Of Love and More
First love lost; ‘twas not worth keeping
(or it’s cheap red wine a-speaking)
Then came city boys who gave
me lessons: How To Misbehave
(Married, briefly
Much grief, chiefly)
Then I found a righteous man
Values, charm; he had a plan
Liked my daughter, and loved me
She saw “dad,” I saw me
Going for another marriage
Diff’rent style; no horse-drawn carriage
Love was true that second time
Faithful, solid, and sublime
Now I know what life has taught:
Love is cheap when cheaply sought
© 2013 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Kerry O’Connor at Imaginary Garden With Read Toads was celebrating the August birthday of poet Sara Teasdale. Reading Teasdale at first seems dated; but, like many poets, she has wisdom in those couplets and free-form writes. I read some of her poetry, per the prompt, and was inspired to tell the story of my rough-and-tumble path to Lex.
Also in the margins at my poetic love nest, Poets United! Peace (and real love), Amy
Changes
Mail call, salvation in the field
Look, another book from my aunt
Shit. More poetry
and I thought I asked her to
send me dirty magazines
like she used to for my uncle
She says that was another time
Another place
Another war
Sandburg, is this guy Jewish?
Whatever, I’ll take a look
Bunch of stuff about Chicago
and I’ve never even been there
Whatever
A phrase catches my eye
“A Million Young Work Men”
First, I thought it would be like
A Million Elvis Fans Can’t Be Wrong
but I was wrong and now
I wish I’d never read it
Shit about dead young men from
two sides of a war and all of them
cold underground, slaughtered each other
for no reason at all except to make
their leaders fat and happy and rich
And then this poet, Sandburg
dreams of their bloodgutted ghosts
They all rise up out of graves and scream
Damn the czar and Damn the Kaiser
(I thought that was a roll, whatever)
But that was another time
Another place
Another war
We’re not in this because anyone
is gonna make money or score points
We’re in this because we are patriots
and we’re gonna teach these muzzlims
democracy, even if it kills us
© 2013 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Fireblossom’s prompt at Imaginary Garden With Real Toads is tricky today: Find a poem you love, then write a poem about that one, first person, third person, fiction or real, anything goes. Hers, about a man reading Byron to a young woman, seducing her with the words of a long-gone poet, really hit home. Read it HERE, it’s terrific. This is also “in the margins” at Poets United.
I love Sandburg in all his incarnations, especially his Chicago poems, because he deals with social justice in layspeak. Never talking above the reader, his words are carefully chosen and deceptively ordinary; yet, the power of his convictions is clear. I wrote this as an aunt trying to connect with a nephew serving in Afghanistan. His through brainwashing makes it clear: The Powers That Be have won… again.
Thanks for reading, and peace, Amy
Dig In
Dig in, both hands, deep, deeper
Packed clay soil meets tenacious space
and gloved pincers, break it all down
to accept gentle roots of Gerbers
Pink, Orange… a splattergasm of color
Heat beats down; the race is on
Toiling Angla in 3-digit sunscreen vs.
ungodly hot-air soup
Inside, peeling the layers of me
Step into cold shower
Ice fire, tingling triumph
Good work; better remedy
© 2013 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Poets United: Kim Nelson asked us to “tap the water table,” literally or metaphorically. Believe me when I say this garden, planted in the middle of July, was hard-won labor but worth every drop of sweat! Also at my literal garden, Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, in the margins (near the fence!). Peace, Amy
Dentists and Origami
Dentists cling to
ass-slinging phrases:
“Only $3,000,” and
“We prefer implants,” or
“It’s easy, and it’s only $2,700!”
You are entering a world of pain,
paralyzed in their sterile chair,
these hair-raising inestimable estimates
tossed off like freshly folded
origami vampire bats
circling the cubicle,
jugular-bound to bleed you dry
Count the scales on
his alligator shoes
Take notes, the personal pix
of Peruvian vacation with
family, a long row of
perfect pearlies
The iron-clad irony:
We pay,
they play
© 2013 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Isadora at Imaginary Garden With Real Toads asked us to use one of our favorite movie lines in a poem… Just saw “The Big Lebowski” for the first time in years, and although it’s irredeemably filled with swearing – haven’t heard that many F words since labor – John Goodman’s line, “You’re entering a world of pain,” seems so appropriate here!
My empty tooth canal is stuffed with clove oil-soaked gauze and it’s still 85 degrees at midnight and I cannot go outside because the humidity is too much for my lungs, like breathing warm pudding. “Other than that, Mrs. Lincoln, how did you find the play?” Amy
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
When you’re done, you MUST check out the wacky prompt that Walt gave us at Poetic Bloomings. It made for one heckuva fun Sunday!
Moody Charlotte
Mom, stuck on a cul de sac
with no car. Had she the fare,
she would have fared well
in Paris – a random thought,
reflecting her need for
dramatic change.
