Not Me – Never Again
The Good Time Who Was Had By All
at party-throwers’ beck and call
Not me – never again
Dancing on tables, shakin’ my portion
with ear-bleeder bands of ragged distortion
Not me – never again
Sleeping benches, nodding on curbs
Under the thrall of questionable herbs
Not me – never again
Feeling as though this was all life could give:
To be a leftover while others could live.
Not me – never again.
By sin, once, almost swallowed whole;
With God’s sure help I found my soul
When sirens sing and whims cajole
I steel myself, embrace my goal:
Not me – never again
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For ABC Wednesday, brought to you by the letter “N”; also, my poetic touchstone, Poets United.
Posted by Sharp Little Pencil in Uncategorized Tags: ABC Weds., Amy: The Lost Years, drugs, Free Verse, mental health, Pain, Partying, POETRY, Poets United
Three Word Wednesday gave us these words: Cherish, Guarantee… and Nausea. Hmmmm. Amy
ABSINTHE
And after the sumptuous Creole meal, our host
revealed the piece de resistance.
Carefully inserting a skeleton key
into an antique burlwood cabinet,
he extracted a cherished treasure:
His smuggled bottle of Absinthe.
“Plan to stay awhile,” he murmured.
“This is guaranteed to take you
directly to the Source.”
A row of glasses topped with slotted spoons;
a cube of sugar atop each spoon.
He poured through the sugar cubes
slowly, lovingly – as one would bring forth
nectar from the gods.
Green liquid swirled; we held it up to the firelight,
our personal tickets to the Emerald City.
Conversation slowed.
Speech slurred,
then stopped.
In our mutual stupor, we awaited the Divine.
And waited. Then waited some more.
Still, no inspiration, no introspection,
no insights. We stared at one another, then at our host.
Vague notions of Interview With The Vampire flickered,
then faded.
My one and only encounter with Absinthe ended a bust.
And in the morning, a touch of nausea.
Perhaps in the future, I mused, I’ll stick to ‘shrooms.
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Also at my poetic oasis, Poets United!
Posted by Sharp Little Pencil in Uncategorized Tags: Absinthe, Amy: The Lost Years, Drinking, drugs, Free Verse, Partying, POETRY, Soul, Three Word Weds.
Laundromat
Wasted the night before,
I’d screwed the chance
to do my dirty laundry.
Doobie ashes on the floor
Discretion cracked open,
my values in a quandary.
“Don’t do strangers,”
was always my creed,
but he’d been on my couch
‘cause he possessed dangers
highlighting my need…
Granite jaw, killer slouch.
Now, in desperation,
I’m at the Rinse ‘n’ Spin
‘til cleansed, my clothes are done.
Cheap soil eradication
but it won’t remove sin…
A revolution! Fridays are fun!
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For the Sunday Whirl, with thanks to Brenda; Wordle words are in bold. THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. Strangers were never in my romantic repertoire! Amy
Posted by Sharp Little Pencil in Amy: The Lost Years Tags: Amy: The Lost Years, Bad Girls, Danger, Laundromat, Marijuana, Partying, Procrastination, Prompts, Romance, Strangers, Sunday Whirl
Christopher Street
(for Jeffery, Jimmy, and thousands more)
Remember the good old days when
the word “immune” didn’t start with “auto”?
When a wine stain was something
he hand-washed off his shirt?
When, drenched with sweat,
two men would lie in bed all day,
not because they were sick…
they were just lolling in love.
Stonewall came and Gay Pride grew
‘til the storm clouds massed and
lightning struck down too many men
in the prime of their lives.
Christopher Street no longer radiates
the joy we knew back then, nor does
the Village hold the singular charm of
young gay lovers stealing a kiss.
Who would have thought a virus could
change our world in such a visceral way,
and never return us to yesterday?
Look back, remember, smile, cry, and trudge on.
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For Three Word Wednesday – Drench, Immune, Radiate. Also on Poets United… Pray for a cure! Amy
Posted by Sharp Little Pencil in LGBTQ Tags: Free Verse, Gay Men, Greenwich Village, Health Care, HIV/AIDS, LGBTQ, Partying, Poets United, Romance, Three Word Weds.
My friend Leslie used to have stilettos she called her “rat-stabbin’ heels.” The phrase stuck with me after 30 years! This is fiction about some very good times in some very bad places, making terrible choices, and Riley if you are reading this, don’t listen to a word of it, because NONE of it is true. But just in case it’s true and I don’t remember, I’m tagging under “Amy: The Lost Years”! For the new blog, dverse, as well as Poets United, both of which you MUST check out. Amy
Rat-Stabbin’ Heels
Slip, trip, get a grip
Wait – fate, caught on the grate
in my rat-stabbing heels
Pub, club, feel the rub
Dance, prance, get some romance
in my rat-stabbin’ heels
Girls, pearls, out for whirls
Grind, blind, unrefined
in my rat-stabbin’ heels
Stairs, chairs, got no cares
Blues, booze, I’m the news
in my rat-stabbin’ heels
My fly: Martini, dry
Noise, boys, they’re my toys
in my rat-stabbin’ heels
(Next day, hell to pay
‘Scara ruined, all raccooned
Wha’happened to my heels?)
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Posted by Sharp Little Pencil in Uncategorized Tags: Amy: The Lost Years, Bad Girls, Drinking, High Heels, Night Life, Partying, Uncategorized
Sharp Little Pencil 