So sick yesterday I didn’t post. Now THAT’S illness at its worst!
Today, I pay tribute to that nesting place of computer-surfing, caffeine-addicted folks everywhere. Me, I prefer local bean, but lots of people love the taste of burnt coffee… perhaps the laptops distract them from the taste? (Ok, if you are a confirmed Starbucker, I won’t go all WalMart on your ass, I promise!!) Amy
Laptopia (Ode to Starbuck’s, haiku)
Baristas, big lungs:
CARAMEL LATTE EXTRA
FOAM SKINNY UP HERE
Ladies who lunch ne’er
linger long here; they prefer
linen and light fare
Day trading greedy
lucre lizards, looking for
elusive landslides
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Still following National Poetry Writing Month at Writer’s Island. Stumbled upon a prompt at Sunday Scribblings, “Design.” You can find this one at Poets United as well, along with many other poets.
Please feel free to comment with critiques if you wish – I really appreciate feedback. Thanks! Amy
Labyrinth
Delicate veins of climbing ivy
Creeping clematis and morning glory shaping
a heavenly, fenced-in fortress turned playground
“Come inside,” they whisper, voices of children.
“Linger awhile. You’re safe here.”
Yes, she thinks. I’ll stay in this haven
until I can make sense of things.
Safe from prying parents who
“only want to help you, honey…”
Yes, I’ll make myself scarce for a brief time-out.
Life is too confusing and no one understands.
Sounds easy, tempting, perhaps, to
hide in a high, wide, heather-rowed hedge
while hedging your bets.
Tracing paths within, flowers begin to
drop from their vines and rot
on the well-trodden, muddy path beneath.
The whispers have turned from beckoning sprites
to taunting, shrill fishwives.
She panics. Where am I now? And why are the voices
now vexing me with matters that do not concern them?
They speak of my secrets and shame and…
Soon time and the complexity of the maze
have overrun thoughts of escape, as isolation
becomes complete… an utter lack of options.
Vines twist around her neck, muting cries for help;
thorns pierce her flesh as morbid curiosity
secures another victim for The Labyrinth.
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
At ABC Wednesday, we’re still on the letter “M.” Also, as always, posting to Writer’s Island, so bop over to both sites and see what other poets are doing! Peace during this holy week, Amy
Mmmmmmmms
Snuggling as we watch the sunset together from the patio
Hoisting a Wisconsin ale with new friends
The crumbly crunch of fresh shortbread
A quick call to my best friend that turns in to two hours of
trying to right the wrongs of the world (while taking time to
trash Joan Rivers’ new show)
Occupying small space in a roomy chair,
scribbling poetry as I ponder life oozing by on State Street
My first bite of Barb’s Angel Cake
How the wick crackles when first I touch match to candle and
knowing the sweet mysteries that will unfold when he
sneaks into the room
So many moments that make me say,
“Mmmmmm, life is good”
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
ABC Wednesday had us up to the letter “M,” while Three Word Wednesday‘s words were: Evident, Illusion, and Tragic. Here is an example of why we must always remember to tell our girls they are worthy and wonderful – and our boys, too. Amy
Megan’s Mind
Her illusion was her reality
That they stared at her in school
That every zit was a tragic flaw
That her muffin-top was the subject of gossip
She had never been kissed (not even at summer camp)
Mirrors served as evidence, judge, and jury:
She was a blight, a sight unworthy of the world
But she had no real friend to share the verdict with
The school was abuzz Monday morning
Why did Megan hang herself Saturday night?
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Someone mentioned a challenge to write a weird poem. Now’s your chance to see what free-form thoughts ping-pong about in my mind, directly onto the keyboard. Yeah, I know, don’t forget your meds, Amy!
You Said It
If I had to choose a pickle
I’d take one from the right.
The left one too squidgy
The other one so tight.
And for my pleasure, whistle
the tune from “Auld Lang Syne.”
It’s sad lugubrious and nice
for crying in your brine.
A walk to watch the fat cats
crony at private points
as lizards crawl up pantlegs
and weasels gnaw their joints.
My hair is tightly binding
my scalp onto my head.
