At We Write Poems, a prompt went out: Write a poem about writing a poem. You never know when or where the inspiration will strike. I’ve long since given up on sitting down and deciding to produce something… and yet, the more I write, the more I want to write!
This poem is also posted at Writer’s Island, where I’m posting daily for National Poetry Writing Month. Amy
Prelude to a Poem
Teapot screams meeeeeEEEEEEEE
demanding attention
Drip of the French Press into the mug
Pressing grounds through as
ground falls from under my feet
taking me back to that cafe in the Village where…
Drifting with the breeze down State Street
Lots of UW students hang and hacky-sack here
Whole lives ahead of them
One potent whiff of a fattie gives me
a contact high and suddenly I’m on Venice Beach…
We march in solidarity with unions at
Madison’s Capitol Dome
The golden statue atop is called Miss Forward
The governor inside is called Mister Backward
My anger at injustice boils inside my gut
I plop down on the pavement and start to
scribble on the back of my sign…
Startled awake, sweating, full-body tremble
recalling those nights when
a little girl was tucked in tight until
HE decided it was her turn
I switch on the light – it’s NOW, dammit, not THEN!
I pick up a pen…
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Johann Ink and I were comparing notes on psychiatry today; much of this poem is derived directly from our three-hour conversation. Johann is a budding poet; we are both what is genially called in our society, “mental health consumers” (in other words, we’re both nuckin’ futs!). If you’ve never had the joy, the incredible honor, of being granted a meeting with a real live board-certified psychiatrist… consider yourself fortunate! Amy
(PS This poem also appears at Writer’s Island for NaPoWriMo 12.)
New Shrink Rap
(from a conversation with Johann Ink)
I’m checking in with my new shrink
society having granted me leave
from my sleeve-silky cubicle (AKA “acting normal”)
Now I sit in a leather chair so large
my feet dangle like Edith Ann
Doc is regally ensconced behind
an impressive antique desk
Drawers full of free pens from drug reps
Myriad diplomas staring me down
and sneering, “We’re smarter than you”
He’s new, at least to me, and eager
to change what my last psychiatrist did
He’s ready to rearrange my brain plane
because he has sample of a new drug
(They tested it on lab rats, so, hey, it must of OK for me)
I state flatly, “I want to maintain my current regimen”
He stiffens, doesn’t care to listen even thoug
I’ve been to the brink and back
(while he’s just read about it a whole lot)
Experience vs. experiments: The Great Battle of Which
“Man,” I itch to say,
“if you want to pimp for Big Pharma,
why not go all the way? Get yourself a solid gold chain
and maybe a diamond in your front tooth…
or don’t monster tires and hydraulics work on a Corvette?”
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
My second April “Poem A Day,” which I am posting at Writer’s Island as well as here. Check out more poets at the Island and at Poetic Asides, which offers a prompt a day as well. Sitting in a cafe, trying to balance our checkbook (and only off by a couple thousand dollars right now…), this came to me. And thus, the clicking on the keys stopped and the lovely, organic scritch-scratch of pencil on paper began… Amy
The Revolving Balance
Balancing finances, fell off wire
Landed in mesh, entwined in string
as random numbers bounced about the calculator
Makes no sense, these dollars
Balancing meds, try not to trip
by “missing” highs and skipping dosages
or using other yummies to alter mood
My hold on the pole determines my dynamics
Balancing “mad at government” with happy home
Guilt over our plenty, while others starve
Well, radiation got to the Midwest – we’re sharing that a bit
It snowed yesterday. He said, “Look, honey, nuclear winter.”
I have to laugh at depressing thoughts to keep my balance
despite the fact the Gilbert Gottfried tweets tastelessly
despite our struggle to bolster union and human rights
despite Japan, Katrina, the Gulf, the war, and rumors of more
Balance is a gift from God bestowed through vessels:
Doctors, friends, therapists
my church family, my FAMILY family,
and by patience in the process of breathing… of being
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For April Poem A Day, I have decided to post to Writer’s Island and to go off prompts for the month, for the most part, and delve into poetry I’ve written over the past couple of years that has yet to see the light of day.
The Man Who Became An Island
Withholding his thoughts;
withdrawing day by day, floating away toward the sea
She stood by, calling him back away from shore,
back to this world,
the real world.
But he was “expanding from within,”
convinced that no one else could comprehend
his power, his vision, his wisdom.
“You are all ants,” he proclaimed,
“scurrying around a hill, dragging crumbs,
while I am destined for a higher purpose.”
He pulled in every corner of his being and
drew it around him into a cocoon of bizarre grandeur.
An island.
And later, as psychosis grabbed him by the throat,
a whole ‘nother planet.
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
At Carry On Tuesday, they got us started with a line from an ABBA song: “I saw it in the mirror/I saw it in my face…”
A different take, probably, but the up side of depression is that you see yourself in different ways on different days. This morning, my mirror offered me what follows. Tomorrow I’ll be 23 at heart again, I hope! Amy
In The Mirror
I saw it
In the mirror, I saw it
In my face, the lines
small nicks around my lips
the ditch between my brows
just south of silver streaks
I saw it
In the mirror, I saw it
In my face, the years I
have traveled struggled ached limped through
now etched and spray painted
in my face, on my head
I saw it
In the mirror, I saw it
On my body, the sags
the planes once firm
the skin once smooth
now giving way to time
I saw it
In the mirror, I saw it
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
ABC Wednesday, brought to you by the letter “J.” True story, but didn’t happen until this past Thursday… and then Lex had two days off, so we frolicked in the temperate Madison sunshine. After the tumult worldwide (and the homegrown union-busting in the US), I thought a little chuckle was in order. Amy
Just One Morning
Joe, the church secretary,
must journey to NYC to
justify his (jeez, I don’t know,
a dissertation or some such jazz)
Jolly ol’ me jumps in; Joe shows me the job.
Piece of cake – I’d jumped these hoops before
as a journey(wo)man administrative assistant
(or as we joked, Admin Ass).
Day of jamboree: paper jam,
juggling jangling phones,
jelly-side down sandwich
on the just-laid carpet.
Jupiter’s rings spin round my jugular
(nerves – blood racing, a Jaguar on the 1-90).
Then seasonal allergies
roll jujube junk out my nose
Jehovah is nonetheless pleased:
I jumped and jimmied
despite the jinx and goop –
but I didn’t invoke Jesus’ name once!
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
At Three Word Wednesday, the prompts were: Dainty, Haunting, and Tantalize. Took me days to get to this place… and not one I relish being in. But some things must be said. Amy
Desserts (3WW: Dainty, Haunting, Tantalize)
Petit fours, marzipan
Dainty cupcakes set
in a tantalizing row
each night for his consumption
Little girls on display
Sleeping delights to his watchful eye
This patisserie from Hell
is haunting me still
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
At Writer’s Island, the prompt was, “Secret.” Something I know a little about… Amy
Bound
Bound-up little girl
heavy with secrets
she never understood
or could quite remember.
Faint whispers in
darkened rooms.
Shamed feelings.
Questions without answers
danced in her mind
in recesses, shadows.
When her truth
was at last unveiled
and then conquered
the psychic straps
that held her captive
were loosed,
and she unfolded slowly.
A Japanese fan
expanding, revealing
dizzying glorious colors
for the world to see.
“Here I am,” says she.
“Unbound.”
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
We are moving from the Buffalo area to Wisconsin, as Lex has been called to a new church. Lake Edge UCC offers Lex new challenges, and the Madison area is alive with cultural possibilities. Only sad part, leaving St. Paul’s UCC, Lex’s first church, and Attica friends who have become family to us… Peace, Amy
MOVING
All day I lay paralyzed
Panic-stricken by the massive undertaking
of a major move
The task is like a ton of marble
meant to be chiseled
reshaped into shippable form
The more I chip away
the farther the flotsam flies
Last chance to cherish tsotchke before unpacking again
Now the room is a frenzy of
forgotten details, floating memories
Taunting bytes of mislaid input
Cable movers – nail down days
Valium for the cat, pet-friendly motels
Electric stop here electric start there
Change car rental ALL insurance
Ensuring my mental collapse, or at least
a surging synapse
Graph paper at the ready, grid lines map
our new home – orderly oragami
I’m so anal it’s damned convenient for the movers
Around 4 pm I am clueless in clutter
cup of decaf by my side and
comforting cat on my lap
Then a skitch of that endless marble flicks my face
Embedding itself in my ear, burrowing
into my brain. The cycle begins again
And who the hell moves from snowy cold Buffalo
to blizzard-ridden frigid Wisconsin
And in mid-January, yet?
I’m blaming God, who is laughing Her butt off in Heaven
After all, She issued Lex’s call to ministry, and now She chortles,
“I’ll get you, my pretty… and your little cat, too!”
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
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