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

Tag Archives: Weight

The Call

Dinner with Sis and Rollie
He retired early – stomach ache

My hug couldn’t reach around his girth.

The phone rang at 4am
Mom: “Wake up, Rollie’s at Lourdes.”
Flying down the highway…

Too late. Gone at 36.

© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Rest in peace, Rollie. Brother-in-law, Father, Prankster, Friend
For Trifecta: Poem in 33 words plus the phrase: “The phone rang at 4am”
Also at my kindred spirits’ lair, Poets United.

ABC Wednesday had us up to the letter “M,” while Three Word Wednesday‘s words were: Evident, Illusion, and Tragic.  Here is an example of why we must always remember to tell our girls they are worthy and wonderful – and our boys, too.  Amy

Megan’s Mind

Her illusion was her reality
That they stared at her in school
That every zit was a tragic flaw
That her muffin-top was the subject of gossip

She had never been kissed (not even at summer camp)
Mirrors served as evidence, judge, and jury:
She was a blight, a sight unworthy of the world
But she had no real friend to share the verdict with

The school was abuzz Monday morning
Why did Megan hang herself Saturday night?

© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil

Ah, the beloved Wordle landed once again at Big Tent Poetry. Like a Rubik’s cube of words, except there is no right or wrong way to assemble it. Check out Big Tent to see others’ work. Peace, Amy

Parade of Smiles (Big Tent Poetry)

The parade of smiles, boyish slips of things
that turn out to be teenage girls,
seems to defy explanation.

I gasp as they slump by,
stick figures who should be
waking to full womanhood.

I question silently their choices
of salad over Chinese in the food court
and hope they get enough protein and fats.

My daughter’s love of moccachinos speaks volumes
about her state of mind and body.
She may be a tangle of emotions…

but her body is aflame with curves.
Thighs with musculature and form;
she is aware of herself and fully awake.

© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil

At Sunday Scribblings, the call was for the theme “manifesto.” This seems apropos as we approach the wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am killer-diller of all manifesto proclamation days… you know what I’m talking about: NEW YEAR’S RESOLUTIONS!


No matter what the resolution
I always messed it up
I confess, I’m mistress of the
revolution against New Year’s promises
all broken by Valentine’s Day

That year of the grapefruit diet
I fainted in the street
Lack of protein, said the doctor
Thus began the evolution of my desire
to quash sad manifestos

Friends who “will quit smoking on January first”
Suck ‘em up Dec. 31
Like a junkie determined to
wrench the monkey from his back
but keeps the tourniquet as a memento

Gyms are packed that first week of the year
Then one by one, they peel off
petals of a fading rose
that shrivels for lack of water
or that packet of crap you’re supposed to dissolve in the vase

Let’s face it.
New Year’s resolutions are
useless self-sabotage
Setting yourself up for failure
before the hangover even kicks in

(c) 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil

Our Poetic Asides challenge was “Forget What They Say.” My kind of prompt, Robert! Click on the link to see what others came up with. As for me…


Old age ain’t for sissies, said Bette Davis
and she was doggone right
Boobs hanging so low I have to
set ’em in rollers at night
and shoved into “woman-friendly” bras daily
The way they swing wouldn’t make Frank
sing “ring-a-ding-ding”

Took up yoga to get flexible
advice courtesy of my physician
(not “Physical,” thanks anyway, Olivia)
Noticed that, in the Down Dog position
my skin of my thighs draped off my legs
like a curtain valance, but at least
I kept my balance.

That is, until the Salutes to the Sun,
when I grandly and loudly fell on my face,
laughing so hard I snorted at my own contortions.
This got other 50+ women chortling and
soon we were all flat on our mats doing
what older girls do best: Sharing a laugh
about ourselves, on our own behalf.

We finished class and Betsy blurted:
“A latte! Who’s with me?”
Soon around a table filled with decadent desserts
(which we dutifully split, counting calories somewhat)
we decided: Stay with yoga class, stretch at night,
walk in pairs or groups, eat (almost) right.
But never skip dessert: Old age ain’t for sissies,
nor for grumps, nor frumps. Just real women,
having our say and doing it (cue Nelson Riddle):
“Oooooooour Waaaaaaaaaay!”

© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil

Sunday Scribblings asked us to write on the theme, ‘Friction.’ You can tell I’ve had too much coffee today. Enjoy!


Feeling friendly,
phoned Fiona Fleshpot.
Faded fashion filly
facing failed flick – fetid flop.

FLASH! (flotsam for females)
fancied former, firmer,
flexible, “fine” Fiona.
Furnished factoids.

Fix festivities.

Fry fast foods…
fling fresh fare
(fodder for former fatties).

Flaming flambes,
frozen Frangipani,
fudgy fondues.

Fiona feels friction falter;
feeds fairly fully…

finally, farts.

© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil