THE TRAIN CONDUCTOR
“End of the line,” called out the conductor, roaming car to car
Rail-thin and rangy, dignified in the spotless black uniform,
his timepiece gleamed at the end of a long gold chain.
Will was a good conductor, one of the best on the line.
He knew precisely the timeline, all destinations
His resonant voice calmed riders during bumps, holdups
and especially during inclement weather
He had a way with children; could recognize kids on their first ride,
fear and fascination dancing in their eyes
Will treated all workers with the same respect.
Never saw the color of their skin, only the quality of their service.
The last of a dying breed in the 1950s, both Will and the Rock Island Line,
as autos took to the highways and trains fell by the wayside,
rusting gravestones, remnants of the past.
He kept to himself, rarely shared stories about family.
Seemed troubled, standing off in a corner by himself on breaks.
But when tapped on the shoulder, came down to earth, immediately engaged.
The porters worried about Will, and the maids
saw his uneasiness; they prayed for him in church.
No one was surprised when, one foggy night
the man who knew the clockwork of each train, the routes of every line
was felled on the tracks and died.
“Accident,” read the report, thus ensuring widow’s benefits
for the wife he never talked about.
But she knew in her heart that for Will,
it was simply the end of the long, sad, lonely line.
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Magpie Tales asked for poems about our ancestors. My great-great grandfather was a train conductor, amateur astronomer, introverted, extremely depressed man who help out my mother’s family during the Midwest Depression of the 1930s. I figured out the puzzle of his death, which the rest of the family never discussed.
Whose Side Are They on Now?
When things go right…
when her friend’s surgery is successful;
when his kid scores a goal;
when the baby is born with ten and ten
and Mom’s epidural was spot-on;
when a football player executes a game-saving touchdown,
when an old guy, down to his last buck at the bar,
hits the TV gambling jackpot,
it’s “Praise Jesus!”
They crow, “Thank God!”
When war rips a relentless dagger with
no healing in store,
and “smart bombs” hit the
“actionable intelligence” targets
(and only kill a few kids and other civilians),
when a dictator who was funded by the US but
falls out of favor ends up on the wrong side of a noose,
it’s, “God is on our side!”
When Katrina hit New Orleans,
when earthquakes hit Los Angeles,
Bible Belters shouted, “It’s because of all the sin
that is tolerated there! It was God’s will!”
(Sure, there’s that racist tinge to the condemnation…
never mind that the majority of Katrina victims
were people of color who worked hard to maintain
their neighborhoods, while the vast majority of “sinners”
are white college girls who get stinking drunk and
flash their boobs to get Mardi Gras beads…)
“Praise Jesus, who looks after the righteous,”
says the preacher, passing the collection plate.
(It’s all in the timing.)
But when a neighbor is laid off or gets
screwed out of a pension,
when someone on your block develops cancer and
it’s already Stage Four,
or it’s your kid who’s hit by a drunk driver
or knocked up by her own uncle…
Whose side is God on now?
Does Jesus hate your neighbor? Is that why he’s
slumping his shoulders in the unemployment line?
Does God think it was the 13-year-old girl’s fault
for “tempting” her pedophile uncle?
Do God and Jesus sit on high and zap people
with cancer when they are bored?
Think about these things
the next time you presume
to speak for God.
And feel free to give a copy of this to your pastor.
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For Poetic Asides’ prompt, Normal, I opted to tell it like I see it. As on my haven, Poetic Asides. Amy
Normal Is
Normal is the everyday stuff
Normal is eating McDonald’s for breakfast
and Arby’s for lunch and Pizza Hut for dinner
Normal is going to work at a job you hate
Normal is stopping off for a couple-five drinks
to cool off from the job you hate
Normal is shlepping home and sitting in front of
the TV computer IPad video game
Normal is shopping for crap from China
that used to be made by your neighbor whose job
was outsourced, and he’s about to exhaust his unemployment
Normal is watching silk-suited fresh-water sharks
swimming in the the DC pool on Avenue K
as they rape the economy and hold the future ransom to
a whim, a personal profit, a new McMansion
Normal is ignoring homeless Americans begging
Normal is meth-addict soccer moms, the super-achievers
Normal is Asian kids winning spelling bees and science fairs,
but children of Anglos winning legacy admissions to Ivy League schools
Normal is Black kids, Hispanic kids, all those “little brown ones”
sentenced to the street or “would you like fries with that”
or being coerced into developing a taste for Afghanistan sand
Normal is no longer single moms, but two parents
kissing hello/goodbye in the hall as one goes to sleep
and the other goes to work at WalMart with no health benefits
Normal is skipping worship to work a crossword puzzle or to
see your kids’ soccer games or whatever else the school scheduled
for Sunday morning, thank God Blue Laws were repealed
Normal is one appendectomy in a 14-year-old ends up
with the whole family living in a camper or a car
Normal is abnormal.
