Laid out on the page like the players on the pitch, Laura DiNovis Berry’s first poem, “Meet the Players”, in Egg Shaped Ball published by Indies United Publishing House LLC, is a map to women’s rugby. We see where each stands and we learn what kind of women play:
12) Insider Center: Less /woman, more wild horse. /She tramples, charges, bucks
14) Right Wing: She is like/ a bolt shot from a crossbow,/ an uncatchable foe
I’d never considered sports as poetry before reading this volume of poems. In fact, I’d rarely considered sports much beyond a way to hang with my ice hockey loving college boyfriend—we never missed a home game. Now I have a new appreciation for not only sports, but women’s sports. These poems focus the tension, the tests, and the triumphs of women’s rugby.
Comet
The lingering trail of fire is mesmerizing.
How can you look away from her?
A comet scorching earth,
destroying every body in her trajectory.
She combusts at her destination,
appearing as a constellation of triumphant stars.
Laura’s team is named White Horses. Sounds pastoral, serene. Think again! “the ensuing stampede is always unexpected”—hooves score the earth. The game is brutal and the women must play harder than men to be recognized. “First Contact”—Shoulder breaks into/ spongy flesh above the hip/. . ./ Crashing down into oblivion . But the poet assures us “It’s true, we can serve cold punishment too./ A hard shoulder drive, some nice footwork,/ but we must be clever, quick -/wily.” from the tongue-in-cheek poem: “A Rugby Player Scoffs At Victim Blaming After Being Tackled Repeatedly By The Men On Her Team. ” According to Laura, “Bruises are Medals”,
Masochists:
Bruises are medals and badges we flaunt.
Sadists:
Our hearts are full of sneers./The scrum of flesh becomes a battering ram.
The poems tell the story of “the pain of the biting, pounding fray,” the exhilaration of the play and the pride of the win. They also depict the debilitating defeats and the fight for the right to play. Title poem, “Egg Shaped Ball”, a prose poem, says it all: You would have seething before. Back in the days when you’d first gotten your hands on that egg shaped ball and felt something click into place with a snarl. Fighting for the privilege to be smeared to shit on a dirty field meant everything.
This collection is a passionate view into a world few of us know. It’s a collection of strong action, physical duress, joyful wins and deep introspections into a topic of timely import: women’s sports. Told in vivid language from the pitch and Laura’s poetic heart, it is at times bold and prosaic and other times lyrical with unexpected rhythm and rhyme—something like White Horses galloping across a plain.
About the Poet:
After having once been forced by circumstance to ignore poetry, Laura DiNovis Berry has since dedicated her life to it. She has fallen madly, deeply in love with this craft. Inspired by all the ridiculous, frightening, wonderful, and adorable things she has discovered during her time on Earth, Laura DiNovis Berry writes what she hopes will be wonderful things for others to discover.
In addition to writing poetry, Berry also provides free reviews at Berry’s Poetry Book Reviews for her fellow poets in hopes that modern poetry can be shared with a wider audience.
Forgiveness isn’t for the perpetrator of our hurt, it’s for our own peace and happiness. Not letting go of hurt, pain, resentment, or anger harms us far more than it harms your sister, boyfriend, mother, boss, wife, friend. It frees us to live in the present without anger, contempt or seeking revenge. In fact, it doesn’t only free us from negative feelings and actions, it reduces depression and stress, allowing us to embrace peace, hope and self confidence. Forgiveness is a balm of healing for hurt, grievance and guilt; it is not acceptance of wrongs done to you or wrongs you have done to others. And it isn’t quick and easy—it’s a practice.
Building a Better Story 
THE WHOLE WORLD IS A TELEPHONE BOOTH
This week, poet, Dominic “Nick” Triglia, shares his unique experience of the October firestorm.
Nick says this about himself:
I was born a “blue baby” in 1950 at the old hospital on Spring St. in Calistoga. The owners of the hospital always told me I was the last baby born there. When I found out they were wrong, I changed it to: I was the last good lookin baby born in the hospital.
I wore the blue uniform of the Postal Service for 34 years. I love blue skies, the deep blue sea, blue movies, listening to the blues, and drinking red wine.
Nick is also a producer of poetry events in the Upper Napa Valley
atlasobscura.com
The Whole World Is a Telephone Booth
15 items or less
express lane
in heavy traffic
woman shares
answers to questions
near the
National Enquirer rack
“We packed the RV
then unpacked
got another advisory
my brother in the urn
put back in the house”
Mom takes him back
to the RV
can’t decide
to take him or not
Dad said to leave him
“he’s only ashes anyway”
Mom said, “yeah
but that’s all I’ve got
of him, he’s goin.”
khan.com
Message Machine
She left his message
of not being home
“to leave a message”
on the phone
seven years
since his passing
his voice lets you know
that he and she
are not at home.
Evacuated
she calls their number
hears his voice
calls five times a day
said “if he answers
I know our home
is safe from the fire”
Each time she listens
to his recorded voice
she kisses the receiver.
greifhealingblog.com
Smoke over the Napa Valley October 2017. Marina Torres
M
Share this:
Like this:
5 Comments
Filed under Commentary, Fire Season, Poetry, Students
Tagged as fire stories, Poetry, telephone booths