An Existentialist Speaks
We’re all in it
apart
Alphabet pasta bits
swirling in chicken broth
A sand dune of human grains
awhirl, subject to
the wind’s whimsy
A night sky filled with wandering stars
Stasis in motion
We do what we must in our
earthly bodies without regard for
The Big Judgement fairy tale
Some argue that life without God
is meaningless
a void
They seem so sure and
squint hostilely at
my assertion that
all of that “redemption” crap
is pointless as a salt lick
on the I-90
Mom thinks I’m worse than
an atheist; she’s worried
I didn’t pay attention in
catechism class.
She’s right.
Here
Now
Lost in the stars
We’re all in it
apart
© 2013 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
NaPoWriMo #3, for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, where Kerry asked for poems about Existentialism. Also, Three Word Wednesday gave us Argue, Lick, and Squint. Kim at Verse First for Poets United wanted poems with a “body” theme, whether a group or a single body. I hope I gave her both!
Existentialism is far from my own path, but I can see how people become isolated, believing there is no God, no consequence in the end, no hereafter, and no particular reason to have faith in anything. I can’t get my mind around it completely, but I gave it a try!
DAD’S DYNAMIC DEEDS (The Talented Mr. Barlow)
“A really good fart should come from the heart.”
So said my dad, with no shame, accepting blame.
He blew more gas than a Guernsey.
A one-man methane machine; each a Homeric task.
Expansive explosions the stuff of legend.
The Cryptkeeper would beg for a match
if Dad opened his hatch for a quick dispatch.
Our eyes would water from the slaughter,
and we’d laugh ‘til we cried over his
lack of knack to hide what was inside
and his singular absence of embarrassment
about the mass of gas from his ass.
My mother didn’t mince words:
“BUD! Did you chew your cud?”
Take all the grazing grain-fed cattle,
every bean-eating buckaroo from Blazing Saddles,
plus the backfire from a battered Buick,
throw in a whoopee cushion (or twelve),
push ‘til you’re blue, and your result
would be an inadequate insult to
the Sultan of insufferable incense
A mere shadow of the Shaman
A whisper on the wind compared to
my dad, The Singing Sphincter.
© 2013 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
NOTES: Absolutely true, and one of the best memories of my dad. Seeing “Blazing Saddles” with him at the movies was a trip. The two of us got to the campfire scene and laughed ‘til we cried. I was afraid he was going to have a heart attack, gasping for breath. But then with the belly-laughs came the wretched gas. He poured forth and I had to change my seat for a few minutes until the cloud cleared.
To this day, I don’t think I laugh at anything more than passing gas. If you are near me and “let one go,” I apologize in advance for my guffaws. Can’t help it. It’s hard wired. Just ask my sisters or my best friend, John; they remember. Hope you had fun… Now open a window, for God’s sake!! Peace and a vanilla-scented candle, Amy
For ABC Wednesday (D), and Three Word Wednesday (Backfire, Embarrass, Task), and my source of poetic refreshment, Poets United.
HOOPLA!
In silly, obtrusive hats
they banter on the floor of
the convention, knowing
the intention and the rules.
Their duty, to nominate
their candidate… yet, they’re
only in their element
acting like damned fools.
No matter which party,
they’re mostly foolhardy.
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For Three Word Wednesday (Banter, Duty, Element) and ABC Wednesday (H). Also at the convention of brilliant poets (who let me write there, too!): Poets United.
PROCESS NOTES: Yes, I watched BOTH the Republican and Democratic conventions, as much as I could, some online. The stupid behavior and outlandish dress displayed by members of both parties was truly a turnoff, considering the solemn duty they are to perform.
I hope all voters will take time to watch the speeches (now that they are so easily accessed online) and visit the various fact-checking sites to evaluate, to discern… not simply go for the usual line. However you vote, GET TO THE POLLS! Otherwise, I really don’t want to hear your complaints. Get active, get American, get real. Peace, Amy
A peaceful Good Friday to Christians, and Happy Pesach to Jews. To Muslims, a moment’s breath… and to all, those who follow a path of faith and atheists alike, I wish you peace and love. Amy
Order in His Court
His growl is worse than his bark
His bark is worse than his bite
He’s hyped to the max on drugs
He’s free to spread bile and spite
To justify his self-hatred
He takes it all out on “girls”
Who’d marry such a foul swine?
(She hates sex – but does love pearls)
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For Three Word Wednesday: Growl, Hype, Justify. Also on the “sidelines” (right column) of Poets United. I’m so proud to be a member! Amy
It’s Twofer… Thursday! Three prompts in two poems. Each prompt is listed under the appropriate work. It’s a sunny day, and things are looking up in Amyville! If you want your day to be even better, click on the links for the various poetry sites and look at the astounding work out there in cyberbeautyland! Peace, Amy
Just One Wish
If I could have just one wish…
I’d melt all weapons, from
handguns to tanks
Forge farm tools for land to be tilled by
hands that formerly pushbuttonlaunched drones
Hands that flew off wrists as Hummer hit IED.
Honest work for real pay,
homes for all, bellies full.