The American Dream is no longer the norm.
The American Nightmare has taken charge.
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
The Sunday Whirl gave us words that appear in bold. All I could think of was parents scouring the Norwegian countryside in search of their children.
Also posted at Poets United, my home away from home. Peace, Amy
Twisted Youth
(In Memory of Victims and Honor of Survivors of the Massacre in Norway)
How does a young man’s mind twist this
marvel of humankind
into reprehensible ideologies?
Not in the blink of an IPod spewing neo-Nazi music.
More likely, scattered, parentally unsupervised viewings
of YouTube videos, which cast people into castes:
Good and Evil.
It clouds his judgment…
and soon the blast of a bomb and
whirr of bullets rain down on Norway.
Desperate residents search for the living,
but first, they must scan the dead.
Americans pull their curtains closed
and say it can’t happen here.
But it already has:
Racial violence, rendered legal by racist politicians.
Hatred of immigrants, shots flying at the southern border.
Brutalized or murdered gays, lesbians, transgender people,
some hanging from trees, some trailing from bumpers of trucks.
Timothy McVeigh, the coward who chose death over apology.
Columbine.
Young minds raised in racist, ignorant homes.
It’s here, not just in Norway or the Middle East.
Can’t gild this fetid ditch lily:
Face the shame of homegrown terror.
© 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
… at least I hope I won’t! Voices are for pleading the cause of justice. And for singing! Thanks to Three Word Wednesday for the prompt: Abrasive, Loss, Handful
I’LL NEVER LOSE MY ABRASIVENESS
She’s always been a handful, that Barlow girl
Opinions up the wazoo
and a mouth on her, too
Not the type you’d ever want to curl
up next to for quiet talk
She’s one to squawk
about injustice, poverty, and greed
She never stops
She never drops
the subject, will never heed
warnings from friends
that this stuff ends
with FBI files, a permanent docket
She says what they can bite
if they have the appetite
Her heart is a silver locket
filled with blood and heaven
Film at eleven
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Hey, it’s Thanksgiving. Probably no better time to talk about freedoms (and lack of same) in our country. Oh – and if you’re flying this weekend, please, don’t wear Speedos at the security counter! Your country thanks you for your discretion. (LOL) Amy
MENDING OLD GLORY
Our country is bowed, not broken
no matter that Rush and Glenn nay-say
The president erred when he trusted
that Congress believed in fair play
But lobbyists hold all the power
and companies claim their “free speech”
As long as control’s made of dollars
no president can heal the breach
Let’s face it: We all are Americans
regardless what party we choose
So please show this president loyalty
that goes with the reds, whites, and blues
And if you are drawn to militias
just know that you make no sense, just noise
When Bush was in, we didn’t run out of words
So holster your guns, there, cowboys
Our country was founded on precepts
like freedom, rights, and education
If one is in chains, then no one is free
Remember that – you’ll heal our nation
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
OK, I know I’ll get heat for this one… another “stacking” poem for Poetic Asides.
BRICKS AND MORTAR FIRE IN BABEL
What is holy about the Holy Land?
The Dome dominated by one faith
as Americans do little except contribute
to Israel’s continued building of a wall
choking off Palestinians under slabs of
mentality and political polemic.
“It’s in Israel’s defense and protects American interests.”
It prevents Arabs from getting to the doctor.
How Christian, how Jewish, how holy is that?
And Americans, who cannot feed and clothe
and care for their tired, poor, hungry,
are footing the bill for the contractors.
People who defend Palestinian rights
are called “anti-Semites,” even the Jews who
choose to show mercy on Islamic people.
As though the heads of the State of Israel
speak for all Jewish people around the world.
Tell that to Jews who think Zionism is just another power grab.
Apocalyptics take joy in much of this,
feeling we’re stealing ever closer to the Rapture,
sure they know the year, if not the day and hour,
surer still that they and they alone
will ascend with Jesus, patted on the head,
and to Hell with everyone else!
Until true Godliness prevails, when
Jews, Christians, and Muslims remember
they all worship the same God,
Jerusalem will remain divided at its heart.
So many languages, so many translators,
but no one is listening in Babel.
Spare me your prophesies and Revelation.
If you really love Jesus, you have to love us all.
If you really follow the Torah, you have to love us all.
If you really follow the Prophet Mohammad, you have to love us all.
Israel is not real estate; Israel is a people.
Mr. Netanyahu, TEAR DOWN THIS WALL.
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Sharp Little Pencil 