#30/30 - 2015

[Since my roller derby name is Sonnet Boom, I figured I should probably endeavor to write one myself for this 30/30. It's exciting! Here's some background info on the sonnet if anyone was wondering! I had a difficult time coming up with something entirely organic so I ended up rewriting Shakespeare's famous Sonnet 18 but trading the idea of his lover for the role of poetry in my life. I kept the first two and last two lines generally as they were in his sonnet, just with slight tweaks. I think it works?]

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art a worthy equal in my mind,
The gleam and freedom easy in your way--
I do declare the two alike in kind. 

Might I adopt a more familiar tone?
Since you and I are such a noted pair.
I've felt for you as long as I've had bone,
And known your heady presence in the air. 

But such is not my comparison to make,
So I will just say this: you are my breath,
There's a thirst in me your words do slake;
I think I'll breathe as such until my death.

So long as I can breathe and I can see,
So long live you, and you give life to me.


[Oh man, it would've been cool to do Sonnet 14, as 14 is my derby number....oh well. Planning for next year!]

#29/30 - 2015

[I keep getting emails after I follow up with jobs I applied for, and they all have pretty much said the same thing. The italics are actual parts of an email I got today, the regular font is my burnt-out subconscious. Trying something weird with the layout and opening parentheses but not closing them. Hrm.]

The rejection letter burnout is a very real thing.

After sixty-four days of searching, they all begin to run together.

Thank you very much for your interest in this position.

      (You applied, great job.

We interviewed a number of excellent candidates for this position, 

      (sorry you weren't one of them.

and while we were impressed with your qualifications and skill set, 

      (we weren't impressed enough to talk to you in person about them. 

we have chosen to move forward with another candidate at this time. 

      (presumably having your skills but 100 years of experience, which you lack

We appreciate your interest and wish you well in your job search.
      (Again, sorry about not being the best.

We hope that you will continue to consider other possible career opportunities in our department. 

      (Keep applying. Keep applying. Keep applying. Keep applying til your fingers fall off from overtyping.

Again, thank you for your time and your interest in joining our staff.

      (Take a deep breath. Tomorrow we cast our line once again. 

#28/30 - 2015

Alphabet leggings 

are wildly hard to come by. 

They say you can find anything on the internet,

if you know the magic words,

but somehow I cannot get there this time.

All I want

is to display my typographical predilections

across my muscled thighs

for all the world to see.

I don't want cats on my crotch

or celebrities' faces

I don't want a galaxy that looks like vomit

or any food descriptor on the butt.

I just want letters

jumbled around like I dipped myself to the hips

into a dictionary

for a nice relaxing soak.

Is that so much to ask?

#27/30 - 2015

[Dedicated to Scargyle, because her status today about this made me feel all the things.]

Why did you make that?
someone asked the artist.
A seemingly simple question, but it carries
weight here.
Why would you ask that?
Would you ask that of an accountant? Or an engineer?
An artist makes
because she needs to
there is a compulsion as second-nature as breathing
for her
a meeting of the mystical and the mundane
in that which she creates.
Why did you make that?
Because I wanted to.
Because it wasn't there before.
Because I needed to.
Because making is in my blood.

#26/30 - 2015

Posted by 30 Day Poetry Challenge on Saturday, April 25, 2015

Somewhere it's Spring,
the breeze told me so.
Somewhere it is, but here
the breeze clings to the cold of the transition,
scoffing at your decision to go sleeveless
even though the sun calls to kiss your bare arms.
Baby wild grape hyacinths slowly unfurl
their best spring garb
although their little urn-shaped flowers
haven't quite finished their winter mourning.

#25/30 - 2015

[True life experience: last weekend at the clinic I defaced an incorrectly spelled sign. "Your" does not mean "You're," people.]

Sometimes I have an uncontrollable tic,
Obsessive Correction Disorder
and it manifests itself
in graffiti on grammatically erroneous signage
smile, your on camera, it gloated.
My on camera what?
The ever-present pen in my pocket is an extension of my mania
my tool for reshaping the universe

#23/30 - 2015

[Dedicated to my lovely Kristen Marie, who passed Wednesday night. This is my description of the realization gathered from facebook posts and no real news. Thoughts also spring from this article, an interesting read on mourning in the techno age. I miss you already, darling.]

