Up the stairs, count the steps
1, 2, 3, 4
1, 2, 3, 4
1, 2, 3…
Crap, it didn’t come out even, it’s eleven
But 1-2-3-4-1/ 2 /3-4-1-2-3 will have to do; the middle is two
Plus 11 is prime, so that’s something
At book club, as with any circled gathering, the circle goes clockwise from my left:
1 – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5 – 6 – me
becomes
4-5-6 (me) 1-2-3
Once I’ve calculated the delicate balance, once the gathering is complete, my mind can focus fully on the book we just read – wait, the meeting is over already? What was the book about again?
I knew our last house was perfect, because it was exactly 16 steps up from the basement. (I have been known to climb two steps at a time to make the sequence work out into even groups.) But my therapist’s office was 20, at least an even number.
This new place has 20, too. 5 x 4 will have to do.
© 2024 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For What’s Going On, Mary asked us to write a poem based on numbers. This hit home for me because the main part of my OCD is counting, specifically grouping to the point of anxiety. I know most people don’t number pavement or floor tiles as an extreme sport. Example: If there are alternating colors in striped tiles down the hallway, I not only count them; I make sure the number of steps per group are the same all the way down the hall. Three wide stripes can equal five steps, and a break in that pattern will annoy me, even if only for a moment. Anxiety is at its heart.
This used to cause me all sorts of trouble in school. How could I be expected to pay attention to the teacher when she just put up a new cardboard cutout balloon display and I had to find the center balloon, then group and number balloons by color (to determine which color won), etc. etc. I barely passed high school.
It’s exhausting, time consuming, non-productive. One of the many ways my mind deals with anxiety. Let’s hope I can find enough peace in 2024 that I don’t start, you know, counting the hairs on my arms. Or the beats of my heart. Cuz if that happens, I’ll never make it off the couch.
Amy
One, the GOP
Screaming about baby killers and abortion
Screaming about how white people should be in charge/white erasure
Screaming about Second Amendment rights and the NRA
Screaming about drag queens at libraries/which books to ban/trans women in sports/trans pp in general
Next door, the Dems
Screaming about baby killers and the NRA
Screaming for diversity and social/racial justice
Screaming about how First Amendment rights should not not cover hate speech
Screaming about banned books in libraries
BOTH have sarcastic, insulting rhetoric (but their side is right, of course)
Both have media outlets devoted to their side
Neither want to hear what THEY think in the other room
Swearing, condemning… never listening to anyone next door
But who would be heard, anyway? Everyone is screaming.
(c) 2023 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil, for my friends at What’s Going On?
We were asked to write about how life is going on in your neck of the woods. Just last week, we moved to the rural city of Platteville, WI (a university town, smaller than Madison), Lex was called as a pastor to a UCC church here. I was invited to a political meeting, and the enthusiasm there reminded me of the equal passion of GOP voters. Now, no one was screaming! It was friendly, at times a little rowdy in the best way… but needless to say, anyone in a MAGA hat would have walked in and walked back out again. I took it a step further when I thought about larger rallies, the rhetoric, and the basic ethos of both sides of the aisle, with a miles-wide ditch dug in between. And a moat. Possibly with dragons. Anyway, you get the idea. GUARD YOUR HEARTS this election season. Last time around, 45 ate my brain – and had a side dish of my very soul. And I put it out on the buffet for him. He didn’t feel my frustration; only I did, and to the detriment of creativity and all things healthy. Fool me once, shame on him. Fool me twice, well, not if I can help it.
THE STORM BEFORE THE CALM
Going on ten p.m.
Ready to relax… reflect… boot down
Don’t forget tomorrow’s appointment,
which means:
Get up early (but I won’t sleep)
Take a shower (so I don’t reek)
But first, tonight, I must
clean up kitchen mess from dinner:
Meats, sweets, culinary treats
Counter’s a bloodbath of
beet juice, nibs, rice shards
Now to bed – first, cat fed
Now to bed – wait, take med
Now to bed – oops, brush teeth
Now to bed – shit, no sheets!
Now to bed – yoga first
(muscles stretch and tension burst)
NOW to bed – meditation
Plug in phone, pull up station
Guarantees a good night’s sleep
(takes two hours and three repeats)
Soothing voices, never boring
Long night’s journey into snoring
© 2016 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For ABC Wednesday, K is for kerfuffle.
We (I and my bipolar) are currently in manic phase. I downloaded the free “Insight Timer” phone app, and they have everything from soothing music to calm voices talking me through various relaxations. Anyone with insomnia, GET THIS APP!
