This is a poem from my first, self-published chapbook, DANCE GROOVE FUNHOUSE, available now! Read details to the right to order one for yourself! (Shameless self-promotion) Amy
THE LARK
SATURDAY MORNING
Lazing after lush, lazy sleep I am
awakened by a lark
perched beneath my bedroom window
serenading me of the day to come
Thank you, God, for this blessing
the wakeup call from heaven
Birdsong on a Saturday morning
LATE SUNDAY NIGHT
Working 9-5
Long into the night, I tossed and turned 3 a.m.
again
The alarm will grant me 6:45
Then it starts
That stinking bird
Sackful of crap that will undoubtedly be dispensed
on my windshield
If only I had
an airgun
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
At Poetic Asides, we were asked to write about stacks. Stacking, unstacking, stacked decks, stacked (you can guess), unstacking, dismantling. Click on the Poetic Asides blue link to read them all! Here’s one of mine, attempting to form a poetic pyramid!
GYM CLASS
Never picked for
basketball or soccer.
Short, uncoordinated, shy.
The leftover, default choice.
I excelled in this singular activity:
The Pyramid. I was so little and so light
they proclaimed me The Ultimate Top Block.
(For just one class a year, they found me of use)
Sturdier girls lined up below like so many
Dawg House cheerleaders, and proudly
bearing the brunt to come… five rows
I had to carefully ascent to claim my
place as “Cleopatra’s Crown” (hey,
this was gym class, not history!)
A sudden sniff from Row Two.
Sue sneezes and CRASH!
Our proud
pyramid
reduced
to rubble:
A jumble
of giggling
Jenga Jills.
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
I finally got around to creating a chapbook, self-published and quite the attractive little pamphlet, if I do say so myself.
Dance Groove Funhouse is a group of 23, count ’em 23 poems in an environmentally friendly format of 8 pages plus cover (I know, the purists say “one poem per page,” but I am not psychologically equipped to kill that many trees in the name of self-expression).
For just SIX BUCKS (including postage), you can thrill to poems about:
Dance Groove Funhouse (where anything goes)
Memories of washing clothes “the old-fashioned way” with Mom
A lark that morphs from songbird to a complete pain in the ass in two stanzas
Stargazing in upstate New York
A love poem to my husband (Nothing graphic. I said “love poem,” not “sex poem”!)
Amy Island (more of anything goes, but there’s beer on tap in this one)
The fork I found in the middle of a road… an actual fork. On an actual road.
My mother’s progressive comments on black musicians going in ‘the back way,’ circa 1940s
A locket with two views of my daughter, both entertaining
…and (as they say) much, much more!
I don’t have PayPal or any of that high-tech stuff, so let’s do some snail mailing, shall we?
Send a check for $6 (also covers postage) per copy and received your PERSONALIZED, AUTOGRAPHED COPIES soon. Order for friends! They also make great bathroom reading – ask my husband and neighbors!
Make the check out to Amy Barlow Liberatore and mail your request to:
Amy Barlow Liberatore
48 Main Street
Attica, NY 14011
…and don’t forget to include any dedications you’d like in the autograph. You know, “To Polly, for the bottom of your birdcage, Love, Amy” and stuff like that. Seriously, thanks for supporting this Sharp Little Pencil! Amy
A universal truth, given poetic form by yours truly! Have fun, Amy
NO ONE WANTS TO CLEAN THE TUB
Soap scum, sloughed-off cells and scunge
Hair of questionable origin
The bathtub, basin of family grunge
Gloves and gas mask, I’m going in
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
DON’T FORGET TO TAKE POLAROIDS
Never one to take instruction
well, welcome to
THE EVE OF MY DESTRUCTION.
That’s me, going to hell.
Hand-basket by Longaberger.
So say the Bible thumpers
Because I insist my daughter’s
Divinely made, perfect…
and, yes, she loves women
If all she did daily
was love women,
I’d be worried, but fortunately,
she does other things, too:
art, music, movies;
she has a full life.
“I’ll bet you and Lex
do stuff besides
hanging in bed being straight!”
That’s right, baby, it’s true
We get up
sometimes for breakfast, lunch, dinner…
(c) 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Thanks to Riley for permission to use her experiences for this poem.