I cannot find the words for this sorrow.
Big, unabashed tears in public
a vague sense of darkness choking me with its
complete lack of information.
The world of grief is very different now,
it is extensive, rarely face-to-face and without any small words
to brace you for impact. 
There is just the first glimpse
the quick stab to the gut
the searching for more things you do not want to be true.
And so you reach out. 
Electric tendrils reach across time and space
to bring back what once was.
Feelings, friends, high school in-jokes,
they rush back, tinged with guilt and sadness. 
The maybes and regrets cloud my head
as I obsessively refresh
and I cry more tears than I can make,
capsizing me again every time I have to repeat it
to a new, yet-unbroken heart.  


I wish you peace, my darling Chrysalis.
Wherever you are is brighter now you're there. 

#24/30 - 2015

[Dedicated to my darling Kristen Marie Rushlow, gone too soon and too sudden. You taught me how to be myself and how to find my spot in the world. I love you forever, and I will miss you for always.]

Today, I live for you.
I raze my closet for its brightest colors
find the sparkliest polish for my nails
paint curlicues and glitter at the corners of my eyes
just like you taught me.
Today, I remember how to smile in spite of the pain
how to prioritize love above all else
how to split my face in a grin
and make another feel like they are the most important thing to ever happen,
just like you taught me.
Today I will read again
The Only Great Thing Anyone Has Ever Done
and clutch close every great thing you have ever done
for me.
Today,
I will find my shiniest baubles
I will drink my spiciest tea
I will listen to the Violent Femmes and the Flaming Lips and and Ani DiFranco and the Beatles
I will dye my hair
I will call someone darling
I will miss you.

I thought of you the other day,
a fleeting remembrance of us
rolling sushi in your kitchen
dying hair in your bathtub
shooting silly string firearms in your yard.
Today, I shoulder the regret of that fleeting thought
and its resulting inaction
I am locked in memory too long past to be as vivid
as I want it to be.

I will wear the ring we found in the dirt on a long run
some rainy day in high school
that we will no longer share custody of.
Today I will miss you for the rest of my life.

#22/30 - 2015

[Three spies… (image prompt)]

Three spies
three raincoats
three umbrellas.
Three right feet forward,
three right hands in pockets,
three sets of cloaked intentions.

#21/30 - 2015

[Prompt: Write a poem in which each line has six words and makes a statement or at least expresses a complete thought.]

Something makes me pick my nails.

stray bits of cuticle dangle, enticing

just out of reach, dig in.

It happens almost of its own accord,

whether I am engaged or not--

my fingers pick, my unconscious acquiesces;

until gentle reminders snap me back.

My focus should be directed elsewhere

but still I remain somewhat mesmerized.

Blinders on, micro-managing the distraction.

Other fingers nudge mine, remonstrating me,

and I reach for them instinctually.

But I cannot let those fingers 

feel used yet ineffective so often.

Caught up in a vicious cycle,

unable to make a lasting change.

Constant need to be fidgeting, somehow,

and my cuticles are always there.

I should be doing anything else,

I should be doing anything productive,

but this is all I see. 

#20/30 - 2015

[I've been really into found poetry lately, so here's one that is made up of job qualifications that I've sifted through over the past few days] 

Do you have a passion for providing accurate information?
Looking for a place that is not only willing to hear your ideas, but craves them?
Are you looking to join a group of strategic and creative thinkers? If so, look no further! 
We believe in hiring individuals who are looking for more than a job.
We are currently looking for someone to join our team,
A highly energetic “A” player who creates a win-win environment with highly developed technical, people, analytical, and leadership skills. 
To perform this job successfully, an individual must be able to perform each essential duty satisfactorily.

Essential Job Duties:
Exceptional communication skills!
Play well with others and work collaboratively. 
Open-minded attitude to resolving problems and delivering the right results
Dedicated to improving oneself and learning on the job 
Driven by creative intuition but able to gut check and course correct 
Ability to exercise independent judgment while working under limited supervision.

Other must haves:
Clear phone voice
Maintains a neat, clean and uncluttered work area. 

you will deliver a beautifully simple, intuitive experience;
clear, logically sequenced, and grammatically correct documents 
thought leadership and content development
Sure, this is unorthodox, but who knows what might transpire.
Be sure to include your resume, along with a list of five fun facts about yourself.

