Amy Barlow Liberatore… stories of lost years, wild times, mental variety, faith, and lots of jazz

Tag Archives: Sarcasm

The weasly guy from “Mad Men” and
Demi Moore in drag?! Pass the cranberry sauce!


Here’s to my Mayflower descendants who
enslaved indigenous people.

Here’s to Wrong-Way Columbus, who
first allowed them to show how to grow food.
(Then he enslaved them.)

Here’s to Columbus Day, which
celebrates the schmuck above.

Of course, there’s always
another side of the Judas coin.

It’s a great day to spend with family,
gorging on food and getting tipsy.

It’s a great day to celebrate the
American version of football.

But this year, 2013, we have
a special treat in store:

Retail workers ripped from their
families to work on pre-Black Friday.

Come to think of it, just about
everything Thanksgiving is BS…

especially what they taught us in school,
that “the Pilgrims” (um, the Settlers)

and the “Indians” (who were here first)
dined together and had lots of fun.

Want to see fun? Take a trip to a local
reservation. And I don’t mean the casino…

© 2013 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil

At this, the 11th hour, I implore you, DON’T GO SHOPPING ON THANKSGIVING! It’s not fair to the employees. Of course, Lex and I will boycott all the Big Box stores putting this hokum over on America… but at least let the stores be empty on a national holiday. How about it?

And take a moment to pray for “American Indians,” whatever the hell that means. Just because they have casinos doesn’t mean squat – the guys at the top make all the money, after they pay off their Malaysian bakers for funding the building. And that takes years!

For ABC Wednesday, “T,” and “in the margins” at Poets United and Imaginary Garden with Real Toads.  With hope, Amy

Image Source: Wikimedia Commons

Flat-out Flustered Philanderer

Long ago, singing days, swinging and swaying to standards
Regulars down with the drill: no dating Amy

This old guy approaches, asking for “anything Gershwin”
His ancient, rheumy eyes focus on my rack like radar

Customers see the sad, familiar scenario
And if they could they’d counsel him to cool it

He’s nearer; breath reeks of bourbon and Bel-Airs
Tells me he’d love to lavish me with luncheon

My friend snickers: Here comes the hard-ass handslap
Old codger grins at thoughts of snowing on my green young grass

“Just ’cause I go crazy getting on my Gershwin
doesn’t mean I canoodle and cavort with his contemporaries.”

With that, he toddles off, tipping me a ten.
Poor old guy, chasing the chastising chick.

© 2013 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil

Trying my hand at dverse’s call for accentual alliteration. It’s complicated stuff, and I’m not sure I have all the rules down, but it was a fun write, and my BFF John will tell you, the story is absolutely true!  Also “on the sidelines” at my two poetic piano bars, Imaginary Garden With Real Toads and Poets United.

Peace, Amy

An Activist’s Fourth of July Vacation Agenda

Celebrate my reproductive freedom (oops)
Go to an LGBTQ marriage in Wisconsin (oops, no license)
Celebrate “one person, one vote” (oooooops… Citizens United)
Celebrate American Union rights (oops)
Call Edward Snowden, invite him over to relax (is he still at that airport?)
Eat “brats” and drink beer (except I don’t eat pork, oops)
Guess it’s down to beer.

© 2013 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil

As always, Mama Zen at Imaginary Garden With Real Toads wants ‘em short and sweet, and she asked for vacation themes. Since activists are NEVER on vacation, this is as close as I’ll come! Peace to all, and prayers for the troops… and I stand by my comment on Edward Snowden. I strongly disagree that he leaked security dox that would “compromise national security.” The American, Iraqi, and Afghan people are suffering national INSECURITY, and any info we can get from the “transparent” Obama administration about this (insert expletive here) war is like gold. We are being taken for the same ride that Bush started, and I don’t appreciate it, not one little bit. If I had my own country, I’d offer Mr. Snowden sanctuary, a free condo, and drinks on the house. Amy

NOTE: Before you all think I’ve lost my marbles, this is in response to Fireblossom’s absolutely brill challenge at Imaginary Garden With Real Toads: She wants us to B.S. her. Couldn’t resist this subject, and hope I’m not too late in posting it. I truly hope the Tea Partiers understand the irony, but I’m starting to lose hope that they want to learn anything new or think outside the Fox Box…Peace, Amy

Ladies First

Ann Romney. A First Lady we can embrace.

She has real values: Family, her husband, subservience, being Mom and Grandma.

Ann, so blonde, even in her 60s! Real Americans can relate to her.

© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil

PS I must admit, I didn’t realize there was not a word limit… confused with Trifecta… guess now I have to go off and look for those marbles after all, huh?  Hee hee, A.

With The Sunday Whirl, wordler-in-chief Brenda posed the words in bold – a baker’s dozen.  Also, Sunday Scribblings wanted us to write on the word “Captivate.”  These are both Sunday-based poems, the second being a haiku.   Also posted at my poetic home away from home, Poets United.


Sunday Praise Service

Hot coffee to stir the ominous ache in her weary bones. 
She chooses an emerald empire-waist dress;
the illusion of a full front covers
the void of her shrinking frame.

Time to observe the celestial, to worship the Divine.
As her sandals flip, flop, flap into the sanctuary,
a kid jostles past her up the balcony stairs to sit with his mom.
She smiles, remembering her own scrambles up there;
the rhythm of life is upbeat and present
here in this church.

Church services are usually holy pantomime, but
not here.  The sermon moves her – and the music?
It rocks like the ages!

© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil



Televangelists Are Full Of Crap

with delusions of riches,
Joel Osteen.

with tales of earthly wealth,
Graham Junior.

Hold captive
those prisoners of Rapture,
who crave flight.

© 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


“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 Three Word Wednesday, we were given:  Buckle, Evade, and Wedge.  OK, I fudged a bit on “wedge,” but art requires slight adaptations here and there…  Enjoy!  (You probably won’t if you were ever subjected to this bullying.)


The ultimate teenaged bully stupid stunt.
Grab the nerd by his buckle
so he cannot evade this torture
Then pull on his underwear waistband. Hard.

Next to swirlies (those delightful dunks
headfirst in a flushed toilet, which can be
perpetrated on either gender), performing wedgies
is the sign of the true moron.

The wedgie-wanton often become
successful used-car salesmen and
captains of dart leagues at beer-soaked bars.
They rarely, if ever, get laid… let alone married (for long).

© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil

Meaning no disrespect to The Reason For The Season; simply pointing out that most folks have all but forgotten why they celebrate Christmas in the first place. My one cynical Christmas poem, dedicated to the true memory of that feisty, loving, prophetic man who started out a babe in rags.


Have yourself a merry little American Christmas
where mall-bound mauling marauding shoppers claw for
the latest imported Chinese toys
lead-laced crap for girls and boys

O little town of Bethlehem
creeping with hordes of consumers
No visions of Visa bills dancing in their heads
They’re masters of their MasterCards

Mary, did you know your baby boy
has turned into an excuse for excess
for booming business, parental stress
the backbone of a spineless economy

Joy to the world! The Lord & Taylor window
has a “holiday display” with Santa and reindeer
Deck the hall with Hallmarks from family and friends
and other folks we forget about the rest of the year

A day to plow through a thousand presents
overturn overstuffed stockings
stuff ourselves til we crash in front of
the new 52-inch plasma TV we bought on credit
It’s a wonderful life

Crosby Christmas never ceases
but for God’s sake
please don’t mention Jesus

© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil


Never one to take instruction
well, welcome to

That’s me, going to hell.
Hand-basket by Longaberger.
So say the Bible thumpers

Because I insist my daughter’s
Divinely made, perfect…
and, yes, she loves women

If all she did daily
was love women,
I’d be worried, but fortunately,

she does other things, too:
art, music, movies;
she has a full life.

“I’ll bet you and Lex
do stuff besides
hanging in bed being straight!”

That’s right, baby, it’s true
We get up
sometimes for breakfast, lunch, dinner…

(c) 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Thanks to Riley for permission to use her experiences for this poem.

At Poetic Asides, today’s prompt, “No one wants _____,” brought to mind an incident so funny, so ironic, so disgustingly true… and to think I volunteered to edit the copy for the yearbook and was turned down. The principal said, “I have professional secretaries to do that work.” Riiiiiiiight…

No One Wants (or likes) (or should depend on) SpellCheck

Savior of those who type in haste?
Harbinger of the lazy mind?
It’s just SpellCheck, here to stay. Like the flu.
Example #25,286:

Parents participated in the yearbook
by writing personal notes to their graduates.
Mine included a line employing the vernacular:
“You’re gonna do great things!”

Fresh off the press, she ran all the way home
to show me an impressive array of signatures.
She had made lots of friends, and they all
noted she was “HOT!,” “Valedictorian,” and “Out!”

Turning to the parent’s dedications, she said,
“In the words of Al Jolson, ‘You ain’t seen nothin’ yet!'”
There, bearing my signature, was the side-splitting line:
“You’re gonad do great things.” GONAD??!!

SpellCheck, ShmellCheck.