Carpe See ‘em
Homeless souls – some call them “bums on the street”
Folded small into their desperate beat
Solo bench or so-low depressed bunch
Waiting for a handout or maybe a lunch
One lady says, “Why bring him into this place?
I don’t mind bums but, right here in my face?”
She’s talking about Ed, who’s depressed, just like me
We’re cousins in ways other people can’t see
Tells me over bagels, he’s long out of work
Routed from working by some kinda jerk
who left a buzzsaw blade-out where he shouldn’t
Blindsided my new friend Ed, who couldn’t
avoid it, no matter how cautious… so now
Ed lives on a deadwood bench – but somehow
he knows “sometimes better’s bound to come”
His faith is real strong… so now who’s the “bum”?
Aforementioned lady attends church every week
I say, “You know, you just called Jesus a freak”
© 2014 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Image obtained through Creative Commons thanks to psyberartist – see licensing HERE.
Imaginary Garden With Real Toads’ Grapeling challenged us to “carpe diem” and remember Robin Williams and his struggles with depression by choosing some words from a list and writing on the subject in whatever way we chose. Since I live on Bipolar Boulevard, all I had to do was walk outside, take this guy to lunch, and we ended up having a great conversation. He turned me on to a bagel place I’d never heard of; we had strong, fair-trade coffee; and over the speakers, I was gifted with a song I will use in ministry tomorrow… but that’s a story for another day.
Robin Williams used to make my hands shake a bit, remembering the cocaine days as he’d imp and jester his way through routines at spitfire pace. But I also recognized what lurked under the surface, as with Jonathan Winters (who was given a gig on “Mork and Mindy” at Williams’ insistence), Lou Costello of Abbot and Costello (whose depression was compounded when his two-year-old son drowned in his family’s new swimming pool, there’s Hollywood irony for you), and so many more. Lots of comedians learn their craft as children, trying to cheer up a family member or escape bullying or simply stand out. Jim Carrey comes to mind.
The woman in this poem actually ‘called me out’ while Ed took a bathroom break. It’s like people don’t want to see the homeless, but they don’t mind bitching about them when they are not in the room. She’s the kind of “Christian” who gives the rest of us a bad name.
May Robin’s family find peace. Thanks for the laughs, Robin. I’m sorry you couldn’t see a tomorrow in sight. Peace, Amy
Thunderstruck
Thrill of ozoned air
freshbursting scent
as one slate cloud
butts heads with another
Firmament’s daring exchange
First chains of switchblade
streaks; thunder strikes
from clouds’ loud clash
In love with customary
pelt of hail I walk
To stop me is to defy
another force of nature
© 2014 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Image courtesy of Scotto Bear (free media use) at Wikimedia Commons, License detail HERE.
For Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Michael (AKA Grapeling) gave us a list of words. To see that list, along with links to myriad original contributors, please click HERE.
City or country, I have always been fascinated with the random, dangerous, glorious free fireworks of thunderstorms. I know it’s probably stupid to walk down the street in one, but I figure with my various brain spasms, a little lightning wouldn’t hurt. In fact, it might help! Peace, Amy
NOTE about “ROLLIE” trilogy: It will be completed tomorrow. Couldn’t resist this prompt.
Hysterical Women Running Amok
Hysteria was once thought
uniquely confined
to the female side
of all mankind
Said to be caused
by a “wandering uterus”
That’s why TPs think
our birth control’s ludicrous
© 2014 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Image: Free license, free use via FunnyPictureFunnyPhoto.com
This was for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, courtesy of Isadora. She sent us to the Random Fact Generator, where the perfect prompt was given to me (I confess) on my third click… “TPs” are, of course, Tea Partiers!
