Whoa, babe, first day of PAD (Poem a Day, all April), and it’s a trifecta! Process notes below, but first, the poem.
REFLECTOR BABE
If I could have one power
it probably would be
a magic mirror carried
all over town with me.
If someone shouted, “N*****!”
I’d take it from my purse
to hold it up before them
and then they’d want to curse;
for they would see a black face,
they’d stare quite quizzically.
And then I’d asked them plainly,
“Do you see what I see?”
Or bullies shoving gay kids
into the garbage bin.
My mirror’d show them how they’d look
once they had been tossed in.
The rich would see the homeless,
the cheaters, a square dealer.
Oh, with my mirror, I might have
the powers of a healer.
For even if they didn’t change,
perhaps they’d take some time
reflecting on their ways, o Lord!
Would that not be sublime?
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For Sunday Scribblings (reflect), Poetic Bloomings (super hero), and Poets United’s Poetry Pantry. I thought about the prompt “reflect” and, rather than render another reflection about politics, child abuse, depression, or whatever the heck was on my mind, I’d use the mirror image. Then Blooms wanted poems about super heros, and since I had already posted “Volume Control Grrrl” (with a flick of my wrist, I could render booming car stereos mute, as well as people loudly discussing their gall bladder operations while I’m trying to eat at the next table), I thought this would be more in keeping with my values. And Poetry Pantry? Hell, I post EVERYTHING at Poets United, because they are my Gang of Many Wonderful People! Peace, Amy
As the New Year approaches, I felt the time was right to post this, based on a person (whose name has been changed) who hung around Court Street in Binghamton, NY, back in the 70s. I didn’t know her personally… but she was different. And she was persecuted for it. This year, let’s be kind to everyone – especially “The Others,” those whom we may not understand, but who are just as worthy of respect as the next person. Let’s make this the year we put an end to homophobia and prejudice against all who buck the stereotypes.
Here’s the story of a fighter. Peace, Amy
FRANCES BY NIGHT
Frances took a lot of shit
back when cross-dressing was even more misunderstood
On Saturday nights, she’d dress to the nines
Scarves, handbag, nails done, bejeweled pumps
The Pink Cadillac was the only bar in town that would serve her
Sometimes she’d get bounced early for
flouncing around the married guys too much
(They were undercover, like the CIA)
This was back in the day of “those bars”
When you came in the back door and showed ID
Humiliating for closet cases, but worse for Frances
who had to show her license with her real name, Frank
It set her on edge every time, and she had a mouth on her
A few cocktails would set her right
She’d be fine ‘til closing time
If no prime escort took the bait
she’d wait as long as she could
before leaving for good (or for worse)
Fag bashers staked out the back door, on their beat
Ready to beat the crap out of “the little whore”
Yelling, “Frankie! Frankie!”
No cops were ever around that part of town
despite the shouts of the frantic rumble
She put up a good fight, that little queen
for all the mascara and cashmere, she was a scrapper
Her Georgette Klinger lipstick smeared on the knuckles
of some macho boy who really only wanted to touch her
but couldn’t admit it in front of his buddies
“Frankie,” they’d shout, “we’re coming for you”
“Boys,” she’d retort, “do come!
You need it more than I do”
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Also at my poetic hearth and home, Poets United, for their Poetry Pantry.
Poetic Asides had an interesting challenge: “A World Without ____________.” Yeah, go figure how this one came to mind (wink)! Amy
A World Without Gay Men (what a bore)
No Dr. Kildare
Nor “Night and Day”
No “Pillow Talk”
‘cause Rock was gay
No Sistine Chapel
Virtruvian Man
No Mona Lisa
No inventions grand
No Karloff’s Monster
(James Whale’s work of art)
No Benjamin Britten
Johnny Mathis, my heart
Gershwin, Sweet
Embraceable You,
the Man I Love
is a classic, it’s true
Greg Louganis’
diving perfection
Leonard Bernstein’s
symphonic direction
The list could go on
til night turns to day
but what a dull world
without men born that way
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Also posted at my NaPoWriMo home, Writer’s Island, and at Poets United.
At Sunday Scribblings, we were asked to create a poem around the word “befuddled.” Not “bewitched,” nor “bothered,” nor “bewildered,” unfortunately… but then, that one was already written! (That’s for my music buddies.) A little gender-bender limerick for y’all. Amy
The Right Stuff?
