Jackson Pollock's Floor

Jackson Pollock’s Floor

Frank built the Guggenheim

a grand mastered structure

on an uncertain foundation

a convulsive innovation spelled

in an inverted ziggurat scheme

all this

so that Jackson Pollock might

concentrate a lavender mist for

a taut composition on the floor

to mount on a clean (W)right wall

full impasto/abstract expression

chance effect/unique freedom

drip drip drip

syntheticresinpaintalkydeenamel

greensilverblueblackyellowmarine

so that Jackson Pollock might

heavily influence a discerning eye

stir a little bit of pride in your protest

art built for a vast emotional aftermath

large-scale retrospective/comprehensive exhibit

it is romantic to recoil from the images

have stark dreams in the open rotunda

name them/number them/sell/parade

manipulation of art/careful compliment

those with heightened superior gifts

settle into your quaint country-sides

jangle the gables of your suburbs

force a tight perimeter around your cities

so that you might

walk the length of Pollock’s spotted floor

in your bare feet with your soul showing

**

Headstrong hump day!  My marbles are all falling out and I’m desperate for a little bit of outside sunshine (yes, it’s sunny, or partly here) and quiet.  I’ve got an hour left of my work day and then I think it might be beneficial to park myself somewhere with some tea, a nibble and read my book.  I started reading ‘Dear Girls Above Me’ by Charlie McDowell last night and got through half.  I forced myself to stop reading and turn my light out.  It’s funny and fresh and I am enjoying the male narrative in a modern setting that utilizes the aspect of social media and worldly romance.  I also bought ‘The Birth House’ by Ami McKay.  I loved her second novel, ‘The Virgin Cure’.  I am reading her work backwards but hers is worth reading.  Her writing is stunning. 

I also discovered I had more vacation days left at work than I thought I did.  Woo hoo!  I’ve submitted a request to make the Labor Day weekend an extended one and then for my December birthday day off.  I enjoyed having it off last year so why break tradition.  I’m a Wednesday child and this year, my 40^th, falls on a Wednesday.  Woe seems appropriate, no?

I polished this arty poem while I ate a bite of lunch today between phone calls and emails.  Hugh Jackman tweeted a photo of Jackson Pollock’s floor the other day and it just stuck with me, I couldn’t stop thinking about it so I wrote this poem.  I am fascinated by his artwork and always find it sad that someone with his natural artistic aptitude and his penchant for changing the rules, he died so young.

Pasta for dinner tonight?  Why not.

Stay smart.

In propinquity,

Nic

He Rose, Stretched, and Sighed

He Rose, Stretched, and Sighed

the trainspotter came

perched himself on the

edge of a tumbledown stool

to recite his insides etched

into a soft parade of journal pages

the poems became part of the walls

illuminating secrets behind the sun

his hope and panic commanded little

enthusiasm

unashamedly shrewd

the carousing scene-maker

working strictly in metaphors

unapologetically hit the ceiling

when editors meditated on his

black corduroy jacket instead

he rose, stretched, and sighed

exited clunking his heavy boots

unsung art tucked tight under arm

cursing under his tobacco pant

slurred and strange to conventioneers

a poet’s fire

a poet’s ire

**

It's a rainy Monday.  Again.  I flaked on all writing duties this weekend.  However, I just discovered the full scope of a new character's name for my third short story with the working title, 'Too Much To Contain'.  My friend Matt Epp helped me name him when I took to Facebook for help.  Today, I randomly clicked on something, a slight secret discovery and alas his whole name is complete.  I love when things fall into place. Sometimes it pays to play around and waste mindless time on the internet.  

