Pink Champagne
Was that the name of
the chalky rose that graced
my 20-year-old lips
Was it a drag queen or
my girlfriend Rickie who gave me
that stick/mystical tube
Cylinder of cotton candy
and chemical confection
that no doubt helped my pout
Yes, it was Rickie after all who
slipped Georgette Klinger into my purse
and said, “Work it, girl”
© 2015 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
When Imaginary Garden With Real Toads mentioned the color pink, this little memory emerged from the silver tube of my synapses! I will always be grateful that Rickie Lee Jones is my friend… we are almost the same age, but she was always the big sister, more worldly, a bit wiser. And yes, she still has the BEST makeup, hee hee.
She has her first album of all originals coming out in June, so stay tuned. I will write to one of those pieces.
Amy
Keepin It Real
You’re keepin it real
ly? You sure a
bout this? A sin
gle night of his
tory and a life
time of raisin
g it
© Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Recently, Imaginary Garden With Real Toads had us looking at the work of e.e. cummings, asking us to play with poetic form in whimsical ways, unusual forms. Although I did not get the inspiration in time for the prompt, thank my lucky stars Real Toads has a Open Link Monday! It’s like winning… Amy
Whoops! forgot to credit image from Wikimedia Commons, and isn’t it a great portrait? Gyula Basch [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons
LONELY GIRL
Face of oblique glitter hears
Whispers that he done her wrong
Restless spirit, frozen
Hearing again their sad old song
Shine it all on, lonely girl
You know I’m kin in spirit
Face it now, lonely girl
That song, you know I can hear it
Neither of us had no loving since
January, February, or so
Why not climb off that lonely perch
C’mon – ready, steady, go
We’ll speak of days gone wrong
We’ll snicker at misbegotten men
We’ll hide our eyes from strangers til
We do it all over again
Find others to do us wrong
To keep us stuck in one place
But I’ll remember our big time out
Each time I look at your face
© 2013 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Ha! Betcha didn’t know the subject of my poem. It’s
… and yes, we did trip the light mediocre one night eons ago, back when the world was full of vague regrets but more possibilities.
The subject was the moon, courtesy of Izy at Imaginary Garden With Real Toads. Catch: We were not to place the moon in the sky, speak of night or starry night, etc. So I took my girlfriend off her perch and we talked it over. Sure, she’s seen same place, same time, every night, but now she does it by choice, because we got so plotzed on Margaritas, she doesn’t want to come down to earth again. My bad.
This is also “visible” at my poetic lunacy rompfest, Poetic Asides. Amy
Two diverse poems; one brief, one a story that happened long ago. The first is for a prompt for Six Word Saturday, a challenge to my tendency to writeeverycompletemomentexactlyasithappenedinfullmissingnodetails. The second, for Poets United’s Poetry Pantry, a sweet memory of a sweet friend and me, a moment in time I will never forget. Peace, Amy
——————————-
The End
Only get one death: Die trying.
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Adapted from earlier poem in “Dance Groove Funhouse” for Six Word Saturday
———————————-
Carnegie Hall, 1979
Star and her Satellite
emerge from a cab and
slip through the back door
of the hallowed hall
Tiptoeing past the massive set
being rolled into place by
Popeye-armed stagehands
who sweat for their wages
A page to be turned, this.
Billie bluesed here…
Her voice lingers,
embedded in the polished railings
Judy summoned songs
from the soles of ruby slippers
Her brilliance is burnished
into every column and niche
Now, no longer Star and Satellite,
for this brief moment, we are
simply giddy young singers
eager to trod the boards
Holding hands, the thrill
a vibrating current
running between us,
we pull back the curtain and
step onto the stage of
Carnegie’s great legacy,
the robber baron who bequeathed
this jewel to the masses
Looking up, a million stars
as lights twinkle dimly,
rimming balcony
after tiered balcony
“It’s like…” I struggle for words
to describe this moment.
“It’s like standing inside
a giant wedding cake.”
She grins. She’s headlining,
and I’m only singing backup
Yet, at this sublime moment,
we’re simply two starstruck girls
basking in a pinspot of destiny fulfilled
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For dverse (yes, I really do talk this way) and Poets United.
Sharp Little Pencil 