An Inconvenient Seed
In the Senate men’s room
where Left and Right
meet in the middle
to piddle (and diddle)
my “magic beans” await
Every time a member
ignores the attendant
or doesn’t even tip,
my seeds spring into action
attaching to silk socks
Growing between their toes
vines twining up lazy legs
over pompous paunches
anywhere they can find
purchase
Buds bloom into small papers
the size of dollar bills
All his corporate sponsors are listed
for the world to see and to know
that this putz don’t know shit from shinola
After the lines are laced, the other shoe
gives way to a bud, a roll of
Kimberly-Clark toilet paper
(T.P. made by the Kochs)
and every square squawks
WalMart… WalMart… WalMart…
© 2014 poem and sketch by Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Shanyn at dverse Poets askied for our thoughts on seeds. Of course, Congress sprang to mind (on so many levels, ha ha ha).
Even though these are horrible times for our government, we must never forget the biggest villain of all: MONEYPOWERGREED. Peace, Amy
Garden of Weeds
It can start with anything
A feather caught in a curling freefall
That cardinal pecking at my window
The random assemblage of spices
jumbled on the shelf – one tumbles me
awake, ablaze with cardamom coincidence
Mom’s spirit sharing coffee with me
telling stories from where she now resides
in heaven, and thisclose
Even bad memories stir me
dredge, sift, filtering through
my bones, seeping to the nerves
A prophet once told me that
love is everywhere
So is truth
So is pain
So is amazement
So is amusement
So is romance
So is anger…
despair …
relief
So it’s time
to reach for my journal
and sprout another plant
for my garden of weeds
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For Poetic Bloomings, better late than never! Marie and Walt called for poems about SEEDS… seeds to plant, to nurture; seeds of poetry and other art… the beginning little “oomph” that pushes one to action.
Photo from Vishwasaha on WordPress. The PROPHET is named Marques Bovre, who also composed a lovely song called “Dandelion.” He’s been through cancer threatment and half the known world is praying for him. He’s on the upswing, but add him to YOUR list if you’re the praying type. Peace, Amy
Poetic Bloomings, scene of my scandalously honest interview with the ever-gracious Marie Elena last week, asked for poems on the theme, “The harvest I reap.” Enjoy, and peace to all, Amy
SEEDS
Years upon years
of mistakes and teary-eyed
talks over black coffee or
beer from the bottle,
swearing the air blue.
Dancing at Fiesta…
I don’t really dance
but if I smile and
show a little leg, todo esta bien.
Staring blankly out the window
in a small town
rain punishing my petunias
(parched, anyway),
wondering if the library
has any books I haven’t read yet.
Watching the baby emerge
from within Massive Me;
everyone is crying. She
latches on. I call her Little Bee.
Seeing Carnegie Hall for the first time…
from the stage at sound check.
Teaching fellow Psych Ward inmates
how to practice yoga
instead of watching
the big-ass TV all day.
All these memories are stored
in a quiet room within.
Open the door, grab a random handful.
Toss onto the fertile loam and see them sprout.
I gather the ripest fruits and
squeeze ink from their juices.
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Sharp Little Pencil 