At Poetic Asides, the prompt was, “Maybe _______.” (Fill in the blank.) After realizing I’m 54 and there’s so much behind me, this poem spilled out like tequila. I even ate the worm! Amy (P.S. I am officially posting all NaPoWriMo posts at Writer’s Island.)
Maybe Now
If not then
when time was fluid and forever
when ripe fruits were there for the picking
and flowers spilled out our window-boxes
as palms shuddered in the warm California breeze
If not then
when every day was an adventure yet to come
when we were fools
and innocence had run from us, scared
and jaded juices thumped in our veins
Maybe now
now that we have grown older
now that we have learned the meaning of “folly”
we will look back with the leisure of age
and see it all had meaning
And our worst mistakes are behind us
or not
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
At Poetic Asides, the prompt was, Celebrate. Could not think of a better celebration than the day two of my dearest friends were united in love and dignity. Amy
Celebrate Today
(For Christopher Kennedy and Jimmy Ricketts)
Christopher and Jimmy
both in tuxes, Dapper Dans.
Not the groomsmen,
but the grooms.
I’m running around in
a dress tight as Saran Wrap
(and just as pliable).
My heels click click click busy busy…
So light the candles!
Bring on the guests!
Family and friends;
Amy’s taking requests
at the baby grand with candelabrum
As I sing, I meditate on the wax
slowly slinking down the tapers.
This is real romance.
The pastor was beautiful;
the buffet, sublime.
Every state should have gay marriage –
their catering businesses would thrive.
I sing the song I wrote for their wedding,
“The Best I Have To Give.”
Then Jimmy yells, “Do the Santa song!”
I grin and launch in.
It’s my rendezvous with Kris Kringle
Naughty but nice. The glasses clink
and the newlyweds share a little peck.
Nothing gross like at straight weddings.
A tasteful affair from beginning to end,
all couples dancing, bubbles in the air.
I remember Mom saying that true love
is marrying your best friend. Amen.
© 2011 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
For my third day of National Poetry Writing Month, I decided to follow a prompt, because it called out to me. Sunday Scribblings asked for poems about messengers. This is for my mother, who beat the devil and was sober the final 10 years of her life. She’s been gone 21 years now, but when I need her, just like Blanche (her mom), she is there for me. In her weakness and in her strength, so many lessons. Miss you, Mama. Love, Amer
Message in a Bottle
For the first time in years
(and so welcome, this occasion)
seated across the kitchen table with Mom.
For the first time in years
(since I had headed west for a spell)
she was not drunk – not even tipsy.
There was a message in
the absence of a gin bottle on that table…
Gordon’s had been her steadfast companion
Now we sat and looked each other in the eye
“Amy,” she said kindly, “there’s a scratch in your voice.
You need to stop smoking pot.”
For the first time in years,
we spoke singer to singer, our voices had always been
our beauty, our careers, our all.
“I sobered up,” she said slowly, “cold turkey.”
It was true – too ashamed to go to a clinic,
knowing so many people in town.
Dad had gone to her door several times each day,
listening to the retching, passing in black coffee
and soda crackers for a solid two weeks.
But for me, quitting a joint a day was easy.
And so the message was clear: No more bottle for her,
no more buds in Buglers for me. Saved my life, she did.
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
ABC Wednesday, brought to you by the letter “J.” True story, but didn’t happen until this past Thursday… and then Lex had two days off, so we frolicked in the temperate Madison sunshine. After the tumult worldwide (and the homegrown union-busting in the US), I thought a little chuckle was in order. Amy
Just One Morning
Joe, the church secretary,
must journey to NYC to
justify his (jeez, I don’t know,
a dissertation or some such jazz)
Jolly ol’ me jumps in; Joe shows me the job.
Piece of cake – I’d jumped these hoops before
as a journey(wo)man administrative assistant
(or as we joked, Admin Ass).
Day of jamboree: paper jam,
juggling jangling phones,
jelly-side down sandwich
on the just-laid carpet.
Jupiter’s rings spin round my jugular
(nerves – blood racing, a Jaguar on the 1-90).
Then seasonal allergies
roll jujube junk out my nose
Jehovah is nonetheless pleased:
I jumped and jimmied
despite the jinx and goop –
but I didn’t invoke Jesus’ name once!
