STUDIO QUANDARY
Not what I thought I’d paint this day
Not at all, the dizzying colors and
figures from last night’s dream
I tossed the covers
Stirred the maid from her rest
Even woke my wife in the next room
A dragon gave chase and I
was naked screaming running
Bare and barely missing his fiery, explosive tongue
Now the dream is slowing settling on wood
The creature and my whirling flaccid flesh
And a phrase I still don’t understand: Barney & Friends
© 2015 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Imaginary Garden of Real Toads gave us this Rembrandt, “Artist in His Studio.” I put myself in his cobbled boots and decided to give him a little scare… and myself a chuckle! Amy
So Dangerous He Needs a Soo-da-nim
(Racist Homophobes Who Comment on My Blog)
He knows the Founders so well
Sure of Second Amendment intent
He channels Jefferson
in sick séances where
the tea’s past rancid
but the linen is fancy
except for the nibbles
of moths in every closet
He is steady on the mark
with his Glock and his spiel
about black/brown (like
HIS ancestors didn’t
come from Africa too)
About ‘cullahed peeples’
and their unoriginal sins
About ‘faggots who want him
to bend over and take it’
He knows it by their eyes
His guns were loaded that day
He knew the kid, he really did
Must’ve because he’s been
entrusted with innuendo that
spews out his piehole like
a sick gospel. And he lives
right down the block from you
But he keeps swastikas
hidden in the basement
encased in old-growth wood
covered by a Confederate flag
Proud patriot with a
genocidal mind and a blog
He’s so dangerous, he told me,
he needs a pseudonym
Sad, dangerous, sick
little man with a laptop
he uses at Denny’s and also
big guns and bigger dreams
Gonna clean up AmeriKKKa
We won’t know his real name
‘til we see it on the CNN crawl
But the ironic thing is
his mentor’s name
is Jewish.
© 2014 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
His name is Legion. His mentor is Zimmerman. He trolled (!) my blog for a long while, actually claiming he writes under an assumed name, lest the government shut him down. I, like a dutiful bartender, called him a cab and sent him back to his bunker.
An actual fracking site in Warren Center, PA
The Marcellus Shale runs under my home, Binghamton, NY
Image courtesy of WikiCommons
Frackers (and the TPs who love them)
Takin no flak from
frack-attack NRA
plushies
Takin no crap from
gumflappin’ Tea Party
Rushies
Dittoheads filled with…
(no, that’s not nice)
misinformation
Sleazy pols with vols
pandering to their meandering
with dolls from the intern pool
Pools they listen to
more than constituents
Consequently, their
incontinent pieholes spew
FOX from their boxes
(the Constitution gets the axe)
Rights only for the Right
We get what’s “left”
Two Rights can make a wrong
Look at the NeoCon bromances:
Bush and Dick
Incestuous Koch brothers
On and on, while our tap water
becomes flammable, we suck
dino juice like it’s a teat
Money for war? Sure!
Forget wind and solar –
our gas is now Natural
So natural, it seems
the hometown of my dreams
will go down in flames
from its faucets
© 2013 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
I’ve written about FRACKING before, but Sherry Blue Sky, a good friend and Canadian activist, produced an excellent report (click HERE) on how the frackers are taking over in Canada, too. Got my Irish up, but at least people rose up in protest… in the States, we think of Canada as a peaceful country, but their police have been learning since the Bush years and yes, through the Obama years: Rubber bullets in LaBatts country. What the hell is going on?
This is my cheery little Monday piece for the Open Link at Imaginary Garden With Real Toads! Peace, Amy
STOCK STILL
stock still
starting off wrong foot hold
a time to answer
ruler gave little to stand in.
storm threatened, exploded cold shadow
mysteries appear at the door
another burn on the sojourn
bury arms.
conduct friendly first year.
side now up to the clouds above.
For dverse, an erasure poem from Harper Lee’s To Kill A Mockingbird. Dedicated to the Republicans in our U.S. Congress and the way their “not playing well with others” holds us hostage. They know quite well they hold the keys to our security: At home, abroad, and universally… I keep hoping they listen to what Lincoln called “our better angels.” Lincoln would be ashamed at what his party has become: Obstructionists, secessionists, rich men in silk suits who spit on the poor. I call ‘em like I see ‘em, and depression only makes the lines seem deeper and more entrenched.
Also at my bipartisan poetry hangout, Poets United… proud to be a member. Peace, 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.
Black Sheep (a tale of three sisters)
Our mother, civil rights fighter
Big sister
Rebellious, slutty teen
Now Fundamentalist Rightie
Middle sister
Former activist
Now Tea Party
Little sister
Feminist, liberal Christian social activist
Two drank Kool-Aid
I’m an orphan
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For Trifecta, the challenge was to use the “Rule of Three,” in exactly 33 words. Hope my sisters do not read this, but, hey, if they do, it’s true! The number three was always tricky, as Mom (social justice applying everywhere but in our home) often pitted us against each other.
Triangulation, thy name is Charlotte. Love you, Mom, but really…! Peace to all, Amy
This is a twofer Wednesday for me. (Woofer Wednesday? Dog days of summer?) Both short poems, each for a different site. Peace to all, Amy
FOR WE WRITE POEMS
Gathering
Birds shelter
Squirrels, helter-skelter
Leaves reveal silver underbellies
Thunder
Hallelujah!