My thoughts are finely scattered
but my pencil’s out of lead.
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For NaPoWriMo, I took up the Poetic Asides prompt, “Don’t ____ _____,” in which we are to fill in the blanks. So many well-intentioned folks unwittingly forward viruses by forwarding messages. My pet peeve is chain letters: They often come with the assurance that “God wants us to live abundantly,” (as though God’s abundance has anything thing to do with filthy lucre) and then tell you that you MUST forward to 128 people in the next 3 seconds and your ‘money wish’ will come true. Yeah, God’s all about the money, guys. That’s why Jesus lived in a diamond-encrusted palace! Amy
Don’t Forward Emails
Please
I’m begging you
No more kitten and kitten and cute kitten and cuter kitten pix
No more e-cards with prancing bears
For the love of God
No more Rick Warren quotes
No more assurances of God’s love (as if I don’t know that already)
No more “Obama is Muslim” warnings
For the sake of my sanity
No more chain letters threatening an outbreak
of bubonic plague if I don’t forward it to 12 friends
No more Chicken Soup
Please
I’m on my knees
When next you a forward a forward
Skip me. There, I’ve implored.
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
ABC Wednesday, brought to you by the letter “L.” I could have declare my last posting, a limerick, as my “L,” but today they are counting votes in Wisconsin and I haven’t gotten in trouble for voicing my polarizing views on political morality (oxymoron, I know) in almost a week. So get ready, here it comes, from the cranky menopausal mom…! Amy
Loud, Lecherous Legislators
Family Values legislators jump through hoops
to prove they love Jesus, America, and “traditional marriage”
(not necessarily in that order)
Problem is, their hero is Newt Gingrich
who has been married three times
who left his first wife while she was in cancer treatment
who the Bible says is a fornicator, since he re-married
with this ex-wife still alive.
(Maybe Mitt gets a pass on his three marriages because he’s Mormon?
Except they don’t condone divorce, so is he really Mormon now?
Lord, this gets confusing, using the Bible as a salad bar.)
Family Values should be about loving families
but for these louts, the family must be straight
and have two parents of opposite gender
and produce children (so infertile people must not count)
and not rely on any public assistance
(even as their corporate masters take massive tax breaks,
sucking on the public teat like it’s a Dairy Queen)
Family Values lackeys are also homophobes
The louder they scream how they don’t believe
in “Adam and Steve,” the more often
get caught on the Down Low, their lover
ensconced in a cozy nest (charged to taxpayers)
or sliding a loafer under the men’s room stall
“It slipped.” (No, you slipped, sir)
Lest I be taken as a “lying Liberal,” I admit:
The Left does it too, in spades
We know most of them screw around
I mean, look at Bill Clinton
The difference is, they live and let live
They don’t tell us how to pursue love
or where, or when, or how many times
or with whom
So when you hear from “Family Values” candidates, remember
their values are flawed and loose
and their families often vamoose
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Three Word Wednesday, one of my regular stops, inspired me to follow a prompt for Day 6 of National Poetry Writing Month. The words were: Adamant, Fabricate, and Peculiar. Hope no one beat me to the bad pun that follows. Thanks to RJ Clarken and Madeleine Begun Kane for keeping my limerick funny bone intact!
All In A Name
Punk rock became famous for rocking rant
For Vicious and Rotten the punks did pant
They needed for fame
a peculiar name;
Stu Goddard fabricated his: Adam Ant
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
NaPoWriMo 6, 3WW, blog
No prompts today… just some thoughts. Hope they help you find your “safe place.” Amy
Island Dweller
When the dentist’s drill begins shrill keening
in my latest in a series of root canals
When the physical therapist says, “This
might hurt a little”
When the Red Cross phlebotomist
tries to mine my blood, missing the vein
or my legs are in stirrups, awaiting
the pinch of the Pap
I go to my island
The passport is breath
often deeeeeep breath
and I though I am prone
it’s on a bed of warm sand
Relaxed by water lapping my toes
on the shore of an endless beach
Every breath is music
Every moment is relief
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Sharp Little Pencil 