Wages are commensurate with experience.
experience a PLUS.

Yes, this is your first 
assignment.

#19/30 - 2015

[This weekend at the training camp, after our first scrimmage of the day A2D2 went outside to have a picnic in the sun before our next game. The Vixens, whom we had just played, filtered out to join us and we all had a grand time bonding over roller derby and eating food and basking in the nice weather.] 

Where else can you get hip-checked so hard
your skates leave the earth
and your hip bone slams down in their place,
hit delivered expertly by the opposing A-team skater,
each throb of newfound ache nearly pressing tears
from your eye,
and then twenty minutes later,
you find yourself seated next to the checker on a spread blanket
both enjoying the sun and the crisp deep breaths,
and you congratulate her for the hit
and she grins, asking if you've bruised fun colors yet,
excitement and pride and sportsmanship
mingling in a heady, electric atmosphere around us
and we are intoxicated
drunk on roller derby

#18/30 - 3015

Today, I take it upon myself to
learn.
I place my self into the capable hands
of my roll models
so that I may be more.
Huddled up close as they
explain the drill
helmet upturned in front
of my crossed skates
like supplication
alms for the poor
skills for the young
knowledge for the thirsty

#17/30 - 2015

Waiting impatiently.
I have always been the one
to wake up too early on the first day of school
to pack too much to accommodate for any eventuality
to spend hours staring at the clock because the desired numbers
haven't spun up yet
Today I continue my
waiting impatiently
a sponge looking ahead to
the delicacies it will absorb
so is my whole self in preparation
for this adventure.

#16/30 - 2015

[My Word Wizard is a website I found for prompts and the phrase struck me]

My Word Wizard
escapes sometimes
when I need them most.
When they're here, I imagine them to be wizened
all-encompassing
dictionary leaves for their hair.
They speak slowly, if at all, and
slender fingers pluck a phrase from their head
like lexical dandruff.
But when they're gone,
I can feel the absence
taking up space in my head
intangible but encroaching
like blindness.

#15/30 - 2015

Looking around my space
reading book spines like
poetry
I think to myself,
I have built this.
I have a home and it will
last.

Yes, today is down,
but at least I am
here and I have built this
and I
survived.

May not have been the not-Apocalypse,

but females

are strong as hell.

#14/30 - 2015

[blackout poem from "Listen to life's music" by Melina Glusac on page 7 of the Michigan Daily, Tuesday April 14th's edition]

What's going on in your ears,

dear gentleman?

the timelessness

those last few miles

you're missing

a disclaimer

It elevates inspires motivates

to

take the edge

firmly

feeling his way forward

joyously

families

walking by

outside

of me

a full

vintage facing

A little time passes

listen harder:

we'll never be able to play

that song again

#13/30 - 2015

[Wikipedia’s Random Button is a great and magical thing. Click it and write about whatever subject comes up: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Martin_Adams]

Martin Adams is a British Professional Darts Player.
Professional Darts, it seems,
is a perfectly valid life choice,
and a career can start
in a pub.
I was never proficient enough at pub darts
to merit this kind of dedication--
this is not to say
that I did not try--
but it is singularly refreshing to know
that someone is
and that this someone found his way
to the World Darts Championship
and captained the English Professional Darts Team
and held his title for three years.
Just goes to show that
you can be anything you want
when you grow up.

#12/30 - 2015

Sometimes I marvel
at the beauty of a road trip
miles eaten up under my feet
without them even moving.
Sometimes I imagine
the car is gone,
and it's just me speeding along
weightless
on a mission.

#11/30 - 2015

Zen bench
has historically been hard for me
hard to rein in my attention
and prep for the next jam
but the sounds of wrist guards clacking
in centering high-fives with my line
is focusing
a small sound that means
what's past is past
that means
what's next is primary
that means
we're on the same page
that means
teamwork makes the dream work.

#10/30 - 2015

[prompt from here: "Write a will in which you give away the parts of your body. Be as literal or creative as possible. Check out WebMD for inspiration on preexisting parts & ways you can use them, OR feel free to invent the parts that haven’t been discovered yet that you know exist (i.e. the backup heart, the third eye, etc.)." I also thought of Maya Angelou's "Phenomenal Woman" when I was writing. ]

A Last Will And Testament

Of Your Body.