“I’ll take up painting!” she
blurted; Leslie and I nodded.
She burst forth with wacky plans
when moody. Lacking supplies
(Les and I were thinking easel,
paints, canvas, a jaunty beret)
she called two friends before
securing a ride to… an art store?
Chances of her following through
were about even with the chance
of an armadillo successfully crossing
a West Texas highway.
Next day after school…
the danger signs: In the open garage,
large paint cans, brushes dripped
blood onto newspaper, and three
Gordon’s gin empties.
Whatever it was, she was done with it.
High as a kite and just as flighty,
she flittered around her creation.
Charlotte had painted the kitchen walls
tomato red
and the ceiling Vincent Price Black.
Her Waterloo with an indignant
bridge club; members refused to
enter our home on Brookside Avenue…
a cry for help that passed
unanswered.
© 2013 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Walt at Poetic Bloomings had some fun at our expense:
Today, you are given random nudges, the replies to which will become the pieces to your poetic puzzle.
1. Your mother’s first name (Charlotte)
2. A wild animal (armadillo)
3. A city you’ve never visited, but would like to (Paris)
4. A hobby (painting)
5. A mode of transportation (car)
6. Your least favorite vegetable (tomato – don’t even get me started)
7. A “lucky” number (2)
8. Your favorite color (red)
9. Three random words (dramatic, moody, random)
10. Historical event (Waterloo – doubles as an ABBA song)
11. A childhood friend (Leslie Frederick, still a friend even though she moved away in FIFTH GRADE!)
12. The street on which you grew up (Brookside Avenue)
You can write in any form, meter and rhyme scheme. Your title will be the answer to #1 + the second random word in #9.
This also appears at Poets United’s Poetry Pantry and on the sidelines at my “pad,” Imaginary Garden With Real Toads.
NOTE: The story is essentially true, but I altered the timeline to accommodate the poem. This didn’t happen on my watch, but many years before – when Mom’s moods started pingponging like those of her mom, my Grandma Blanche. Charlotte was never diagnosed, but she did pull off stunts like this while on a self-medicated high. The red kitchen with black ceiling? YES, IT WAS TRUE! She later told me, “I don’t know what I was thinking, because that kitchen made me feel claustrophobic. Bud finally repainted it after three days because he couldn’t stand the colors, and he was really scared by then of my moods.”
Charlotte. Mama. Never a dull moment! Peace, Amy
The Couple at the Altar
They stand before the altar
Penitent and sure of their love
Pastor eases them through vows
Rings, unbroken circle of commitment
Pews on the bride’s side are empty
because relatives disapprove
damaging Cathy’s feelings
on her wedding day
Friends move across the aisle
to ease her distress
Her fragile ego soothed
by their kindness
Final moment: Pastor
pronounces them married
They kiss; the congregation
goes wild, whooping, cheering
Cathy and Mariana Smith-Lopez
had to visit Iowa to receive a
legitimate marriage certificate,
but this is the real wedding
Mari’s mom, Aida, smothers Cathy,
“my new daughter-in-law,” con besos.
The four Lopez brothers lift their
new sister aloft, like the World Cup.
They parade her around the hall.
DJ spins Indigo Girls and Regina Spector.
Their first dance, “You Do Something to Me,”
a duet by k.d. lang and Tony Bennett
“Tough luck for Mom and Dad,” whispers
Cathy, “they looooove Tony Bennett!”
Mariana holds her new wife closer
as they snicker and dance on air
© 2013 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Our church is UCC (United Church of Christ), the first mainstream Christian denomination to recognize “same-sex marriage,” although I prefer “marriage equality,” more descriptive of the struggle for civil rights LGBTs and their Allies wage. I’ve been an Ally since age 5! While equal rights for gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender people is not yet recognized in Wisconsin, our church performs blessings for LGBT couples. Ray and Oscar, paz siempre a su casa.
Three Word Wednesday gave us Damaging, Ego, and Legitimate. This is also “in the margins” at my two poetic homes, Imaginary Garden With Real Toads and Poets United. Peace, Amy
Are We Not Meat Puppets?
They say jump
We don’t ask why; we say, “How high?”
They say pay
We don’t question “Evil Axis”; we ante up the taxes
When did we become a numbskull nation of
Stepford meat puppets? Coughing up money to
support the Machine that pukes out bullets and drones,
that rains down death on the defenseless and our kids,
that defends “democracy” like it’s alive and well
in this incestuous hellhole of a republic that should be
called the Citizens United Shambles of Anglophiles.
Now a 200-year old experiment gone horribly wrong
reveals the abysmal truth: We were set up to fail.
Ben Franklin knew it; we blew it according to his
prediction that the predilection of the predator rich
would supplant rights of the “lesser born.”
