Birdcage Liner of the TV Screen
Staying at a friend’s house, I switch on the TV. No cable, but
anything will do as I sip my Black Irish heartstrong brew.
My heart sinks… The Evening News. I listen, trying to look past
fluorescent teeth and blonde helmet hair, at the redwhiteblue flag pins, de riguere.
What kind of News Hell is this?
Gone, the anointed news anchor who
actually decided which stories were aired.
No more fastball pitches in interviews, only slow, sliding grapefruits,
and once they get to the nitty-gritty comes: “We’ll have to leave it there.”
Edward R. Murrow dug to the marrow.
Walter Cronkite, trustworthy and true, integrity personified.
The current crop of dopes read from teleprompters
and think they know the story. Or they’re ‘embedded’ (in bed)
with troops and get to wear fatigues and EV-rything!
Unsinkable twinkies at the helm, naifs who
answered casting calls for Wide-Awake 6 am hosts,
all mammary glands on deck. And in the evening,
pitch-perfect choirboys or gruff cuff-linked old smokies
navigate the stern schedule of the 24-hour news cycle.
Rail all we want; Murdoch is Captain of the Stinking Ship.
FOX is the purveyor of FCC-approved misinformation,
but networks are in this way worst of all:
Infotainment silk-and-velvet-clad bobbleheads who
smile as they read you the story of a deadly car crash.
Treat politicians like celebrities and fawn over them.
Never ask a question that cannot be answered by
a sound byte, scripted before the interview started.
William Randolph Hearst is grinning in his yellow grave.
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For The Sunday Whirl (wordle below, thanks Brenda!) and also at my poetic port of call, Poets United.
GROUND ZERO: Fukushima
She’s alive,
she still simmers
waiting for someone to
fall asleep at the console, or
not pour enough water over her
spent uranium rods, which steam and thirst,
fuses lit, then drenched, then lit again as if by evil
magic. Stock up on iodine pills just in case she implodes…
Japan has
plans to
evacuate
Tokyo so
sleep tight.
Don’t
for
get
to
pr
ay
oooops
looks like it’ll be a long winter
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For ABC Wednesday, the letter is Z. Zero. Zilch. Zip. Which is what we’ll be if the US doesn’t step up… did you know they have had THREE meltdowns at Fukushima? That’s two more than Chernobyl. And have we heard about any of this from the American media? No! Why? Not because they are “liberal,” (the left would be all over this) but because the TV stations, papers, and radio stations are owned by power (plant) brokers and their elitist ilk. Makes me want to rent “The China Syndrome” again. This will also be in the side bar at Poets United. Peace, Amy
A peaceful Good Friday to Christians, and Happy Pesach to Jews. To Muslims, a moment’s breath… and to all, those who follow a path of faith and atheists alike, I wish you peace and love. Amy
Order in His Court
His growl is worse than his bark
His bark is worse than his bite
He’s hyped to the max on drugs
He’s free to spread bile and spite
To justify his self-hatred
He takes it all out on “girls”
Who’d marry such a foul swine?
(She hates sex – but does love pearls)
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For Three Word Wednesday: Growl, Hype, Justify. Also on the “sidelines” (right column) of Poets United. I’m so proud to be a member! Amy
I Heard The News Today, Oh Boy
I note, fascinated, that
TV prophets cheerfully tender
the day’s torments,
as though yesterday left no scars,
no rusty bloodstains on the streets
of Kabul.
The sun has been swept under
a cement cloud.
Why chance a morning walk
when crawling will do?
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Sunday Whirl words are in BOLD. Try Brenda’s Wordles – they are fascinating!
Also on Poets United, my poetic collective home.
Just when you thought she’d reached her maximum ditz quote, Sarah makes that mistake… opening her mouth about Paul Revere “ringing them bells”! So ABC Wednesday wanted a “V” poem… and of course, Poets United will also get a posting! Posting from the Left, I wish you peace… and a break from FAUX News! Amy
Vile, Yet Vapid
Her smile is so sweet,
but vile is her mind.
Her style, “thrift store” neat –
beguiling her kind.
Her words are quite vapid
(though written by others)
Her speech, shrill and rapid;
she’s one grizzly mother.
She writes talking points
in the palm of her hand.
Just where her sycophants
all want to stand…
Don’t call her a Guv:
Never finished her term.
So why do folks love
this Tea Party germ?
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
This poem is an erasure. I leafed through the Madison Chronicle’s front section, chose four stories (hence the four stanzas), and picked words out in order but at random to form a prose poem (free form). There is another site, Erasures, which offers many paragraphs from famous authors, inviting you to click around and erase (or replace) words to create your own poem. I felt the topics in this particular paper calling to me. Peace, Amy
Monday, March 28 News
Man dumped still bleeding from car
at hospital died, believe stabbed at intersection.