Pieces given piecemeal

to whom you are survived by--

those who touched and felt and mattered.

Starting from the ground

up

since that is where it all will

end.

I will my feet to my father,

who taught me they could heal me

instead of simply move me through the world.

I will my calves to my horses,

my custom-width riding boots 

finding my footing and my roots. 

I will my thighs to my mother,

who taught me my strength is more than muscle,

my womanhood is more than numbers.

I will my hips to my bharatanatyam auntie 

who taught me to understand them for real dancing

and not just the confusion and gyration of the age.

I will my bones to my brother,

who knows what they really are

and will not suffer ghosts.

I will my stomach to my college roommate,

who changed the way I saw it

and improved the way I filled it.

I will my ribcage to my high school sweethearts,

as I learned one after the other

the importance of keeping things in.

I will my broad shoulders to my first job,

where I first picked up something

too heavy for my gender.

I will my earlobes to my best friend from birth,

who pierced hers two days before me (not cool)

and I followed her shine long after that. 

I will my hands to my writings:

I gave all with them

and marked them for posterity.

I will my wrists to my derby wives,

the children's zipper bracelets that brought us together

and the grip that hasn't let us go.

I will my heart to my Bear,

if he will keep it for a while longer,

as he has built so much of me with it.

I do not will my pain to anyone:

it is my own, it has taught me much,

and it will lie down with me.

I do not will my voice to anyone:

but my Touchstone taught me to use it

and showed me her own when it hurt. 

I do not will my Self to anyone.

That will be here long after

I am gone.

#9/30 - 2015

[lines taken from a flip through the Glamour Beauty Issue, and the story about women choosing which door to walk through]

she likes her beauty imperfect
love every scar
ripple
imperfection
meet it head-on
fresh-faced and flawed
choose the door that says
"beautiful"
because beautiful doesn't mean
perfect

#8/30 - 2015

How can I rephrase thee?

Let me count the ways.

1. Given highly technical research background to be translated into a compelling story for different audiences.

Excellent, but focus on the selection.

2. Extracted necessary information from provided data and crafted it into persuasive applications for client.

Better, but continue with the skills required.

3. Showed analytical reading in translating specialized engineering briefs into accessible language.

Nice, but address finished product.

4. Able to extract salient information from documents and subsequently alter information for presentation to a different audience.

Alright, but can it get more specific?

5. Identifying pertinent details for inclusion in story/argument depending on target, crafting appropriate document with analyzed information.

Ok, but how long can you keep going?

#7/30 - 2015

[prompt: Grab the book nearest to you. Turn to page 47, 59, or 92. (Just one, no cheating!) 

Write an acrostic with the third sentence on the page you have chosen making up the first letter of each line. page 47, line 3 of The Professor and the Madman by Simon Winchester: "They courted quickly, and tactfully out of sight of the curious"]


They met under strange circumstances, and
courted the idea of their fingers on the same book being fate. it was dismissed
quickly, neither having been much of a believer in predestination,
and each assumed responsibility for their actions that had led them,
tactfully, to this moment.
out of the swirl and swing of everyday occurrences, out
of the reins of a scheduled coupling. fore
sight is always misinterpreted as the ability
of an individual to wrongfully assume
the authority over knowing what is simply
curious coincidence.

#6/30 - 2015

Career Counseling
is never a phrase I thought I'd pencil into my datebook.
An entire hour of talking about myself.
60 long minutes of what I want to be when I grow up.
But to my surprise,
I enjoyed it.
Disarmed with some colorful language
on the part of my counselor as she sat down,
clad in an orange blazer and a Tigers tee,
I found it easy to slip into conversation.
Retrospective on my past employment led to
a shimmering seed of an idea:
I like to tell stories.
Something so simple, something so obvious,
but it thrummed with truth,
the conversion of straightforward data into
a tale
or an argument.
I think I needed this reminder.

#5/30 - 2015

Lean close, Green Giant, and I'll tell you a secret.

The Internet is a strange place.
The anonymous ebb and flow
throws words across timezones and continents
like an enormous game of cornhole.
You cannot see the mark
to miss it
and missives fall heavy
leaden
context and meaning congealed and unintelligible.