I researched “amok” vs. “amuck,” (my original choice) and found that, in modern parlance, “amok” wins. Harrrumph. Peace, Amy
Erasure of Self
Like goosebumped skin
erasure sets in
Eyes closed to sun
Energy, none
The me people know,
the warm glow,
cedes to the smear
of what is now here
Go, thou dread curse
Take with you your hearse
Better days will come
If I ( )
© 2014 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Imaginary Garden With Real Toads. Artistic Expressions’ Margaret asked us to write to a sketch. This one I completed at the onset of my last depression. As always, I crawled out, just in time for Riley’s triumphant graduation! Peace, Amy
Virginia Deep
Bittersweet days and
sleepless nights
Days spent on park benches
regarding passersby
as butterflies
tethered to their lives
Wings pinned down by convention
Nights in her convent
the room of her own:
Smoke, coffee, tension
The quill stung with her blood
No control and again
voices voices voices
No rest, no cure
No choice, save the obvious
Stop the voices
Drown them
Condemn them to
watery oblivion
© 2014 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Imaginary Garden With Real Toads’ Mama Zen gave us a challenge: Write about Virginia Woolf. I have not been posting much lately, but this was inspiring to the nth degree. Thanks, Mama, I knew you could raise me from my slumber! Peace, 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
gremlindeep
grabs me by my big toe
pulls me down slowslowslow
slithers me off the easy chair
through rug’s woolen sheepish hair
cannot fight this downward pass
eyes are foggy ruby glass
cried so long they’re swollen large
gremlindeep is now in charge
© 2014 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Depression does have a face, and not only the one you see in the mirror. It has claws and a gravity surpassing that of earth. Peace, Amy
New York Doll
There was a time in her prime
when she’d mime drink orders
to cordial bartenders who always
tended to her needs. Never one
for thinking while drinking.
She’d haul a Hal to the juke
and dance dance dance
A chance to prance from
Latin to limbo to limo to
blow snow, no dough, only
her willingness to be ill-used
(not abused in the classic sense;
her men’s tastes not leaning toward
the waste of a pretty face)
The pace of the chase
was hasty and tiring, and so,
rewiring back at the flat, we
would recount the bounty
that shines brightest at 2 am
The night, our flight, our fight
to be noticed in an
anonymous
bottomless pit
of a city
© 2014 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
This is why having a roommate in the larger cities is important. Who else will listen to your triumphs and tragedies ‘til dawn? This one will be at Imaginary Garden With Real Toads on Monday and dverse Poetry Pub’s Open Mic on Tuesday. I’ll add the links in the next two days so you can click and read some soulful stuff from a vast array of poets. Peace, Amy
Eyes Wide Open
Sweet little Amer’s very first kiss
Quick, get a camera to document this!
Davey Bargetzi was awfully cute
Brown eyes and almost a birthday suit
How many girls can say their first action
Was a photo op for Mom’s satisfaction?
© 2014 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Completely true story. Like most of my life, staged in front of a live audience! 8^)
Posted at Open Link Monday at Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, and, if I remember, I’ll also link it to dverse on Tuesday. IF I remember, and that’s a crapshoot these days… Peace, Amy
Clothes Make the…
Picture this
A cocktail party
Only chic elites parading in
Ralph Lauren, Valentino
Stella Mc (no, no Butterick)
Dripping in blood from
Harry Winston diamonds
Sleek, shiny, baubled
Finest wardrobe money can buy
Picture this gathering of
the 85 people who own
HALF the wealth of the
planet. 85 = $½ of ALL OF IT*
Crappy, credible math
They drink, snort, and laugh about
those wretched K-Mart shoppers
About the 99% (that’s you and me)
“How do they manage?”
“They should get real jobs”
“I never shop at WalMart,”
smirks one of Sam Walton’s girls
Their gowns, regardless of
high-fashion label, imported
from Chinese sweatshops
from Indonesian factories
Bangladesh burned but they’re
still pumping out product,
thanks to hard-working
child slave labor (and women)
These rich women, coiffed
and manicured, preening
These sons of smarter men, coiffed
and manicured, peacocks
They say clothes make the man
but these schmucks
sure as hell didn’t
make their clothes
© 2014 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
* Per OxFam, a non-partisan worldwide watchdog for the underprivileged
First, a HUGE “thank you” to all who have sent messages asking where I’ve been and if I am all right. Long story short: Played at two Christmas Eve services, then got the holiday/deep winter depression… followed by a flu I wouldn’t wish on anyone. Not even GWB. But finally able to sit at my desktop (the messages were monitored on my phone, but it’s no good for posting poetry) and contribute once again.
So off to my “play pond” I ran! Shay at Imaginary Garden With Real Toads’ Fireblossom Friday wanted a poem in which clothing is a major component. See, I can still be politically snarky while writing about high fashion! Peace, Amy
Sharp Little Pencil 
