No Alarms

Shower-less, bra-less,

keepin' my pajamas on 

nothing all day long

Dang, there is nothing like a lazy weekend. I haven't had one in such a long time; I welcomed my lack of weekend plans with open arms. No commitments for two entire days. I slept in. I ate too much. I cleaned. I watched a movie. I went to a play. You can find time for so many things when you have nothing to do. Laziness is definitely something worth making time for. 

Pub Crawl

Not thinking, drinking

shitty beer from plastic cups

while bad music blares. 

The college-town bar scene is something I am not super fond of. It appears that I am one of the only people in my college-town that feels this way because it seemed like the entire population of my college-town was out at the bars last night. Going out on the weekends, to me, always sounds like it will be fun when I get invited, but it always ends up being trashy. It is loud. It is crowded. And it is expensive. I do enjoy seeing my friends, but its too bad that I cannot actually talk to them. Most of the talking done at the bars is just done to tell the creepers that you have a boyfriend. I guess I just don't get the appeal. 

Academic Intellectuals

Those who can't do teach

and those who can do go to 

graduate school.

I am an education major.

To many, this means: 

I am probably smart-ish, but not super smart. I am probably not that motivated (after all, it's not like my major is challenging). I am probably conservative. I am probably the one who has all the less-than-intellectual interpretations in your literature class. I might have a higher GPA than you but not because I am smarter than you, but probably because my classes are easier than yours. I am probably really sweet though, oh, and really good with kids. 

Don't worry, I have gotten it plenty of times. 

The truth is, I am not an education major because I cannot do something more or I am too afraid to try something more risky. I am an education major because, in my job, I will be impacting the future everyday. I will not teach kids how to diagram sentences. I will teach them to love to learn. I will teach them to teach themselves. I will teach them to teach others. 

So, go ahead and go to graduate school. I will go change the world. 

King Cluck

Mummified chicken

in a gold painted shoebox

wreaks up the 5th grade.

 I know that poem is not very poetic, but it is a true story. Today at work, a 5th grader brought a shoebox covered in mock Egyptian scroll, painted gold, and proudly exclaimed that it contained a mummified chicken. Of course, she instantly became the most popular girl in the room, as her devoted fans crowed in around her. She lifted the lid, and to my surprise, there was. for real. a mummified chicken inside. It was headless, a bit bloody, and wrapped in gauze. Oh, and it smelled. Apparently, the poor chicken was sacrificed for the sake of education. The whole 5th grade class now knows how to mummify dead things! And you were worried that the education system was failing!

To Ezra Pound

Mr. Pound, you're mean. 

You give me a list of don'ts, 

but writing is doing. 

Writing is not restricted to the elite. Writing is expression. It is communication. It is release. It is scribbles. It is art. It is progressive or reflective. It is work or play. It is poetry or prose. It is public or private. It transports our insides to the outside and helps us make sense of the outside for our insides. 

Writing is something different for everyone, but it is still for everyone. Yes, I know that my lines may be cliche and someone may have had my same ideas before I wrote these down, but writing these lines gives me an outlet for reflection and release that I don't find anywhere else. So, Mr. Pound, I don't plan on stopping. 

An Ode to my Pancake State

Yeah, it's pretty flat,

but our birds have room to fly

here in the middle. 

Having lived my whole life in Kansas, it is easy for my dreams to drift to the left or right of my central state. Squeezed in between the mountains and the skyscrapers, it can be difficult to find the beauty in these pancake-like surroundings. But today, driving down a midwest highway, it was difficult not to find it. I marveled at the open spaces, the trees, the hills, and sky. sky. sky. sky. sky.

As a kid, my family vacationed in the Rockies in the summer. Every time we left to come home, I would stare out of the back window thinking about how lucky it would have been to be born in such a beautiful place. It is easy to marvel at the beauty you see once a year. But now, I have learned to marvel at the things I see everyday. Seems pretty lucky to me.

Rogue Warmth

February breaths

his warm breath through his sharp teeth 

then he bites back down. 