I did enjoy my weekend.  Friday evening I wasn't feeling the best so when I arrived home from work I collected pillows and a blanket, thew on my jammies and curled up for movies.  I watched the Canadian made hockey flick 'Goon' and then got into some really heavy cinema but taking a second stab at 'Zero Dark Thirty'.  Quite a heavy film but really well done.  On Saturday ventured over to Halifax, had a bite of lunch at The Carleton and watched the 2013 Halifax Pride Parade.  It's such a delightful parade, upbeat, colorful, full of music, cheer, love, acceptance and well ... pride.  Tens of thousands of people came out to support the parade. Always such a tremendous event.  I love that I live in a city where who you love is your own business.  My LGBT friends and yours deserve the same rights and courtesies we expect as a heterosexuals. Love is love is love.  It was a fun day.  Sunday I meant to do some writing but I was out enjoying the sunshine with Erica, her girls and her Mom.  We ran errands and grabbed wings for lunch and by the time I got home I was too tired and brain dead to get any editing done.  My bad.  Bad writer.  I blame summer. The heat!  Not my fault.  How do you spell denial? N.I.C.O.L.E.  Ha!

A wee poem to start the week.  Let's get this crazy creative train back on track!  It's a new day.  A new week.  I should set realistic writing goals for myself.  I should.

In propinquity,

Nic

Lonesome Thinking

Lonesome Thinking

I like to eat late

ponder sympathetic stories

and contemplate furtive plans

to prevent catastrophes

my driving thoughts

weighted down by passengers

those rare and remarkable

torn by loyalty and ambition

and then

the ever-present conundrum

to condemn or defend

I like to drink early

deliberate forfeited deceits

and envision surreptitious tactics

for averting calamities

and I might

heave a sigh

allusive but never aloof

I like to forecast

the slow and elegant rise

of exposed situations belonging

to the pained and fraudulent

quixotic philosophies

idealistic rehearsals

I am lonesome when I think

I am silent when I speak

I like to be right but offer nothing

**

I learned a few interesting literary morsels today.  It was reported that Jane Austen will soon appear on the £10 note in the UK.  How frackin’ cool is that?!  I’m almost inclined to ask a UK friend to send me one, with proper compensation of course, just to have one.  I think it’s a marvelous idea.  Cha-ching!

I also discovered that Margaret Atwood has completed a libretto for operatic production that chronicles the tragic life of legendary Canadian poet and actor, Pauline Johnson.  This is super exciting because I know very little about her so I’m compelled to learn more in light of this outstanding news.  I doubt I’ll be in attendance for any of the performances but anything is possible.  Seeing a live opera is on my bucket list.

I confess I didn’t do anything in the way of editing ‘Large-Hearted’.  I was going to last night but I watched a disturbing documentary instead, about a home invasion/murder in Cheshire, Connecticut.  I kept trying to turn it off because it was turning my stomach but I endured the full scope of the story to its end.  It was a complicated tale that involved the death penalty and I’m not even sure I fully believe the details of the crime.  I also don’t think the small town police force did everything they could to save the mother and two daughters who were killed.  My heart ached for them and I truly hope they have found peace.  Egads.  I normally don’t watch that sort of thing but I was too tired to change the channel and got sucked in.  It’s scary, the evil that lurks in this world, it also serves as a stark reminder to seek out the goodness life offers.  Bad things happen to good people and you wish to God you could understand why.  Appreciating life is the only source of survival.  And love.

Yay for Fridays!  I discovered I have a beer in my fridge this morning.  So, tonight, I’m going to go home, change into my comfy clothes, fire up my ‘Large-Hearted’ playlist and start working.  Weather permitting; I am going to take in the Halifax Pride parade tomorrow.  It’s the happiest and most colorful parade I’ve ever seen and rivals every other one we have in this city.  I hope the sun shines so everyone can get out and celebrate.  After the parade, I figure I’ll sit with my pages and keep working.  Eavesdrop a little, people watch and think.  An artist date is necessary.  I look forward to it.

Coming up:  next weekend will mark the 118^th birthday of Halifax/Dartmouth.  In celebration, I’ll be taking in Joel Plaskett’s show on the Dartmouth waterfront avec fireworks.  At least, that’s the plan so far.  And as always, weather permitting.  And THEN, the countdown will be ON for Matt Mays in Hubbards at the Shore Club.  Righteous!  I look so forward to that night away from the city.

Have a great weekend, lovely humans.  Practice random acts of kindness and be good to yourself.