Lean close, Green Giant,
and I'll tell you a secret.
Anonymity does not mean
immunity.



[Title taken from the title of a craigslist missed connections recently. poetic, eh?]

#4/30 - 2015

I did not prepare

for this.
It is Bout Day
and
I am not ready. I am not hydrated. I am not mentally prepared.

I lived the Roster Alternate life,

prepping for the game as a spectator

as a just in case:

take away the nerves and the self-doubt and the worry.

But now it is real

and my gear is still on after warm up

and the buzz is in my ears

the deafening noise only lessening for my name over the loudspeaker--

a phrase that still thrills me
even 400 days after my christening.
Even though I will probably ride the bench until the second half,
even though I am not prepared,
every face in my jersey beams as my hand hits after my intro lap.
I am a part of this, and it is marvelous.
I nearly run into my captain as I rejoin the line,
hands on hips and toestops sliding as I make my stop,
and she places a hand on my own and says
you got this, don't worry.

But I was fashioned to worry.
I am built of overwrought thought and scenario playouts
and it is all I can take to be still.
Still, my leg shakes as I step up to the jammer line,
seven minutes left in the game,
three points down,
my first jam.
A time-out for a bench violation draws on the waiting
and I try to feel the energy rolling off my teammates
and channel it into slowing my nervous heart.
Five seconds is called
four of my blockers in front of me
three points for me to make up
only two opposing
and the whistle blows.
I am ready.

#3/30 - 2015

"Fog"

by Carl Sandberg

has long been one of my favorite images.

But tonight, this fog does not move 

on little cat feet.

This fog has fingers,

and it wraps around me as I follow the highway home,

and sometimes

the fingers lace together into a wall

blocking out any sense of horizon or distance,

hiding overpasses and signs until they loom up on top of you

like the Argonath statues of old.

Driving through this fog is 

a sisyphean journey,

my only aim to keep the car between the lines --

the car is my burden, the lane is my mountain --

but I have no release, no relief, from the top of the mountain

I must just drive into nothing

and hope the world is still there

#2/30 - 2015

I caught a first shiver
of mortality
recently
on a visit home, wrapping my arms

around my little old lady dog.
Her middle has filled out a cylindrical space,
thickened significantly
since I scooped her out of the kiddie pool of her roly-poly siblings
and took her home with me.
I can no longer count her tiny ribs when my fingers move over them.
Her legs have bowed outward,
compressing under the strain of age and her semi-permanent
position as Couch Dog of the House.
Her eyes have clouded--though she could never see too well
through the forest of hair she would not suffer us to trim--
and unless prompted in the right direction,
she will bounce her tiny nose off of objects in her path
simply because
she does not know they are there.
Phrases drop delicately from the lips of adults around me,
as if I am right back at age twelve, little concept of passing,
of goodbye forever,
and I am comfortable in this ignorance.
I have been told, it might be her time soon,
she is so old,
she can barely see,
it would be the right thing to do...
But she still licks my jaw when I nestle myself around her
like I did when I was twelve.
She still jumps up into bed with me
although she needs an assisted path now, and
rarely moves once she is settled.
It may be her time soon,
but I cannot fathom that.
Although she lives with my parents now,
I cannot imagine my life without
her little ball of matted warmth at the end of my bed
plopping right between my feet to sleep
so I cannot move
for waking her.
I sat with her gathered to my lap
recently
and thought about all the things I should know by now
and all the things I wish I could go back to
and remember

#1/30 - 2015

With renewed vigor I sit down
at my desk of sunshine
and blank paper.
This is where I live:
in the moments with crisp to-do lists
and guidelines to follow like a tow rope in a snow storm
but it's taken me some time to compose them for myself.
It has been a month
about
since I left that toxic place
and I am ready to put in my time.
Girl has a schedule and a list,
a planner and scribbles on a napkin,
Girl has a new computer and a shiny attitude,
a plan and some walking-around time.
She turned her can'ts into cans
and her dreams into plans,
or so the saying goes,
made to rhyme so as to stick in your head longer...
and isn't that what we all want?
To make something
to give part of ourselves to the world that gets stuck
and is remembered?
I think I know where to
begin.