I rode my bike for the first time in months today. I rode past joggers, walkers, football tossers, packs of college kids BBQing, children playing in front yards, and a cute old couple chatting on their front porch. The whole town smelled like spring, and a breathed it deep into my winterized lungs. But, sadly, I know it won't last. A Kansas winter is laden with a few days of sweet glimpses of spring that only make the frigidity feel colder. So, for now, I will ride my bike into the Kansas sunset, but I won't be packing up my winter coat quite yet. 

Loose Teeth

Five-year-old fingers

uproot unsuspecting teeth  

for Tooth Fairy change.

It appears to be wiggly tooth season for the kindergartners I work with. Everyday a new five-year-old is jiggling his tooth at me or showing me a new hole in her smile. The whole process freaks me out a little bit. They are loosing these small bones from their mouths to make room for new, larger bones to grow in. It seems pretty gross now that I am so far removed from it. But the kids are SO excited about it. They are fully dedicated to their jiggling mission! 

Personally, I wish they could just keep their teeth in their mouths. The longer they can keep anything that is titled "Adult" out of their bodies, the happier I will be; but as it is with everything else, kids seem so eager to kick the baby out to let the adult in. I know they can't remain kindergartners forever, but what do they really need adult strength teeth or cell phones or divorced parents for at that age anyway. I guess I just like the thought of kids growing up too fast about as much as I like the thought of one of my teeth popping out of my gums. 

Holiday Romance

My love kisses me

even with my runny nose.

I don't need flowers. 

I am sure everyone has read a Valentine's Day-hatin' rant before, so I promise not to rant too long. There were just so many men buying flowers at the grocery store today that I felt I had to comment. Valentine's Day is just a silly holiday, and I feel like any true romantic would agree. Why do we need a holiday designated for telling your sweetheart you love them? Shouldn't we have told our sweethearts that yesterday, and tomorrow?

Of course, I am guilty. My boyfriend and I attempted to celebrated the holiday. We packed a picnic and ate it by the lake. It was fine, but it just seemed a little forced. Honestly, I feel more loved when we are distracting each other from homework at the library or cooking a quick weeknight dinner than when we make an event of it. I would much rather have a tiny bit of realistic romance everyday than a fairy-tale red and pink explosion of romance once a year. Oh, did I mention he gives great foot rubs?... even when they're smelly.

On the eve of my dog's 9th birthday

Pups become old dogs

and grandpa's forget your name

while you're standing still. 

It is strange how people seem to only notice their own growth by noticing the growth of surrounding them: "You're making me feel old."

Do people really not realize that ten years have passed until they see an old college buddy's ten-year-old daughter? Does a teacher not realize that a song isn't popular until she references it in class and is echoed with silence? It is as if we are completely oblivious to our own passing age without seeing someone else's passing age. What is age when it isn't measured next to something else? After all, our years are only meaningful when measured by the movement of the Earth. 

Maybe age really is just a number. 

$5 Night

Sipping martinis 

and contemplating the arts

in a Target dress

The other night, I was just sipping a discount "Venetian Moonlight" martini the with some friends, I couldn't help but think of the irony of it. To begin with, I was in Kansas, no where near Venice. And it was too cloudy to even see the moon, let alone bask in its light. Then there was the fact that I have to wait for Birthday's and Christmas to get things like a Swiffer mop and shoes to replace the ones with holes all the way through the soles; but there I was, spending $15 on drinks with fresh raspberries floating in them. I could have easily bought a mop with that money. I was pretending to be classy, when I am not classy and cannot afford to be. But I sure do like eating those booze soaked raspberries!

No Time for Title

Sometimes twenty-four

isn't quite enough hours 

to find five minutes.

I am not sure where my time goes, but someday I would like to find it.

Electric Blanket Love

Homework piles high,

but winter toes need warm sheets

so homework can wait.

So, I know electric blankets are dangerous and suck energy from outlets, but when the windchill is -10 and a Kansas snowstorm is, once again, beating at my door, I will indulge. Sorry about the fire hazard, neighbors. 

