Yes, it’s Mother’s Day on MY planet, too! Riley is deep into finals, doing so well in art school. If it were not for her going to full term, I might see this day as just a Sunday to miss Charlotte, my own mother, and mourn the two babies lost before Riley. Today, it’s a TWOFER!
So first up, Poets United’s Poetry Pantry wanted posts for moms. Second, Poetic Bloomings called for computer-generated lists of anagrams of our own name – and a poem written with ONLY those words that appeared on the list. Well, “Liberatore” just about blue-screened my computer, so it’s my birth name I used.
FOR POETS UNITED
Mama, Mommy, Mom
Mama,
tell me story ’bout
going to Sleepytown
and then we gonna
say prayers.
I love you, Mama.
Mommy,
can I join the Brownies?
Really?
Mommy,
can we go over my
spelling words?
Cool!
Mommy,
they want me to play
softball – maybe pitch.
Can you –
You’re gonna be an
assistant coach?
Wow, Mommy,
you are so busy
but you always have
time for me.
You rock!
Mom,
just a text for now,
I’m in the middle of finals,
but I’ll call you tomorrow.
Happy Mother’s Day,
dear mother, I love you
more than chocolate!
Now matter what name Riley called me,
I was always there for her.
And I always will be.
That’s the blessing of being a mother.
© 2013 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Image from Amy’s collection, “Riley, one day old”
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FOR POETIC BLOOMINGS (anagram poem)
All in My Name
(Amy Louise Barlow)
I’m a bluesy limbo mouse
Alias, lousy bellow yowl
Bosomy ruby allure, yum
My morals: slim, wily, muley
© 2013 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
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
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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
Women, Woman
In a sea of Marthas
She remained the Magdalene
Neither wanton, nor wayward, still
different, misunderstood
Her gestures of sisterhood
looked upon as threats by
the many married mommies
who kept their men on short leashes, well-heeled
Had they taken time
to listen to her thoughts
How she cared for their town
How she admired their ability to maintain stability
They might have warmed to her
But women are women, and
wives are wives, gathered in hives
And single mothers lead separate lives
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For Sunday Scribblings (“Flock”) and my poetic home, Poets United.
Mirror Grows Up
Girl standing on tiptoe to see her reflection
in the grown-up glass
Teen crying over ravages of acne
on her nose, her neck, her back
Bride at home wedding, same mirror
as this morning, but suddenly she’s changed
Single mom, single crease forming
over her left eyebrow, souvenir of divorce
Second time’s the charm, as she eases back
greying bangs from her smiling face
And just this morning, taking stock
More circles than a box of Cheerios
More wrinkles than a pug puppy
More fire in her eyes than Mrs. O’Leary’s cow ever wrought
More twinkle than Tinkerbell
More love than she thought she’d ever have
All shining back as her husband slips his arm around her,
whispering, “Love how you look today, babe.”
© Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
From a prompt about mirrors at my poetic home, Poets United.
Answered the call at We Write Poems (although we won’t post there until Wednesday) to write a poem that begins, “I’m willing to eat ____.” Tried to avoid the most obvious noun (ha ha), because, although I have consumed a fair amount of shit in my life, rarely was it willingly!
Also posted at my NaPoWriMo home, We Write Poems, and at Poets United. Peace, Amy
Willing to Eat Worms
I’m willing to eat worms
or walk through fire for you
Shield you from harm
Comfort you when thunder
steamrolls over your sleep
Hold you when you weep after
someone calls you a name
Why? Because I’m your mother.
I’m willing to swallow all pride
…except my pride in you, kiddo
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Story from my days as a single mother in a mostly married city… Amy
WOMEN, WOMAN
In a sea of Marthas
she remained the Magdalene
Neither wanton, nor wayward, still
different, misunderstood
Her gestures of sisterhood
looked upon as threats by
the many married mommies
who kept their men on short leashes, well-heeled
Had they taken time
to listen to her thoughts
How she cared for their town
How she admired their ability to maintain stability
They might have warmed to her
But women are women, and
wives are wives, gathered in hives
And single mothers lead separate lives
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Sharp Little Pencil 