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Last chance for ABC Wednesday, brought to you by the letter “I.” Please know that I don’t believe ALL Tea Party members are misinformed racist birther idiots. Just most of them. My only prejudice: bigots! My only problem is with a marked insistence on a refusal to learn throughout one’s lifetime. Amy
Ill-Informed
“If he indeed isn’t Indonesian, we insist he prove it.”
(“Was Hawaii an individual state back then? I wonder…”)
“If you’re an ideal American, display flag insignias,
fly Old Glory in front of your home in sun, in rain, in inky night.”
(Incorrect, incidentally; in fact, improper. But
idiots don’t listen.)
Ignorant, imbued with INSTANT TRUTH
(inscribed illegibly on a chalkboard).
Instilled with self-righteousness by
spiritually insulated evangelists.
Illiterate, or might as well be, when introduced
to a newspaper.
Insisting they already know – don’t confuse them with
intelligently researched facts, in-depth analysis.
Ignorance is bliss. Idyllic idiots.
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Here in Madison, we are fighting for unions and for fairness – PEACEFULLY. Don’t believe the FOX BS. There have been no laws broken, except by the Governor and the Legislature. Please read and remember – I have been there, on site. I tell you the truth: There are no marauding throngs of thugs (unless the Gov. decides to plant them, as he has admitted on tape to considering); there have been NO windows broken at the Capitol Dome (that report was retracted.) In fact, the Gov. ordered the window jambs sawed off to prevent them from being opened, patently illegal and a safety risk – this is why the “cleanup” of the Dome is up to $7M.
Yes, I’m an activist, and proud of it. So sue me. Make a lawyer rich with another frivolous lawsuit! For ABC Wednesday. Amy
Here, Heroes
Have you heard?
Hope is heralded here in Madison.
Hands up if you heed the Constitution.
Hands up if you’ve heard about Mother Jones,
Headlining the cause of unions
with the heart of a lioness.
Heading to the Capitol Dome,
heeding our call as citizens
to have our grievances heard.
Head of Wisconsin, the poster boy
for hubris, hedonism, and dishonesty.
Have you heard? Do you care?
Heads up: Greed is heading for
your hometown next.
Wisconsin is ground zero:
It will halo out from here.
Jesus said, Help the hungry, the homeless…
or are Hannity, Beck, and Hagee your only heroes?
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
EN-credible! I managed to combine two – count ’em – two prompts in one poem. Others do this all the time; however, I hadn’t had the inspiration until Three Word Wednesday and ABC Wednesday threw a nice, juicy grapefruit over the plate for me.
Three Word Wednesday gave us Blink, Kind, and Occasion; ABC concentrated on the letter E. Hence the bits in BOLD. Enjoy, and be sure to click on the links above to check out the takes of my fellow poets! Amy
The Ecstasy of Agony
An eclectic gathering, the occasion being
Ethelyn’s engagement to Egbert
(AKA Egghead behind his back)
Ethelyn, an exquisite, educated person.
What possessed her to choose entanglement
of the permanent kind to this egomaniac?
Savvier than we envisioned,
she eventually emptied her life of his eccentricities;
in the blink of an eye, single once more.
Then along came Edmund the entomologist…
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Take a trip to Three Word Wednesday, where this week’s challenge was to create a poem using the words Dare, Practical, and Essence. Click on the links of other poets and see the variety that emerges!
This is not a true story, by the way, except for the term “dust rhinos,” coined by my beloved Lex before we were married – at which point, I handed him a broom and said, “Go for it!” Amy
PERFECTLY ORDERED
She considered herself a practical person.
A place for everything; order ruled her world.
The little cup holding writing utensils was called,
“The Pencil Department,” setting a clear directive:
No scissors were allowed in that receptacle.
The essence of her need for these boundaries
came from (where else?) her childhood.
Mom was a gypsy tethered to a suburban home,
escaping for occasional adventures and
dragging daughter along for the ride.
Mom was not the housekeeper type;
her idea of ironing was catching Dad’s shirts
just as they came out of the dryer,
then folding faux creases in the collar and sleeves.
She only cooked frozen or canned foods.
The house was a mess, save the daughter’s room,
which sported a bedspread ready for
a drill sergeant’s quarter-toss and
neatly folded clothes, specifically spaced hangers.
All while Mom watched the soaps and drank.
Once on her own, the girl dared to let it slip a bit.
Her apartment was allowed to drift into disorder
until the day a dust rhino danced by her feet.
‘Twas then that her former, finicky self kicked into gear…
but every potential partner was repelled by her Pledge.
(c) 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Sharp Little Pencil 