Officials put two plus two together,
the fight nearby minutes before.
Gov. Walker’s budget would cripple network,
force police to close connections,
connect the dots.
“It would be like, you got a horse,
next week a mule,” said the chief. “It
could hurt the network Google.”
Japan’s nuclear plant dismissed,
an associated show. Confidence prompted
overly optimistic Earth,
the level of fury pushing to multiple meltdowns.
Ample waves before and again, clear
important network plates strongly coupled,
storing extra stress.
Weakened minor still around her apartment
but sometimes on her own fell to emergency.
The organ couldn’t matter; that can be
common among the residents,
a service to spring through.
Suffer in silence, afraid, falsely advancing, inevitable.
“It’s fun to hit a waitress as she lay on the floor.”
Help her. Step right up.
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Three Word Wednesday asked us to create a poem using Educate, Object, Silence. Mine seemed to go toward the political side of the spectrum. Interesting that “object” takes both the verb and noun forms.
CONTROL
The object of failing to
educate our youth
is to silence dissent
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
QUESTIONING AUTHORITY
In opposition to corporate domination,
three options are clear:
Educate those around you
about the history of abuses;
Object publicly, speaking
truth to power; or,
Keep your silence, avoid roiling waters…
and wait for them to come for YOU.
(c) 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
SO MUCH MORE
Love is not best expressed
through sex, yet sex sells
on the squawk box. From
VH1 videos to BET, you
can bet our youth are so
deprived of anything more
thank the depravity of the
booty call. Of women as
moving, bump and grinding
blow-up dolls. Of men with
faces only a mother could
love, whether country stars
(ten-gallon disguising their
hair plugs and plaiding their
paunches), Promise Keeping
Brothers who still leer at
the camera, or rappers who
pull teeth in favor of diamond
implants. These images imbed
like a cancer; only one answer:
The parental counter-punch.
Demonstrating healthy, loving
relationships. Turn off the
TV and unplug the modem;
talk about what lies beyond
the birds and the bees. Soul.
Spiritual bonding. Looking
your partner in the eye, not
sneaking peeks at anatomy.
Friendship first; hormones in
harness; self-esteem before
chasing the false, fleeting
dreams of sexy steam.
VOTING BOOTH
No longer safely ensconced
behind the curtain
the veil of privacy
No longer pulling levers
where no one can see you
registering your choice
No longer safe
from voting machine hackers
who can manipulate elections
Thank you, Bush and Dieboldt
for giving me a metal chair
and a stinking cardboard screen
The only ‘up’ side of the fetid new system
was watching Carl Paladino vote on TV
loading his card in upside down
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
previously published at Poetic Asides
READY AS WE’LL EVER BE
Americans hold dear our freedom to vote.
And rightly so.
We take for granted the ease with which
we breeze into polling places to cast ballots.
No death threats or intimidation
(except for people of color
when the majority of Anglos don’t step up
and ensure their rights, too).
And it’s been almost one hundred years
that I, a lowly woman, got the vote!
Free and fair…
until a presidential hopeful
and his golfing buddy discussed voting machines.
“I have a new-fangled computerized one.
It’ll put the mechanized ones in the museum!”
New York State had foolproof levered machines
(tallied after unsealing by all parties for certification
and carted off to the county hub intact).
No chads, no room for error.
You’d have to dump the machine in the river
to get rid of the votes!
Dieboldt: Planned obsolescence for
that which was never obsolete,
replaced by computerized gizmos,
many without paper trails,
most so vulnerable they are hackable, even by teens.
The golf partner promised the presidential hopeful,
“I’ll deliver Ohio for you.”
And that he did.
Now my beloved state has mothballed
perfectly functional, foolproof levers
in favor of “Never Say Nevers.”
We have only our lack of information and action to blame
for the shameful fact that,
although we can vote,
it is no longer guaranteed
that our vote will be counted, reflecting our choice,
or changed overnight
by interests more powerful than those of freedom.
We’re looking forward! We’re making progress!
We’re hurtling headlong into
a new golden age of fraud and abuse.
President Palin and Vice President Palidino?
That would serve us right, I suppose.
I’m going to vote today,
and pray that tomorrow –
whatever the outcome (sincerely) –
the votes were counted fairly.
But in the back of my mind,
Bush and Dieboldt practice their putting…
© Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
previously published at Poetic Asides and my blog
Sharp Little Pencil 