Amy Barlow Liberatore… stories of lost years, wild times, mental variety, faith, and lots of jazz

Tag Archives: LGBT

First, apologies to all who comment and have to wait for moderation.  My last posting was invaded by vendors in the comments, so back to the drawing board (sorry, Mary!  I know you like to see your comments posted).  Someday, we will wrangle this digital world; in the meantime, spammers run it.  We just live in it.  And now for a look at the man behind all the gay-bashing and LGBT arrests.  Vlad, methinks thou protesteth too much…

Pimping the Olympics

Yay! Way to fatten
Putin’s pockets
Plus private security
tho’ LGBT “inferiority”
is policed to a polish

Don’t get me started on
Elton’s gig; he and David
could shtoop on the steps
of the Kremlin, but Russian
gays are jailed every day

Could Russia BE more hostile
while playing host to the
world’s athletes? Gay or straight?
Do the math: Pocketful of zloti
for self-loathing Vladi

© 2014 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil

Vladimir Putin is a great example of “I want to bare my (pretty disgusting) physique for all to admire, but gay men with six-packs and lesbians who could take me in three rounds should all go to jail.” He is a pathetic closet case, if you ask me. I said months ago we should boycott these Olympics when the laws against LGBT people were being passed, but then again, we also appeared in China… our athletes wore clothes MADE in Chinese sweat shops. The Olympics have become a pit of corruption. I’m skipping this year… NBC won’t show the Canadian curling anyway.  Peace, Amy

Don’t Forget The Mesquite
(musings on Hell and Oscar Wilde)

Lots of folks
Some in my family
say I’m gonna burn in hell

‘cause we love
our daughter, gender queer
We ring her praise like a bell

Hell must be
fun, funny, musical
Gershwin, Gertrude, Oscar Wilde

I’d rather
burn in hell with those folks
than live in sanitized Mild

But please don’t
forget to put mesquite
in with me, to smell my best

when I descend
to see Blanche and Charlotte
and our cat Gable at rest

© 2013 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil

Yes, it’s true, our cat Gable was gay. The only one who could pick him up was our landlord, and they would plotz over each other like two preening queens. My mom Charlotte and her mom Blanche were not lesbians, but they knew and loved the whole gay community, including “Auntie Frank,” she of the cowboys boots and best friend (a femme who “never found the right man either.”). So, yeah, I’m going in a handbasket, whatever.

I actually don’t believe in Hell (there’s enough on Earth), but they still want me to go there. Whatever.

Imaginary Garden With Real Toads’ Marian asked us for poems about, influenced by, or concerning Oscar Wilde. She posted a BRILL YouTube clip of countertenor David Daniels, whose voice you would swear is alto – he’s a countertenor, higher than a tenor – but he seems pretty chill for an opera singer. Click HERE to witness his magnificent voice, as he prepares to premiere an opera about Oscar Wilde, starring as the man himself.

And oh, you homophobes, I hope you enjoy this piece. It is absolutely true, every single word! Peace and solidarity with my LGBTQ bros and sisses, Amy

Video by Matt Logan, used by permission. Worship at the Edge
Lake Edge United Church of Christ, 8-11-13


It’s clear we’re here
for PRIDE celebration
To lift up all living –
Jesus’s exhortation

To love without boundaries
and love all we meet
Good news evident, everywhere
we happened to take a seat

For if there’s not love
in each person’s heart,
what good are the Gospels?
Why even start

to work hard for all people’s
true dignity
Extending to all this
expression of glee

I was born this way
That’s what Gaga sings…
We joined in the dance
and our souls sprouted wings

© 2013 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil

Lake Edge United Church of Christ has a “Worship at the Edge” service at 11 each Sunday morning here in Madison. Sometimes, it’s worship WITH an edge… as in this PRIDE Sunday, when Chris, Jennie, Hayley, Peter, and a bunch of co-conspirators flashmobbed the church with Lady Gaga on the overhead! Talk about real ecstasy, a true and lively expression of the Holy Spirit amongst us.

Ray, your talk had me in tears, and bless you for speaking the truth in love. Thanks, Matt Logan, for filming and editing so fast! And Lex, you rock. Not just because you’re my husband… because you’re a pastor who presents God’s extravagant welcome with a rainbow ‘round your shoulders!