In propinquity,

Nic

Where The Possibilities of Humiliation & Failure are Ample

Where The Possibilities of Humiliation & Failure are Ample

it is a dangerous arena, love

an unruly action, to love

a reverie to submit to, to be loved

you sing for them, your lovers

we read to them, our paramours

they trounce us, the Muses

in love’s amphitheater

a procession to up-end all illusions

pageantry of strange beauties

to prepare you for the firing squad

to show you how to dodge the bullets

to set you up to face heart starvation

it is a dangerous arena, love

it is a precarious quandary, love

it is unwarranted mischief, love

love

the place where the promise of

humiliation and failure are ample

exposed hearts be wary, take heed

eager accomplices, become ensnared

in the madness, to endure forever

**

Something more inspired by the one and only Leonard Cohen.  The title of this poem is a direct quote from the interview he did with Jian Ghomeshi.  I stumbled onto it after learning Ghomeshi will be a headliner for this year’s Word On The Street book and magazine fair, reading from his critically acclaimed book, 1982 (which I STILL need a copy of but will wait until August 6^th for the trade paperback edition to come out).  Excited by the news and penciling the date in my calendar so I don’t miss it, I browsed Jian’s website and found the interview.  Mid-way through I started writing this little poem, another little writing exercise to help keep my head above water.  I’m slowly moving back into my prose.  I wrote a little more on ‘Large-Hearted’ yesterday.  I wasn’t feeling especially well in the afternoon and started to daydream about being home, curled up and resting when my lonely brain stumbled on a revelation for the story.  It came as a wee flash so I did the responsible thing; I opened up the document and started typing despite feeling light-headed and queasy.  I was still at my work desk so I was required to be lucid and awake, keeping busy was the best way to distract myself from the yuck.  I’m pretty sure that I have completed the framework of the story and found its ending but I now have the task of fleshing it out and editing before it can be shared.   Watch this space.  In the meantime, the poetry is free-flowing.  I’ve built up a bit of a reserve now.  Most of them still need a bit of work and will be blogged shortly.

I’m still not feeling one hundred percent myself today and it’s raining like a bitch outside, it’s been wet all week in fact and there’s no sign of sun until at least Sunday if we’re lucky.  This summer’s weather has been undesirable.  Between week long stretches of nothing but rain that morph into record-breaking heatwave-ish days, it’s been fairly uncomfortable.  When it rains, outdoor activities are limited and when it’s so hot and humid that you can’t breathe, outdoor activities are also limited.  I long for a nice stretch of warm, true summer weather, sunshine, a warm breeze and enjoying it, outdoors.  Is that too much to ask for?  If any of you have an in with Mother Nature, can you see what you can do about my request?  I’d be most grateful.

Perhaps I’ll peek more at ‘Large-Hearted’ after this blog is complete, since it’s fairly quiet on the work front.  You watch, I say that now but as soon as I turn to my pages, it’ll get bonkers busy.  Murphy’s Law.

Enjoy your day.  Pay a kindness forward.

In propinquity,

Nic

Ode To Elspeth for a Summer Birthday

Ode To Elspeth for a Summer Birthday

your most famous

literary representation

is your brave nature

your most remarkable

traits are your talents

for propinquitious jargon

for incendiary word pursuits

for an unending inspiration line

for courageous creative conjuring

your most noted qualities

a fortuitous heart

a tender humanity

a gifted storyteller

a magnificent muse

a faithful friend

your most deserved accolades

cannot even accurately measure

your splendor

your wealth

the essence of your kind being

celebrated by your adoring audience

&

is written in calligraphy

is written in shining stars

for all to witness

every woman

every angel

for the world

for the ages

for the Heavens

forever

**

I am celebrating my fellow creative today (like all days), my dear friend, Elspeth Grafton.  She is a marvel, a writer, a script supervisor, a brave heart and an inspiration to me always.

Happy birthday, friend.

In propinquity,

Nic

Love Is a Poisoned Confection

Love Is A Poisoned Confection

Love is a poisoned confection.