Our Poetic Asides challenge was “Forget What They Say.” My kind of prompt, Robert! Click on the link to see what others came up with. As for me…
AGING DISGRACEFULLY!
Old age ain’t for sissies, said Bette Davis
and she was doggone right
Boobs hanging so low I have to
set ’em in rollers at night
and shoved into “woman-friendly” bras daily
The way they swing wouldn’t make Frank
sing “ring-a-ding-ding”
Took up yoga to get flexible
advice courtesy of my physician
(not “Physical,” thanks anyway, Olivia)
Noticed that, in the Down Dog position
my skin of my thighs draped off my legs
like a curtain valance, but at least
I kept my balance.
That is, until the Salutes to the Sun,
when I grandly and loudly fell on my face,
laughing so hard I snorted at my own contortions.
This got other 50+ women chortling and
soon we were all flat on our mats doing
what older girls do best: Sharing a laugh
about ourselves, on our own behalf.
We finished class and Betsy blurted:
“A latte! Who’s with me?”
Soon around a table filled with decadent desserts
(which we dutifully split, counting calories somewhat)
we decided: Stay with yoga class, stretch at night,
walk in pairs or groups, eat (almost) right.
But never skip dessert: Old age ain’t for sissies,
nor for grumps, nor frumps. Just real women,
having our say and doing it (cue Nelson Riddle):
“Oooooooour Waaaaaaaaaay!”
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
At Poetic Asides, today’s prompt, “No one wants _____,” brought to mind an incident so funny, so ironic, so disgustingly true… and to think I volunteered to edit the copy for the yearbook and was turned down. The principal said, “I have professional secretaries to do that work.” Riiiiiiiight…
No One Wants (or likes) (or should depend on) SpellCheck
Savior of those who type in haste?
Harbinger of the lazy mind?
Neither.
It’s just SpellCheck, here to stay. Like the flu.
Example #25,286:
Parents participated in the yearbook
by writing personal notes to their graduates.
Mine included a line employing the vernacular:
“You’re gonna do great things!”
Fresh off the press, she ran all the way home
to show me an impressive array of signatures.
She had made lots of friends, and they all
noted she was “HOT!,” “Valedictorian,” and “Out!”
Turning to the parent’s dedications, she said,
“In the words of Al Jolson, ‘You ain’t seen nothin’ yet!'”
There, bearing my signature, was the side-splitting line:
“You’re gonad do great things.” GONAD??!!
SpellCheck, ShmellCheck.
Sunday Scribblings asked us to write on the theme, ‘Friction.’ You can tell I’ve had too much coffee today. Enjoy!
FILM FILLY’S FRACTIOUS FRICTION
Feeling friendly,
phoned Fiona Fleshpot.
Faded fashion filly
facing failed flick – fetid flop.
FLASH! (flotsam for females)
fancied former, firmer,
flexible, “fine” Fiona.
Furnished factoids.
Fix festivities.
Fry fast foods…
fling fresh fare
(fodder for former fatties).
Flaming flambes,
frozen Frangipani,
Früzen-Gladje,
fudgy fondues.
Fiona feels friction falter;
feeds fairly fully…
finally, farts.
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
This one was inspired, in a way, by the Kafka Metamorphosis, but… well… GAFBers, this one’s for you!
READY, SET, BLOW
I started off so fat
carefully dressed in white
that clung to my body
like Travolta’s ice cream suit.
OW! That burns,
but I am comforted by kisses
lips caressing me,
I am passed from friend to friend.
I’m the life of the party.
Glowing like the star of the show,
as the lava lamp flows,
bloop… bloop… bloop…
Minutes later, spent.
They’ve used me until I’m
a scrap of my former self
Now, indignity. Out comes the roach clip.
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Poetic Asides asked us to write about location. Nothing says location – or loquacious – like those damned Garmans!
LOQUATOR
He bought a Garman off the Net
Maybe so he’d be spared pulling over
and asking directions?
Yeah, it’s a guy thing.
It sits on his dashboard
like a chunky trophy
and says, “Course correction” a lot.
He set the voice to “Female Euro-trash.,”
which pissed off his girlfriend,
who refers to it as “Garmina the Map Slut.”
Gadgetmaster of Expensive, Trouble-making Toys,
thy name is Pete.
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Published at Poetic Asides
Sharp Little Pencil 