This is for E at ABC Wednesday, as well as in the sidebar at Imaginary Garden With Real Toads and Poets United. Peace, Amy


No more cracks ‘bout “voter fraud”
Not a peep from Hair That’s Odd*

Ryan, back to same old lying
Mitt’s hair won’t need so much dyeing

Mister Prez must buckle down
Get it straight in Lobby Town

Stop the war, stop the fracking
Congress, he can start a-smacking

Beef up this new Health Care Act
ALL need coverage; that’s a fact

Give my friends the right to wed
You don’t need to see their bed

But the best must surely be
No more smack ads on TV

© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil

* Donald Trump tried to make this election about himself. “Birthers” should get over it.

You know how I voted, because I’m an unapologetic leftie. But I voted by default this time, not by mandate. Until our country reverses policy on energy – no Pipeline, no more fracking (all the water we have is all we’re getting, folks. Earth recycles it, and the more polluted it gets, the deeper trouble we’re in). Germany is awash with solar panels, something like 80 percent, and we have so many great places for that as well as turbines.

Don’t get me started about the war. I will keep pressing to bring our troops home NOW. Why not join me? Here’s a link to find out all your U.S. congressional contacts – click HERE. Don’t wait until January. There’s no reason they should sit on their asses on your dime!

Class warfare is not ended with this election, although the Right spent over six bucks for every vote, and the Left won with a little over ONE buck per vote. Since the election, racists are ramping up their rhetoric, and gays don’t have equal rights yet. Hell, WOMEN don’t have equal rights yet!

Next time, let’s see what a woman can do. As long as it’s the right person, I’m game. Peace, Amy

Singer, Poet, Activist

Sings of love, peace, acceptance
Writes of mental illness, protest, LGBT alliance
(plus incest, sexual abuse and other taboos)
Acts to make the second shed its shame and
be embraced by the first

© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil

For Trifecta, we were asked to write about “three things in one,” in exactly 33 words. Also at my poetic all-in-one site, Poets United (proud to be a member!). Peace, Amy


Shall I compare thee to a summoning day?

Wherefore art thou, morphine drip?

Death, be not proud… nor painful.

Somewhere, over the rainbow, way up high, I.

How that corpse got into my pajamas, I dunno.

Don’t forget your parting gift as you exit
the chapel, a little bit of Amy as a souvenir.

Am I still bipolar now that I’m dead, and does that mean
I can spend half my time haunting people who sucked?

Reports of my death will be greatly exaggerated, because
I’m just THAT special.

Rock stars die in plane crashes, but poets die with a phrase
that just came to mind, whispering, “Where’s my journal…?”

© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil

For We Write Poems, asking for our epitaph. (Also at my poetic “resting place,” Poets United!) I’m having my ashes put into doggie bags and distributed to mourners on their way to the post-funeral party at a cheesy bar, with notes to each on where to scatter bits of me. Part to Blanche’s stomping grounds, Council Bluffs. Part into the confluence of the Chenango and Susquehanna Rivers in Binghamton, and a pinch of me dumped into the spiedie sauce at Sharkey’s Bar… Matt Sweeney will get that assignment, no doubt. Carolyn will have Duncan to varnish a bit of me onto her harp used in playing at hospices. Christopher will sneak me into the old Pavarotti dressing room at the Met. Joseph will toss me off the Brooklyn Bridge; Colette gets Venice Beach duty. Walt will sift me onto the floor of the Anchor Bar in Buffalo; Nimue will keep me in a little pill box until she feels a good sneeze coming on, while Viv will sew me into the batting of one of her quilts.

Lex and Riley will be sent on a voyage to San Juan, to Bermuda, and to other places far and wide, so they will have time to talk about stuff. Marcia and Jesse will join them for the Venice Canal tossing; Greggie will take me to 6th and Wilshire, the site of the old Great American Food & Bev. Co. I’m thinking of sending my Republican relatives tea bags filled with… no, that would be mean. And it would taste nasty! Peace, Amy

Walk, Talk, Persevere

Our hands in our pockets, we walked.
‘Twas of Lila’s cancer we talked.
“Oh, sure, it was one fucking jolt!
One week, all is well, then this bolt

from Doctor X come a-roaring
in our ears, but then my adoring
Meg said, ‘Give us some options, Doc.’”
“In the past, it was urgent – tick-tock,

to cut off the woman’s whole breast.
But now it’s the simple way’s best.”
The importance of one single fact:
Lila’s dignity would be intact.

There’d be scraping and chemo, but then,
their future to build was the plan,
“Rebuild Lila’s health” was the rule.
They married; bold women:  They’re cool.

© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore

From Brenda Warren’s Sunday Whirl, and just in time!  Wordle words are in bold.  This is dedicated to all women and men who have survived breast cancer… and in memory of those who did not.  Peace, Amy