Emerson, No One Listened

Drugs, booze, sex, religion,

books, party-lines, facebook, guns:

We're all reliant.

I am not sure if it is even possible to be SELF-reliant, holding true to only the "integrity of your own mind." I know that I am not. I do, however, try to be aware that my addiction isn't much better than the next. I hope this gets me one step closer to transcending. I have always thought it would be nice to become a transparent eyeball!

The goal:

"Standing on the bare ground, my head bathed by the blithe air, and uplifted into infinite space, all mean egotism vanishes. I become a transparent eyeball-I am nothing; I see all; the currents of the Universal Being circulate through me-I am part or particle of God." from Nature by Ralph Waldo Emerson 

The Good Times are Killing Me

ear infections suck 

brown slime drips from my ear drum 

not good for haikus 

Forcing myself to create just a little something everyday is more difficult than expected. Even writing three short lines can be difficult when something like an ear infection/sinus infection combo sucks away all inspiration. Despite the illness, I actually had a really great weekend. I wondered an art museum, overstuffed myself with delicious food, and spend a lot of time with my favorite guy. All of this should have provided me with enough inspiration to write a few lines of poetry, but it seems that all of my creativity has just been converted to pressure in my head. 

Of course, this is a common motif in life. I think most of us are guilty of letting the small bits of bad overshadow all of the good once in a while. I certainly do. I get so distracted by the cold weather, or the long work days, or the overwhelming electricity bill, or the ear infection that I forget to remember that I am young, healthy, happy, and in love. I know it is bad, and I try my best to stay positive; but just reading my poem for today will show you, quite obviously, that I am not good at it.

Kids These Days

Twelve year old sex bomb

wears lip stick while kissing her 

teddy bear goodnight. 

I work with middle school students, and it sometimes scares me how much they know, but almost as often, I am surprised by how innocent they seem. One minute they are dancing in ways that would usually, in Kansas, only be found along the interstate right outside city limits; and the next, they are whispering to me about holding hands (fingers laced!!) with a boy for the first time. Usually adults' opinions of this stage of child-adolescence-hood fall on one side of the spectrum or the other. They are either corrupt by society, sex-crazed, bullies. Or they are innocent, sweet, and ignorant of the world's evils. But just like most things, I find that, most of the time they fall somewhere in the middle: aware of some adult content but also still loving that teddy bear. Not so different from you and me. Just dressed a little stranger and in need of a little more deoderant. 

Scapegoat

I am angry at you;

It's easier than being 

angry at myself.

Today, I was angry at myself, but that was no fun, so I tried to find someone else or something else to be angry at instead (like that damned computer for not working during my presentation or that hot water for burning my pinkie when I tried to drain my pasta using only a bowl and a plate).

And this got me to thinking about all those people who are angry at other people. The people who are angry at other people for spreading anger. The people who are angry at the people who are angry at other people for spreading anger. The people who are angry at the people who are angry at them for being angry at other people for spreading anger. And the people who are angry at other people for no reason at all. And then I got angry at all of these people. After all, it is easier than being angry at myself. 

Thoughts on Snow

Moving bundled blobs

scrape their cars and go to work. 

Adults don't get snow days.

And that is why I am glad I am not an adult, and never plan to become one. I am a student, meaning I get snow days from school. I work at an after-school program in a middle school, meaning I get snow days from work. And I am studying to become a teacher, meaning I will get snow days forever.

Even though I may be an "adult" by definition, I hope I never loose the childlike anticipation of a stolen day of freedom that comes with a fresh sheet of snow. The last couple of nights, I have stayed glued to my computer, obsessively refreshing my my schools' homepage, crossing my fingers as the pages load. It hasn't been much different from when I used to beg my parents to let me stay up for ten more minutes to watch the local news channels scroll through the school closings one more time, crossing my fingers as my USD 306 approached.

I know I should be worried about my diminishing paycheck, as my work hours slip away in the snowstorm. I should also maybe worry about the extra homework my professors will give us to make up for the missed time. But for now, I would rather just sit in my pajamas watching the snow fall on the "adults" scraping their windows in my parking lot below.