Guttural (Meditation on the Heart)
When Bible speaks of the heart
it really means the gut
Feel your heartbeat there
in the center square
Worries tether the gut
crowd the diaphragm
Anxiety’s program
from the great I am
We “feel in in our gut”
A gut feeling to avoid
that thug, that drug,
that way of lesser angels
The gut guides and
cautions us when we
need unspoken advice
God guides our gut
BUT…
“The Gut Is a Lonely Hunter”
would not have sold many copies
© 2014 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Let Your Heart Take the Reins
In Biblical times, the “heart”
was actually one’s gut.
To “know in one’s heart”
was to feel in the region
of the solar plexus the nexus
of thought and emotion,
an ocean of intuitive knowledge.
If you get that pain
in the pit of your stomach,
stop. Listen to your
better angels; let your heart
guide you, provide you with peace.
© 2013 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Kim Nelson at Poets United’s Verse First wanted a poem, in fewer than 13 lines, about our passions. Mine do not include brevity, so this was a good challenge for me!
Interpreting the Bible to relate to modern-day times is a passion of mine. So many folks use the Bible, as my friend Ben recently wrote, as a weapon… slandering gay folks, denying poor women health care. All the things Jesus decried when he said, “Love your neighbor as yourself…” Loving God brings me closer to doing the right thing. It’s hard, having manic depression and PTSD, to find that quiet place, but the ache in the pit of my gut I always pay attention to! Peace, Amy
DEEP SEATED EXPLORATION
My gut is pierced
Not the physical, but the psychic
Not a knife, but a fork
Not alfredo, but tomato sauce
The fork attacks me,
a plate of linguine marinara:
Pierce the pile
Twist round
Feel the reel, the dancing circles
Pull in all I am
All the essentials
Muscle
Mind
Soul
Trailing stringy strands
What was
Is
A ball big as disco
The silver flatware long since slathered
in bloody twine, scarlet vine
I feel about for the loose nub
The end of my rope
Pull gently
Unwind ever so slowly
Don’t break the ties of time
Delicately, I will prise the fork and
dispose of that which has strangled my being:
The damnable tapeworm
he planted inside me
all those years ago
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Sunday Scribblings tossed us one word: Explore. I went inward. Also at the site that never twirls me ‘round unless it’s fun: Poets United.
Sharp Little Pencil 