A slim novel of false romantic narratives.

Love is eloquent, impeccably rendered by forlorn dreamers.

Creative reflection of a buoyant heart’s desires.

Love is a condition, septic, it’s only antidote, proof.

Foolish odds commandeering sound reason.

Ante.  Danger.  Pageant.  Peril. 

Hands tremble for all that is promised in a lit window.

Scent.  Smile.  Touch.  Judgment.

Souls crumble where fleeting beauty had lain.

Break.  Fracture.  Wounded.  Heartbreak warfare.

Love is a poisoned confection.

We alone consume.

Blindly.

Together.

**

I was in need of a writing exercise to kick-start my Muse.  While reading Erin Morgenstern’s blog, I was inspired by the above photo and decided to try and write a little something, in her line by line style to see what I could come up with.  It felt good to just play with one line at a time; a little Friday scribble that puts me that much closer to the meat and potatoes of the three stories occupying my creative brain all at once.  It makes me dizzy, (insert your little joke here) to listen to all these voices all at one time.

It’s Friday, yippee!  It’s also the day that Canada Post releases their Tragically Hip postage stamp.  PUMPED to buy and affix them to my card-tag envelopes to Ruthie.  It’s also a three day weekend for me, vacation day on Monday and I’m looking forward to spending some of that day with my dear friend Colleen bumming around.  I’m thinking that I will be doing something artist date-ish tomorrow but haven’t decided what adventure I’d like to pursue.  Perhaps a sail on a tall ship.  I’ve got a little bit of shenanigans to get into with my ladies tomorrow evening too.  So, I’m anticipating to have a full, fun three days away from my work desk.  And to write.  Must write.

However you spend your weekend, I wish you happiness, fulfillment and a peaceful heart.

In propinquity,

Nic

How To Write Good

I saw this the other day and saved it to share here.  After reading, 'avoid alliteration always' I busted a gut and couldn't stop. I'm still plugging away at my projects and writing poems while managing daily life and other sundry affairs.  I keep conjuring up humorous tidbits to throw in 'Other Pearls' (which is Binnie Blessing's story and partly my story).  They are adding up but the trick will be fitting them in their proper place.  I am still a little unnerved by the fact that I'm not writing pages of story and still jotting but I'm still being creative, thinking and feeling, listening and observing.  Those things still count.  I've also been blessed with another bit of Ruthie's prose to read.  I hope to find time this weekend for reading that and doing some serious writing.  Oh, and I still haven't tried the haiku I threatened to write.  Maybe I'll do that tonight.  

Short and sweet today.  Like me.  Be good.

In propinquity,

Nic

Poet Gourmand

Poet Gourmand

poet I am

I am a sensualist

ravenous

for a buttered loaf

& a breaded alphabet

take away my plate

so that I may

write verses about

late night indulgences

say

a perfectly assembled

                sandwich

soft homemade marble rye bread

fire-roasted tomato wedges

crisp Irish bacon

                grilled pimento cheese

& sweet garlic aioli

accompanied by imported tea

                & lightly salted rice crackers

or perhaps a small picnic on a

checkered blanket by a lazy fire

of ham, brie and onion jam

or fig and prosciutto bound

w/ a sturdy grated fontina

& a chilled glass of Dom Perignon

maybe a late lunch with a good book

& a chickpea, beet and apple panini

the complexities slowly

illicit primitive pleasures

into

a splendid Haiku

while I chew

then swallow

                to savor every delightful morsel

 **

I wrote this when I was hungry.  My tummy was talking, this is what it told me to say.

Happy Monday!

In propinquity,

Nic

More Ideas Than Time

You know that saying, 'when it rains it pours'?  It applies to my current creative situation.  I've mentioned before that half way through writing 'Large-Hearted' came to a sudden stop.  Then, while fretting over looming writer's block, I culled a new story idea from a dream I had.  Afraid to write it out though.  It's heavy and it scares me.  The visuals are frightening.  All the more reason to commit to paper, right?  May be small potatoes to some who will read it but to me, because of the subject matter and setting, it's bone-chilling.  And THEN, while falling asleep the other night I met a NEW character who spoke up, wanting her story to be told.  I went from being barren to bonkers, zero to sixty, no time flat.  I mean yikes!  Help me, Rhonda!