A man with whom I often cuddled
Confessed to becoming quite muddled
Our sex was okay
But he told me today
With Bradley, he’s far less befuddled
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
At Poetic Asides, the prompt was, Celebrate. Could not think of a better celebration than the day two of my dearest friends were united in love and dignity. Amy
Celebrate Today
(For Christopher Kennedy and Jimmy Ricketts)
Christopher and Jimmy
both in tuxes, Dapper Dans.
Not the groomsmen,
but the grooms.
I’m running around in
a dress tight as Saran Wrap
(and just as pliable).
My heels click click click busy busy…
So light the candles!
Bring on the guests!
Family and friends;
Amy’s taking requests
at the baby grand with candelabrum
As I sing, I meditate on the wax
slowly slinking down the tapers.
This is real romance.
The pastor was beautiful;
the buffet, sublime.
Every state should have gay marriage –
their catering businesses would thrive.
I sing the song I wrote for their wedding,
“The Best I Have To Give.”
Then Jimmy yells, “Do the Santa song!”
I grin and launch in.
It’s my rendezvous with Kris Kringle
Naughty but nice. The glasses clink
and the newlyweds share a little peck.
Nothing gross like at straight weddings.
A tasteful affair from beginning to end,
all couples dancing, bubbles in the air.
I remember Mom saying that true love
is marrying your best friend. Amen.
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
This takes some explanation. To begin with, my generation has a problem with the word “queer.” It ranks up there with the “n” word and the 6-letter “f” word in our sense of disparagement of people who have to work much harder in this world, controlled as it is by white, straight men.
Joseph Harker, one of my favorite poets (see his blog on “Poets I Love”), posted to a prompt to “answer” a poet of yore. He chose Gwendolyn Brooks’ “We So Cool” with an interpretation that included the word “queer.” My daughter, Riley/Laura, taught me that I am the first to chide people for “not changing,” and that since she identifies as “gender queer,” I will have to adapt. So my understanding of the queer world (and well as the “Q” word) has indeed expanded. Parents, it’s not always YOU teaching your kids – it goes both ways!
Then someone posted a homophobic rant about “Village People” and damnation, so I replied in a poem, riffing off Joseph. Long explanation – loaded with controversy – I welcome any and all comments on this one.
You Are Queer (with love to Gwendolyn Brooks and Joseph Harker)
You are queer. You
are dear. You
live free. You
please me. You
speak out. You
whisper, shout. You
are loud. You
are proud. You
were dates. You
find mates. You
live longer. You
grow stronger. You
catch hate. You
know fate. You
are shoved. You
are loved.
(c) 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Not your typical Christmas offering, and yet I feel called on this, the Solstice, the longest night of the year, to think about different paths. I’ve spent the day reflecting on what Jesus means to me, as I await his birth again in my heart with the calm and preparedness of a midwife. But this season excludes many, and counting agnostics and atheists in my circle of friends, I figured I’d offer up some food for thought!
The Atheist and Me, the Lay Minister
Try to explain to a fellow Christian
why atheism is acceptable
Try to explain to a deaf man
why the radio’s undetectable
One man’s meat is another man’s candy
One woman’s faith does not fit all
Every journey has pitfalls and triumphs
There is not one true, right call
I know my call is to Jesus, to God
My soul is filled to the brim
But if my friend thinks otherwise
That’s his right – up to him.
If he doesn’t believe in the Bible
and God’s not his only light
Yet he does good things in this bleak world
I won’t shove God down his throat tight
I’m called to be the best Christian I can
so I will not presume to oppress
my friend disillusioned, let down by his church
’cause he’s going from pants to a dress
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
At Sunday Scribblings (glad I’m back on course after a break), we were given a one-word prompt: LIMITS. Click the Scrib link and then on the poets’ names (which are linked to their blogs) to check out other folks! Peace, Amy
HAD IT UP TO HERE
I’ve had it up to here
‘cause my daughter, who is ‘queer’
is not welcome in my sister’s home
I’ve taken all I’ll stand
from all those who would demand
that I discard my kid like a dead battery
I’m telling all the world
she is perfect, she’s my girl
If you don’t love her, please don’t waste your prayers
On Riley or her mom
because we know we are BOMB
and anyone who doesn’t get it can get stuffed
I tried to make this rhyme
to some extent, it is fine
but I couldn’t rhyme “battery” with “flattery” because that concept is entirely absent from some people’s hearts. But at least it’s truthful!
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Sharp Little Pencil 