Unfortunately, when the manic is in sway, I can get through the whole thing with my body buzzingly relaxed and happy, but my mind is still running circles and twisting about. So yeah… my therapist says I may have ADD, but frankly, the bipolar, PTSD, and OCD are quite enough, thank you. Amy
DISSOCIATION
They say I have brain imbalance
I say I have special talents
When attention starts to wander,
what I see, I never squander
Though it seems I’ve gone away
when my glassy eyes hold sway,
I’m right here! Yet, for a minute,
seems like hours I’ve spent within it
Parallel to conscious thought,
there lies treasure – can’t be bought
Worlds of wonder close at hand
when I stray to Neverland
They call it ‘dissociation’
I call it a free vacation
© 2016 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For Imaginary Garden With Real Toads’ Tuesday Platform.
My therapist noticed – Lex, too – that I sometimes drift off. I call it, “over there,” just to the right of my conscious being. This was a hallmark of my school years, and it’s probably why I graduated by the skin of my teeth. Now I can enjoy it, because I know what it is and no longer fear it. Don’t worry – I never do it while driving! Peace, Amy
Acrylic on canvas, 9×12 by Amy Barlow (Liberatore)
Determined Swimmer
She’s good in water
A determined swimmer
An athlete going for the gold
With each stroke, determination grows
Hope flows with coursing blood
(a flash of daddy’s face)
Swimming for her life
or because of it
Because water will wash away
traces of THAT
Wash her clean of past, passed
(what happened, over and over again)
Almost there
Air collapsing from her lungs outward
The sea, an effervescent bubble mass
of inside, now outside
(he’s dead yet alive, too alive and too strong)
The picture fades from view
Her eyes shine in a wide-awake stare
A limp doll sleeping
on solid ground
at last
© 2015 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
The painting says it all, if you understand her determination. I have felt like this, too many times. May all who have been abused find peace… peace that does not need this kind of plunge. Amy
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
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
Ginger and the Need
She shambles by in vin-
tage thrift store pin-
stripe threadbare and win-
some smile, rootless, adrift
She spots me, grin-
ning at me with an in-
the-know winkish bin-
there-dived that, too. We kin-
dle fragile friendship, cin-
namon stick in cocoa, fin-
ishing each other’s thought, in-
tuitive, this girl, and worth more.
I have meds, in-
temse therapy; she sin-
cerely deserves same. I win-
ce at her need because din-
ner, doctor, care are in-
trinsic parts of my day. Fin-
ish this sentence: “Homeless Gin-
ger deserves less because ______.”
© 2013 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
We know that many homeless Americans are in dire need of solid therapy and usually some psychiatric care as well. This girl is detached in an odd way – she smells, but not for lack of a bathtub; she’s comfortable in her own aroma soup. She’s off the wall, but no more than I used to be before I got help. She’s homeless and does the dumpster dive; we have that in common from my Bad Old Days. She is a fascinating human being who deserves better. The missing piece of this puzzle? Health care for all Americans.
Hats off to De Jackson, AKA Whimsy Gizmo, for the hyphenated fractious quality. De’s freedom with punctuation and wordplay astonishes me, and I know she will not mind my “borrowing” a device from her toolbox. Check her out – click on her name.
Written for the puzzle prompt at dverse, and thank goodness Mr. Linky is still open! Also in the margins at Imaginary Garden With Real Toads and in the Poetry Pantry at Poets United.
Please join with me in engaging the homeless when you have a spare hour. You’ll know whether or not there is a threatening vibe, trust me. There is no sin in stopping the relationship at taking them to lunch and simply listening for an hour… sometimes, that hour is their diamond in an otherwise suck week, and you will be doing a mitzvah.
Peace, Amy
CINQUAINS FOR dverse FORM FOR ALL
STORMY WEATHER
Cloudy
Chance of teardrops
Possibility of thunder
Hurricanes in season these days
Mood swings
MAGIC MAN
Vision
No magician
Healed the sick; fed the poor
If we follow in his footsteps
Peace reigns
© 2013 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Tony at dverse presented the weekly “form for all.” I had written some a long while back for Real Toads, but Tony’s explanation of the guidelines – to write with intention; to place meaningful words at the end of a line, rather than a transitional word or hyphenation that makes the 2-4-6-8-2 syllable scheme add up mathematically… these helped me develop a new appreciation of the Cinquain. I hope my poems reflect his guidance!
These will also pop up in the scrolling poetry jam at Poets United, where I always try to be in my best “form.”
Also, today (March 14) would have been the 90th birthday of my mother, Charlotte. I miss her so.
Peace, Amy
Sharp Little Pencil 