American royalty (the Bushes, the Kochs, the WalMartons),
bred and more often inbred into simpering, faded Xeroxes
of hypocrisy, invading Congress (or buying a senator or two,
plus a Supreme, a real bargain these days)
They co-opt the middle class covertly
Privatizing public schools
(Susan B. Anthony reels in her grave)
Privatizing health care
(Big Pharma wanks the banks)
Busting unions and demonizing the rank and file
(Mother Jones rattles her bones)
Abusing immigrants
(State of Liberty or Torch Your Ass, Amigo?)
Espousing the Trickle-Down Theory
(Paul Ryan, please pass the toilet paper,
or your budget – they’re the same thing)
Citing voter fraud and discouraging minority voters
(we NEED ID because four cases were proved)
Continuing worst practices in banks
(FDR was a socialist; rich people deserve bonuses)
With help from some bastard pastors who live
in mansions, drive limos (or are driven in same),
who wouldn’t give Jesus a dime or the time of day
if they passed Him on the street (Private police
will handle homeless, and they won’t have any
Big Government oversight in how they handle it)
With help from us, the pathetic apathetic…
they strain our brains and even our mercy through
media propaganda and corporate corpulence
And we fall for it, fall into it, ground up into
walking, talking, FOX-spewing meat puppets
And as Monsanto and their ilk skip off to another
Koch Brothers cruise to the mutilated, prostituted
Caribbean, we say
Have a nice day and
Why doesn’t somebody do something about them and
Kim Kardashian is really getting fat and
Honey Boo-Boo is on, microwave some popcorn and
Wow, this (genetically engineered, dye-infused,
growth hormone-laden, e coli infected) beef is
too expensive, but fire up the grill and pass me
a cold one or two or twelve
Where is our indignation?
Is it American Idol or American Idle,
cause this sure ain’t American Idyll
NRA, FOX, ALEC: know your acronymns and
dismantle their poisonous, licentious, homophobic,
woman-hating, war-profiteering, racist, divisive
shitmongering, unconstitutional, IMMORAL machinery
By any nonviolent means necessary
© 2013 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
So Kerry at Imaginary Garden With Real Toads wanted a rant, in remembrance of Allen Ginsberg’s “Howl.” Since this angry state of mind is so utterly foreign to me, I did my best to act like a political activist and member of the Christian Left. Hope I succeeded. (wink)
Peace, Amy
Milk Shakes and Enemas
Some doctors are too strict about
a pregnant woman’s “dos” and don’ts”
So I went to a good midwife
so didn’t issue “can’ts” or “won’ts”
I kept up with my calcium
the folic acid, fruit treats, too
But when the temp hit 1-0-3
I called her, whining “What to do?
“I’m sweating like a roasted pig
I’ve showered cold three times today
I need the consummate relief…
I need it NOW, without delay!”
“You’re nine months in, due any day
May I suggest, indulge yourself
Choose something cold and make it sweet
Go get the blender off the shelf”
Now Baby kicked up quite the storm,
I took it as an omen good
Some chocolate ice cream, Hershey sauce
The ultra in forbidden food
Plopped by the air conditioner
set on Freeze Off My Toes,
as Baby did the Caffeine Dance
my smile bloomed like a perfect rose
Of course, that night, my water broke
and labor quickly did commence
with my intestines like a brick…
The milk shake, oy! No common sense
Now, enemas are never fun
Less so when huffing through the pain
Were I another babe to bear,
no third-trimester shakes again
© 2013 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
And they all lived happily ever after
(Image from Amy’s private collection, pls. do not duplicate)
Poetic Bloomings wanted a poem about two contrasting things. This was the first “odd couple” to come to mind, and it’s a true story, ugh. The only good thing that came out of that ordeal (I spared you the boomerang Gatorade!) was Riley.
Also linked to my little slice of heaven, Imaginary Garden With Read Toads’ Open Link Monday!
Image by L. Diane Wolfe, used by permission of the artist
Edgy
In the left corner
Invisible
I
maneuver this heady circumference
Rough and jagged as
I
and just as blue
Stepping lightly, lest
I
fall into the bowl
scratching again with nails
bloody from the task
See the marks from
years past
No one else here so
I
continue my inchworming
Whoops! that damned crag
I
hit it last time around
Slipdip and down
I
go, clawing my way to the top
like a silicone starlet
There is no end to this
circumspect circumnavigation
I
am doomed, Sisyphus in ceramic
© 2013 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Imaginary Garden With Real Toads’ Ella interview L. Diane Wolfe, a photographer whose work has been evolving for over 23 years; Ella found her on deviantart.com. Diane graciously offered the Toads some of her pieces to use as inspiration for poetry.
Also “in the margin” at Poets United, my other outlet! Peace, Amy
Sharp Little Pencil 