Amy Barlow Liberatore… stories of lost years, wild times, mental variety, faith, and lots of jazz

Tag Archives: Plants

Attention!  I did an OOPS!  Forgot to mention that this poem also appeared on the venerable blog, ABC Wednesday.  Thanks to Roger Green for pointing it out, and do follow the link over there to read dozens of posts – poetry, photography, family histories… anything about the letter “B.”  Thanks, Amy
What do you say we take a day off from political rhetoric, especially from cracker Jacks packin’ their pistols in compensation (read yesterday’s comments if you doubt me!). Kim Nelson at Poets United said today, “A good poem feels vivid and visceral and close to the source.” She then challenged us to get close to the source, using flourishes of color and other details to help the poem bloom.

She also suggests we offer one another constructive ideas about how to dig even deeper for that detail, so I look forward to your comments! This is also on the borders of Imaginary Garden With Real Toads. Peace, Amy

Garden Bloomers and Bloopers

Hand in grimy glove, the garden game
Where woman meets Underground and
spies Resistance at every turn

On high, Frying Pan in the Sky flew off
(vacationing in Bermuda, warming
pink coral-shell sand, toasting tourists)

My sandals, cool blue cruisers, propel me
out the screen door (Squeak! It begs,
“Oil me, tend to me, love me too!”)

Horticultural not my forte; rather, my
pianissimo, yet with practice and practical advice,
I’m pure shovel, old wooden rake… and hoe.

A little brown Slimy slithers out to greet me,
kneads dense soil with time-honored intentions,
necessary cog in the nature machine of green

Rousting Brown-Eyed Susans, wilted into
Bruised-Eyed Brown Twigs; they’re sentenced
to the pile “where the worm never dies”

New, preening yellow slim thingamajigs
move into Susan’s former digs. I dig ’em.
Sprinkle ‘em. The rest sinks beneath my control

© 2013 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil

Passion for Stinkin’ Plants That Will Die Anyway

84 degrees in the shade and I
drag my tooth-just-extracted self
to the garden store so all the
folks at church will see that
I am really making an effort
on the parsonage to… why
am I here? Oh, yeah, to buy plants

One purple, something pink, posy, daisy,
varietals, variegated, annuals, manually
cartsweatpushed to checkout

Then to the smoldering car
Four windows down and still
sweat pours through cleavage
pooling in my belly button

Home, quick, dig, plant, hose
A real Choo-Choo-Charlie effort
or is it “I think I can…?”
I start stripping at the door,
long line of socks, shorts,
shirt, until
(still in underwear)
I drench clenching teeth
in cold water shower.

Was it all a mirage?
No, merely stupidity

© 2013 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil

Fireblossom at Imaginary Garden With Real Toads wanted our passions. Well, the point behind this was more like Protestant guilt to try and “homey up” our new pastoral residence, but hey, the passion is what you make of it! Amy