The sick tended,
violence ended,
people defended
by reason, not rockets.
By wisdom, not war.
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For Carry On Tuesday, prompt: Finish this poem, “If I had just one wish…”
And now… sidetracking into true ignorance!
Homophobes
“Deviant” is a concept
born of miniscule minds
and religious cherry-pickers
who have bad translations of the Bible.
They dwell on the trivial
while ignoring real problems
which require substantial effort…
and that are apparently not their concern.
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For Three Word Wednesday (Deviant, Miniscule, Trivial) and ABC Wednesday, brought to you by the letter “H.”
Both are also at my poetic hangout, Poets United.
Labor Room Blues (in the key of AARGH!)
Would that my trap door’d been
strung with elastic
My labor would have been
oh, so easy – less drastic
If I am blessed with one
more babe, I’m sure I’ll
scream, “Cancel the Gatorade!
Let’s try epidural!”
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For Three Word Wednesday: Labor, Cancel, Elastic
Also at Poets United, prompt: Strings
And Riley, no hard feelings! But if you think you’re getting a baby sister or brother at my age, think again, ha ha.
Season’s Grumblings
With each passing year, diminishing cheer:
I feel less festive at Christmastime.
Perhaps it’s the sprawl of malls,
gaudy displays of “Holiday Cheer,”
a politically correct wink,
as though I’m supposed to know they
really mean “Merry Christmas,” but
corporate beliefs leave them no choice.
No voices ringing with carols, but a veritable
barrel of secular songs: Motown, Nashville, or worse still,
Burl Ives (that rumpled fool who sang like a choir boy
during the Red Scare) offering “Yuletide cheer.”
Or Maurice “I’m an entertainer, even when the audience
is all Nazis” Chevalier pretending he’s fun and nice.
Santa’s real elves are exploited Chinese child labor.
Neighbor, don’t listen to me. I’ve little glee.
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Three Word Wednesday challenged us with Belief, Festive, and Rumple. Ha! I took up the challenge and delivered this exquisite poetic case of heartburn. What a Grinch! For those who are believers, have yourselves a Merry Christmas, and remember whose birthday it is, teach your children. And if you’re a secular Christmas person, hey, pay no neve-rmind to me, except for the part about the Chinese kids. Peace, Amy
WARNING: NOT for the squeamish. (So if you read it, you have only yourself to thank or blame.)
For those who don’t know me well enough yet, this happened to me when I was a kid. Feel free to comment, ask questions, or engage me through email if you prefer to speak privately (ask and ye shall receive my address). I’m open about this (and my mental disorders) because I want survivors to shed their unearned shame and get the help they need to sweep the monster from under the bed and LIVE their lives not as victims, but as true survivors. Peace, Amy
Too Close, No Comfort
She feels the proximity of the monster
Hears his footsteps
Smells his acrid third-martini breath
She should call out, scream
But it’s useless, no one comes to
help the child until afterwards
It’s over. She wet the bed again
but he never noticed, too busy with
her small, slack-jawed mouth
Will she ever tell the secret everyone knows,
or will she block it all out to preserve
what little sense of self remains?
Little girls have a capacity, as do little boys
to save retribution for adulthood,
when they are able to handle the history
Tears witnessed by a therapist,
perhaps meds to ease the trauma as it is relived
again and again, until the haunting stops
My dad never did the perp walk
Mom never admitted she knew
but my sweet revenge was forgiveness:
After all, he was the sick one.
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For Three Word Wednesday: Immobile, Proximity, Retribution
Three Word Wednesday prompted us with: Cease, Heat, and Nasty. A million ways you can go with that, but I was reminded of those punishing Manhattan summers. Thom G, thinking of you and my other NYC friends now.
This is also at our poetry collective, Poets United, which (if you scroll down to the second article) has an interview with… MOI! I was so honored. Thanks again, Sherry Blue Sky, for tapping into my brain. A brave chore, that! Amy
City Summer
City sidewalks
drink in summer heat
absorbing as through pores and
releasing a scalded, nasty smell:
Part spilled lattes
Parts updraft of subway tracks, their litter and rats
Part dog who missed the tree
Part dog owner who didn’t bring a plastic bag
Part bare feet of the homeless,
never to cease their quest for
the shelter of a bit of shade
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Two poems – I hope both will bring a smile.
ABC Wednesday, brought to you by the letter X, and with a nod to Gary Larson of “The Far Side.”
Instrumentation (haiku)
Welcome to Heaven
Here is your full Steinway Grand
Hell? A xylophone.
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Three Word Wednesday words: Bump, Transfix, Knuckle. Odd set of words, but here’s mine!
The Thump
My pregnancy was no mere baby bump.
More like a lump, and a thumper to boot.
Alone in the evening, we
(baby plus me) would sprawl on the bed, shirt lifted up.
A sight to tranfix Mesmer himself,
the balloon-within-a-balloon,
my belly encased her home,
my womb.
I’d poke, she’d kick back.
I’d sing, she’d sway to an internal rhythm.
Her foot would push against the edge of her universe,
like a knuckle bulging inside a glove.
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Sharp Little Pencil 