Writer’s Island wanted Celebration poems. This one is lighter of heart than my last… guess who I am?
READY, SET, BLOW
I started off so fulsome
carefully dressed in white
that clung to my body
like Travolta’s ice cream suit.
OW! That burns,
but I am comforted by kisses
lips caressing me,
I am passed from friend to friend.
I’m the life of the party.
Aglow, the star of the show,
as the lava lamp flows,
bloop… bloop… bloop…
Minutes later, spent.
They’ve used me until I’m
a scrap of my former self
Now, the final indignity.
Out comes the roach clip
to pierce my remains.
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Previously published at Poetic Asides
At Writer’s Island, we were encouraged to write about celebrations of any form. This poem is pretty much true, as are a lot of my pieces. Peace, Amy
GRADUATION DAY
It was graduation and we worked SO frickin hard
to get to that platform, even if it meant the ceremony and
a gown and a hat with the woosy little tassel on it
Our night to howl, we ditched the parents pretty quick
after the cake and punch and Aunt Cora pinching my cheek
Gotta catch up with the guys, I told Mom
Dad put his hand on her shoulder, like, it’s okay
Our kid’s a man today, and soon he’ll be in uniform, so
let him have fun with his friends, that’s how it goes
My sister begged me to take her along and I was like, no way
We got a party hidden away at Hilary’s house cause
her folks are away and she said she’s got a surprise
We get there, it’s all beer and sweat and thumpin music
“ATTENTION GRADUATES!” shrieks Hil over the noise
“We got some Farmville goin on for you tonight”
I’m lookin around for a computer and the Facebook screen
If that’s the big surprise, we’re bookin and findin a real party
She’s got a big bowl and some straws and stuff
“Take your pick.” Oh. PHARMville. You know the deal
Everybody raids their parents’ meds and their kid sister’s Ritalin
and Gram’s Oxy she takes for the arthritis in her knees
It all goes in a bowl and you pick out a few and down it
with a beer, or choose Door Number Two, which I did, and Ben
Pills crushed up to make a high/low heroin rush when you snort em
Last party wasn’t so good, I swallowed some caps and threw up a lot
And this is our big night, so Ben and I grab the straws
It burns, then a second later we’re soooooo mellooooow
All I remember is Ben falling asleep on the couch smilin like a dork
I passed out in this state of I don’t know what you call it, but
it felt damn good, like when they put me under for my tonsils
Just woke up and I’m at a funeral, oh shit, did Ben try to drive?
Everybody’s cryin, and I’m in the church balcony lookin down
I’m in my best suit, in the casket. Shit.
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Writer’s Island asked for a poem about Triumph. Can’t think of anything more triumphant than a great gig with the right crowd and my voice in good shape…! Click on the link and check out the comments section to read other takes on the prompt! Amy
JAZZ AFIRE
Spotlight’s hot tonight
Fresh coffee on the side table
My fingers touch the cool ivories
and all hell breaks loose
Thumping the bass line
Reaching deep, drawing out
the raw fire of jazz within
Souls of legends aflame as I call to them:
Feed my soul, strike the match
Light a fire under my piano bench
til I burn with desire to shout it true
Til the keys melt at my touch
Hellzapoppin at this piano bar
Crowd heats up and calls for more
Coffee’s cold, neglected
but I’m a pyre of pure jazz afire
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
This week at Writer’s Island, we were asked to think about masquerades. First one was heavy, so I decided it was time for a little more fun. Easy, my Tea Party friends, it’s just a poem! Amy
SCARY COSTUME
This year, Halloween’s too easy
Red suit, sharp and stiff, not sleazy
Hair up in a shiny bun
Posture of a warring Hun
Sensible dark-rimmed wire glasses
Worn especially for the masses
“Shopped around, I’m really smart
Picked them up at our WalMart”
Smile until my lips vibrate
Platitudes at rapid rate
Kids, I’ll drag along behind
tied up to my butt with twine
Red high heels from Macy’s, dear
(“WalMart”? Not with my career!)
Vacant stare and “Yeah, you betcha”
Look out! Sarah’s gonna getcha!
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore, Sharp Little Pencil
Thanks to progressive radio host (and proud WNYer) Stephanie Miller for the phrase “Stupid O’Clock.” She’s a wonderful antidote to Beck and Rush, along with Ed Schultz and Randi Rhodes… if your city CARRIES progressive radio.
STUPID O’CLOCK STUCK (Writer’s Island past prompt)
Jagged maze
zigzagging from row to row
frenzied search for the Big Cheese
Cheating, skipping lines, flying across the labyrinth
Cornered by repetitions of
jumbled choruses
at stupid o’clock in the
late night of soul’s mourning
My frontal lobe
a lava lamp bursting with I don’t know
Each thought glomming onto the next
Floating in inky blue warmth
Even with the pillow
pulled tight over my head
desperate for sleep, still the sight
Molasses morass glowing
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
PATIENT FISHER
Dad, Uncle Tommy, and Grandpa Bill
invited me to go fishing with them
I was only five and quite honored
Turned out I was in charge of the beer
Keeping it tied to the rowboat
immersed in the chill of the lake
They whispered their jokes and told me
that fishing is all about patience
Tossing out the line and waiting for a nibble
If you didn’t get a fish the first time, you tried again
You grow up, you adapt those lessons learned
to your adult life
In matters of faith, I remain a patient fisher
Living each day as though I’m tossing out a line
quietly, calmly, carefully
If someone nibbles, I let them
If they grab the line with gusto, I share my journey
And sometimes, if the water is just right
We float in a rowboat side by side
quietly chatting, sharing what God has offered us
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
FIRMLY ROOTED
Firmly rooted
Standing tall, with dignity
even as others fall prey
to greedy humans
Somehow I am spared
Perhaps those knotty bits
that grew on my sides over the years
were a blessing after all
I saw men with loud instruments
coming to get me and all my friends
I used my “get the hell away” stance
That and the blotches seemed to help
They must have thought
there was something wrong with me
Disease or some other imperfection
But really, I’m just stubborn
Someday they may literally take me as I am
but my prayer is that lightning lay me down
And when I fall… if no one is there to hear it
Will I make a sound? You’re damn right I will!
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Writer’s Island prompt: Another poem with song titles, this time from one of my favorite Beatles albums, Rubber Soul:
MICHELLE
If I needed someone in my life
it wouldn’t be you, said Michelle
I’m looking through you, toward the future
and neither seem too bright
I need someone who says
“Think for yourself” in my life
Don’t wait for me in the Norwegian Wood
You won’t see me there
I’ll drive my car far from you
My mind whispering, “Run for your life”
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
TEACUP
Sad Lisa was a hard-headed woman
She was miles from nowhere
on the road to find out
where the father and son had gone
Had they boarded longer boats
Sailed into the night fog, into white
She brews tea for the tillerman and whispers
“But I might die tonight”
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore
From Cat Stevens’ “Tea For The Tillerman”
We were asked to write a poem incorporating song titles from our favorite albums. Showing my age here, but…
AMERICAN BOOKENDS
Voices of old people in the park
Old friends haunted by a hazy shade of winter
At the zoo, Punky’s dilemma lingers
as Mrs. Robinson cries, “Save the life of my child!”
Like it or not,
we’re all fakin’ it in America
Our lives are bookends:
Beginnings and overs
but mostly
overs
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore
from all-time fave album (vinyl) Simon & Garfunkel’s “Bookends”
Sharp Little Pencil 