Music in Mind… Thanks to My Fan
Flip on a fan
and in its breeze
vague Beach Boys harmonies
No lyrics, simply voices
floating through my mind
Open a window
and birdsong reigns
with backup vocals
from faraway sirens
in my stream of consciousness
Is it the meds?
Hallucinations?
No worries here; they are
benevolent offspring of
my inner sanctum of melody
Don’t switch off that fan, honey
It’s singing my song…
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For ABC Wednesday, brought to you by the letter “F” – and as always, at my harmonic hangout, Poets United. Peace, Amy
Real Women
Real women have curves
nerves of tempered steel
Watching promotions
granted to men of
lesser talent,
their hearts stolen by
lesser loves
until…
Real women revel in truth,
revive opinions stifled
again and again,
say their piece and
back it up with actions.
Some women shape the future
by giving the world
the next wild, willful
generation of humanity,
nurturing and guiding.
Others act as guides,
spiritual doulas,
friends who also nurture
the character of those children.
The Aunties Extraordinaire.
Real women love.
We love to love.
To make love, to share body and soul.
Even when swallowed by self-doubt,
surfacing with the pliable beauty
of sirens,
assured,
assuring,
ascendant.
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Photo from History Central, archival shot of the inimitable Mae West, who once said, “No man ever loved me like I love myself.”
For dverse Open Mic Night, because real women ROCK!
Next, updating the huge backlog of your comments. But just to assure you that I’m back “for real,” here is a poem. (PS This was updated thanks to my buddy Mike, who caught a typo in the second line. Bravo for second pairs of eyes!)
I always told Riley, “Just because you’re my only child doesn’t mean you owe me grandchildren, like some sort of karmic payback. And when it’s time to take away my car keys, you have my permission NOW, while I’m still together… same thing with putting me in assisted living or a nursing home. Only one caveat on that…”
Retirement Plan
(For my daughter, with love and zero guilt!)
When I grow too slow for races
Should I live to be quite dull
And my conversation brings a yawn
And my wheelchair you must pull
Waste no time on guilt, my dear
You have complete permission
To send me to a nursing home
I’ve only one provision:
First send me on a cruise ship
To see Alaska’s shore
I’ll slip, unnoticed, overboard
And be a mermaid once more
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Sharp Little Pencil 