“grandma” in German), Hanna Weinberger, who escaped Auschwitz two weeks before the Liberation, emigrated to America, married, and had two sons. Also dedicated to the man she married, Leonard Weinberger, and their sons, Rob and Roy.
MOON BEAMS
She called ‘round ’bout 10
Didn’t know that just then
the biggest moon ever
was blooming like never
before… so she stopped
her beater car and bopped
to the shoreline and it
shone as if butterkleig-lit
“Mom, it’s so beautiful!”
And I, the dutiful
mother, in her jammies
ran outside – Midwest clammies
sending shivers… but
how often are you put
in a position
to share this apparition
of synchronicity
nature’s creativity
with one you’ve loved so
from first glance, the glow
of her sweet newborn face
Now she’s in another place
Connected by a phone,
neither is alone
We seize this blessed time
this view, superb, sublime
We cry for happy, ‘cuz
we’re sharing The Night That Was
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For dverse Open Mic Night, and for Riley – the artistic, fabulous young woman I am proud to call my daughter.
Photo courtesy of The Times Union of Albany, NY.
dverse wanted poems about music. How about lyrics to an original song, WITH the music track? (smile)
A lot of you know I’m a singer/songwriter. This is a demo (no great studio quality here, just the straight voice and piano) for a long-planned but yet-to-be-financed jazz album to follow up “Jazz Baby Hits Her Stride.” Click on the track name; lyrics are below. And John, my BFF, this one’s for you!
CLICK HERE TO LISTEN TO THE SONG:
My Cat Sure Misses You A Lot
My Cat Sure Misses You A Lot
Words and Music by Amy Barlow Liberatore © 1998
She sits on the window seat and waits for your return
She stretches lazily, ’cause she’s got time to burn
She thinks you’re running late, or maybe you forgot
But oh boy, oh boy, my cat sure misses you a lot
Remember how she’d snuggle up and commandeer your lap
And how you’d hold her tenderly when she’d settle in to nap
I’m sleeping well these days, or so I thought
But oh boy, oh boy, my cat sure misses you a lot
She’s mine and always was, but she gave her heart away
To a man who up and left one day
I’m fine, I’m over you… I only called to say
There’s someone in the house who wants you back to stay
Why don’t you come around and visit her sometime
An hour on the front porch swing would do just fine
Or maybe you miss her the way she’s missing you
Why don’t you take her home a day, or maybe two
‘Cause oh boy, oh boy, my cat sure misses you a lot
She’s mine and always was, but she gave her heart away
To a man who up and left one day
I’m fine, I’m over you – I only called to say
There’s someone in the house who wants you back to stay
Why don’t you come around and visit her sometime
An hour on the front porch swing would do just fine
Or maybe you miss her the way she’s missing you
Why don’t you take her home – and take me, too
‘Cause oh boy, oh boy, my cat sure misses you…
Recording published by Beehat Baby Music, copyright 2012
Red Roses
She answered her front door
The bouquet, ceiling to floor
Roses, red and silky, fragrant
Behind them stood the Count
Whom she soon hoped to mount
(without seeming too flagrant)
But first, dinner at Le Grande
Champagne warming their bond
Holding her hand, caressing her wrist
Then back to her secluded place
Where, in their first embrace
The bond was sealed, her neck kissed
She transformed by the light of the moon
He called it the taste of maroon
He was a man of great resources
Their gory nights, filled with laughter
And they both lived forever, ever after
Until global war killed all their sources
Wooed
Chewed
Screwed
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For dverse, the prompt was, of course, vampires.
FREE SPIRIT SPEAKS 
You knew this about me before we first met
True, I’m your companion, but nobody’s pet
No leash will I wear, nor “She Is Mine” collar
So what, when I wander, gives you right to holler?
Can’t Alpha Male Tantrum me into submission
Rant all you want to, but it’s my tradition
A part of my birthright – we’re radical women
His water is warmer… and I’m goin’ swimmin’
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For dverse Form For All: Framed Couplets (first and last words must rhyme in each couplet!)
Also at my poetic hearth and home, Poets United.
Photo courtesy of Superstock.com, providing free images (for the time being!).
Bud is Bummin’
Bud’s buttressing his building,
same as yesterday and forever.
Paper cup kept jingling:
The classic ask.
I’m boy I’m embarrassingly I’m
so damned late,
I buzz by him without blinking;
must rumble through
the crowded sidewalk,
Almost to the conference door.
My heart screams;
conscience bubbles through my bloodstream,
hits my medulla “obligata.”
Turning tail to the nearest café.
Two large coffees, a cup of milk,
a banana (potassium) and bran muffin.
Sugar, yellow, pink, blue packets.
I don’t take sweet, but he might.
Back at the bastion,
Bud’s taking a break, huddled under a blanket
I offer him the tray;
he looks up and mumbles, “What’s this?”
“All for you, sir, except the second cup.”
I blush, grab my portion, bend to share a hug.
I run off.
Blessings abound.
Angels around.
Dependence is a two-way street.
If we want to connect with them,
let’s show respect for them
Let’s interrupt our previously scheduled lives
for a moment of grace.
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For Three Word Wednesday: Dependence, Kept, Rumble; for dverse Open Mic Night; and as always, for Poets United, my poetic hotspot!
L’artiste
Who knew
a silent flick
would capture our hearts so completely?
Mon Dieu!
The French sure click
The characters captivate sweetly
Dog star
Jack Russell bred
who leapt off the screen with this talent
By far
Critics all said
Our Uggie is smart, cute, and gallant
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For dverse Open Mic Night and my beloved Poetry Pantry at Poets United. Day 17 of Poem a Day.
This is for Beth, because I know how much she loves Jack Russell terriers.
Sharp Little Pencil 