Rain
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
We Write Poems requested a poem employed brevity: no more than 12 words. Suffering through a prolonged drought, I’ve prayed constantly for some rain to help our small farmers here in the Midwest. Hooray, it rained twice this past few days… even now, a fresh, ozone-tinged breeze brings the good news to my window. (Viv, I hope your rain is coming my way!)
FOR MAD KANE’S BLOG
Semantics vs. Values
The Right don’t mind sweatshops in China
So what’s the big deal ‘bout “vagina”?
There’s no room for maybes
They cannot make babies
Without women’s penis combinah
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
With all the problems in our country, the Right chose to censor two members of Congress for uttering the word “vagina” in speeches. But they still reserve the supposed right to legislate what I do with mine. Maddening! For Madeleine Begun Kane’s Political Madness, because she loves limericks and is my acknowledge queen of that genre. Do yourself and favor – click on her link and get ready to laugh. Really hard. And maybe be a little outraged! She’s a gem! Peace, Amy
YES, YOU CAN (vs. “I Got Mine, You’re Just Lazy”)
“We can’t afford health care for all.”
Give thought to this statement, really
feel the false sense for security and heed
the inherent greed of being American…
So you don’t get your MRI today.
If it’s not urgent, you can wait a week.
And speaking of tests, doctors overdo
that aspect, suspecting you might sue.
No one really needs a tummy tuck
as part of their health insurance.
How about a diet instead? Better saggy
than dead. Last longer, feel stronger.
My friend told me, in tears, that she
and her family of three have no doctor,
no clinic. Cynic that I am, I look to
Washington, awash in Cadillac plans
and think, “Let’s put their asses on Medicaid.
Let THEM go to the clinic, checking their
hair for lice, sitting among us Great Unwashed
waiting for their number to be called.”
Of all the reasons this season is prime time
for a sublime health care revolution, it’s the
evolution of the Tea Party, all soggy from
dunking once too often in a trough of crap.
I have had seven different types of insurance
in 55 years, my dears. Medicaid, Cadillac plan,
“from hunger” catastrophic, none at all…
Tell Congress they can’t drop the ball.
If corrupt morons on the Supreme Court
can tort their way through the insurance overhaul,
I think we can see our way clear to badgering
the Idol Rich Senate for Health Care for All.
And if you don’t want to give up what you have,
just remember – when they came to foreclose
on your neighbors over hospital bills and you
did not offer them hospitality, what does that say
about your values, your sense of responsibility?
You really want kids living in cars, the mentally ill
behind bars, because the fashion is to ration?
Search your heart… Commit to compassion.
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
ABC Wednesday is up to the letter “Y.” This will also appear in the left column (not the Poetry Pantry) of Poets United, my well-care checkup clinic!
C’mon. Don’t tell me you didn’t see a rant coming this week! Politically yours, Amy
Naked at the Tea Party
Morning mist lifts over Madison
yet a cloud remains
following the foolish victor who
occupies a solid gold throne
furnished by a Faustian family
from a land far, far away
As he breaths through his mouth
he complains his crown
is bulky, unwieldly (gotcha! He doesn’t know that word)
adored as it is with spangles, sparkles
the spoils of ill-gotten gains
and still – ill repute remains
He resigns himself to another day
of allowing teachers to go home (forever)
Freeing children from pesky doctor visits
Yet his doom looms: HE IS JOHN DOE
Jump one hurdle, slam into a wall
The drumbeat grows: Indict “Koch Lite”
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For Three Word Wednesday: Bulky, Mist, Reign.
Also at my poetic soapbox, the ever-trusty Poets United (not a PAC, incidentally!).
Image courtesy of the magazine named for my patron saint: Mother Jones.
Wild in the Streets
Those crazy Wisconsinites
From Madison to Green Bay
They’re getting ready
The signs are up; protests continue
Bikers now pump their tires full
Those who walk are re-Scholling their shoes
Unions are getting out the vote
Churches are getting out the vote
Raging Grannies are getting out the vote
College students are getting out the vote
The handicapped are all accessible:
Teachers, farmers, union rank and file
Families on public assistance
People whose jobs were cut to give fat cats tax breaks
Women in general
(Hell, he doesn’t discriminate, he hates ALL of us)
Governor Doofus. Dumber than a sack of rocks.
We’re jumping in the pool
We’re jamming the polling places
We’re ready to make our stand
We’re gonna tell the Koch Brothers that
WISCONSIN IS NOT FOR SALE.
And when we’re done, we’ll meet
on State Street for some local brew
Scott Walker, start packing now
Save us the embarrassment of evicting you
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For Sunday Scribblings (‘wild’) and for Poetic Bloomings, asking for poems based on a movie title.
“Wild in the Streets” is a cult classic about a pop star who eventually gets into politics. Once he’s president, he mandates things like putting people in nursing homes on LSD. It’s a true stinker, but the title was perfect for how some Tea Party members from other state view us, as we strive to get the incompetent man pictured above out of our everyday lives. Teabaggers still don’t get that they have been co-opted by the Brothers Koch, who pull all the strings and want to privatize schools and end reproductive freedoms. Silver-spoon trust fund babies; never really had to work because Daddy left them everything!
Sharp Little Pencil 