Our First Actual Date
I fumble pouring beer from the pitcher
We banter: Work, our daily bread, church
His gentle way assures me that
he doesn’t expect this date to end up in bed
We’re long-time friends, he respects
my role as a single mother, and my kid likes him
Then a simple glance, and we realize
we’re meant for each other
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Dedicated to my husband and partner of almost 14 years, Lex.
For Three Word Wednesday (words in bold), and the heartbeat my collective work, Poets United.
ABC Wednesday, brought to you by the letter, “Z”! (Do we start on the Cyrillic alphabet now?) Also at the poetic collective, Poets United.
This poem is based on the phenomenon that effectively destroyed my piano-bar career… Amy
Zithromax (Think Before Lighting Up Indoors)
A smoky club, the trapped wait staff
take your orders and get the shaft.
While you puff a cig or two,
others do just as you do.
You can leave and breathe fresh air;
singers, barkeeps, stuck in there
Low-wage job with no insurance;
Z-pac samples help endurance.
When you blithely light that match
think of what the workers catch.
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
The Poets United prompt was Loneliness. This was my take on it. Peace, Amy
In My Solitude
He’s gone out the door for yet another
long, dour weekend with his mother
I am left to my own devices
TV never quite suffices
Hating the quiet, the isolation
I head out for café consolation
Alone in a crowd, it’s win, win again
Just me and my journal, my mind and my pen
Could call up some friends and do a flick
Then toast and get toasted until I’m sick
But I decide not to pick up the phone
The comfort: Control is mine alone
I hear music vaguely beguiling my mind
See dancing figures upon the blind
Phrases now pop up from deep recesses
These help assuage any “home alone” stresses
And with synesthesia, quick movement of eyes
Creates haunting noises that always surprise
I pray, I eat takeout, and sure, I do miss him
But sometimes a girl needs a break on a whim
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
(Synesthesia affects me this way: When I move my eyes side to side, there follows a tracking, sort of metallic noise, not unlike the Six Million Dollar Man jumping sound. Sorry, it’s a US TV reference, my out of country friends!
For the Sunday Whirl, a Wordle that gave us: World, poem, thought, logic, whim, river, resist, twisted, buzz, instinct, galloping, and fluttered. Thanks, Brenda, for another great challenge. This, as with all my poems, is present at Poets United. Peace, Amy
…where I found a poem
On a whim, bereft of logic,
in a world of twisted thought,
a poem fluttered by.
I could not resist its bee-buzz:
Following my twisted instinct,
I went galloping after, alongside that
river of rhythm and bliss and memories
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
It may be the wee hours of Monday, but it’s never to late to answer ABC Wednesday‘s prompt for poems using the letter “Y.” This goes out especially to my high school buddy and still great friend Michael Weil, who visited from Potsdam, NY (think colder than Madison!) with super wife (and also old friend) Amy Jo and verrrrry cool son Alex today, along with new friends Paul and his partner Dean. Mike and I reminisced about the ever-abundant supply of Yuengling beer at our house, and how he just “converted” to their Black and Tan variety. I had actually written this “snowball” poem days ago, but now I HAVE to post it, right? Safe travels, you “Weil things!” Amer
Also at the poetic collective, Poets United.
YUENGLING
Sun,
summer,
cold Yuengling.
Man, our basement
fridge was full of it.
Easy access for teens
to grab a brew, hit the pool,
and bask in alcoholic bliss.
Mom never kept inventory, so
we drank, swam, laughed, and tanned all summer long.
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Just a quick one. Sorry I am so terribly behind in responding to your comments… the Poets United article generated a lot of interest. I promise I’ll get back “on par” soon. (Groan – you’ll see why when you read my response to Sunday Scribblings‘ prompt, “Woods.”) Amy
Woodsman Lost
Tiger, Tiger, what the hell?
‘Twas a time you cast a spell.
Now you ache from stress and strain;
credibility down the drain.
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Three Word Wednesday prompted us with: Cease, Heat, and Nasty. A million ways you can go with that, but I was reminded of those punishing Manhattan summers. Thom G, thinking of you and my other NYC friends now.
This is also at our poetry collective, Poets United, which (if you scroll down to the second article) has an interview with… MOI! I was so honored. Thanks again, Sherry Blue Sky, for tapping into my brain. A brave chore, that! Amy
City Summer
City sidewalks
drink in summer heat
absorbing as through pores and
releasing a scalded, nasty smell:
Part spilled lattes
Parts updraft of subway tracks, their litter and rats
Part dog who missed the tree
Part dog owner who didn’t bring a plastic bag
Part bare feet of the homeless,
never to cease their quest for
the shelter of a bit of shade
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
This is for Sunday Scribblings, which gave the prompt word, “Hitch.” Also at Poets United, my poetic home-away-from-home. Enjoy, movie buffs! Amy
HITCH
Close-up, sloooowly, Grace leans in
and Jimmy Stewart wakes to a kiss.
Raymond Buff commits a sin,
but Grace and James still find their bliss.
Tippi Hendren, without words,
the schoolkids must deliver:
Running from the pecking birds
to a house where they all shiver.
Wartime Cummings, Saboteur?
Joel McCrea, war correspondent.
Ingrid, a provocateur,
leaves Claude Raines despondent.
And how can we forget the sight
of Janet Leigh’s ill-fated shower:
Black and white blood, one stark fright.
Tony Perkins’ finest hour.
When the planes swooped o’er the grain
Hitch made Cary Grant look tough.
We won’t see Hitchcock’s like again…
but Tarantino steals his stuff.
Alfred Hitchcock, Lord of Thrills,
his wife an aide in everything,
he still brings us stellar chills.
Screw “no Oscar,” Hitch is king.
Two for ABC Wednesday. Two divergent subjects: Innocence and Iniquity. First, free verse; second, another “snowball poem,” with a descending number of syllables, one through ten. Don’t ask me why, but this form has me spellbound. Thanks to Joseph Harker for letting me know the name of the form!
Welcome
Welcome to the world
little wonder, who
worked her way
from my womb,
winding through the waterslide
into the waiting hands
of a woman who already knew
we two would make it work
without him.
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
————————————
Witch
She’s
a witch,
there’s no doubt.
Vipers emerge
from her mouth; venom
paralyzing those who
get in her way, considered
inconvenient or bothersome.
You’d never guess, beneath her perfect
new frock lies a heart cold as charity.
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Also posted at the poets’ collective, Poets United
Sharp Little Pencil 