Long week this week.  I had to come home today and throw on my sneakers, grab my music and go for a long sweaty walk to blow off some steam, just to be quiet, just to breathe.  It served me well.  I arrived back to my door calmer, with a bottle of wine in hand and my gratitude for the weekend fully intact.  My kitty is curled up at my feet, Gord Downie is crooning it's been a long time running from my speakers, I have a glass of wine and the window open watching the sun set behind the clouds.  I hope to write a little bit but it's weird because I keep waffling back and forth between them, writing bits and bobs on each one.  I'm certain I'll loose my marbles.  You wait and see.  I did spend some time yesterday reading essays by Ray Bradbury about the creative process.  That also doesn't help because I want everything to be written  YESTERDAY.  I swear, I need a writer's retreat.  A month in a small cottage with a computer, a cellar full of wine, cupboard full of tea and a bowl full of fresh fruit.  Add a deep bathtub, a cozy bed and a necessary but modest library of books, writing essentials and music and I would write you the world.  My dreams are lofty but isn't that what dreams are supposed to be?  I think so.

Happy weekend!  Be happy.  Be good.  To yourself.  To others.

In propinquity,

Nic

Fill Your Paper

I've got no poetry today.  I'm working on a few little things but they are still seedlings and as far as prose is concerned, I'm at a standstill with 'Large-Hearted' as well as brainstorming other new pieces.  It's ok for now though, I was thinking since I'm feeling strained, it was time to crack the books.  By that I mean read a bit.  I was mulling over choices for my next purchase when suddenly I receive a large envelope in the mail, Ruthie's latest short story!  Perfect timing me thinks.  It's fantastic and so I rushed home today to put pen to paper and wrote all of my thoughts and gushy feelings to her.  I was so excited that it's already in the mailbox waiting to be picked up!  

What else this week, oh, Alice Munro is retiring.  Bummer.

Also, if you could, keep my best friend's mom in your prayers.  She started her first round of chemo this week.  Sweet June deserves all the love and positive energy you can muster.  

Oh, I keep threatening myself to a Haiku challenge.  I can't write them for beans.  Maybe while I'm brainstorming, jotting and praying I'll work on the little beasts.

Short and sweet today, like me.

And before I forget, Sheree Fitch released a non-fiction piece on Fierce Ink Press today.  She is worth reading and supporting.  Check it out.  There is a Kindle Edition and an EPUB.  It's an important piece and some of the proceeds are going to a good cause.  

In propinquity,

Nic

PS - Isn't the above Wordsworth quote marvelous?

Knots

Knots

the length of a nautical mile

is identical to a minute of latitude

in uncharted waters

loops and kinks weaken strapping cord

old worn rope damaged by sunlight

at the bottom of the mountain

sore strained grieving muscles

latent trigger points overwrought

below aching flesh

the beautiful code of a versatile metaphor

interlaced with the mysteries of love

that beat in a heart

found loneliness precipitates ever-long

bare hands reach up for a speculative lift

to scale toward the Heavens

Northeast-bound bow heaving toward an address

stern slick and graceful for long uninterrupted hours

fully rigged sailing vessel asea

arms outstretched for the concluding embrace

the absence of substance pressing into bones

for remnants of human attachment

knots

troublesome

intricate arrangement of tender places

sudden intervention of constructive trust

knots

            they bind

they blind

**

So, here's the skinny.  I came home the last two nights determined to battle the block I'm currently experiencing.  The first night I read a bit of Carol Shields and Alice Munro while listening to Matt Epp and Diana Krall.  I then scribbled.  Last night I went for a walk on Rainbow Haven beach with my friend Donna to try and clear out the cobwebs.  I got the pant legs of my yoga pants wet because I couldn't outrun a wimpy wave.  It felt good.  Scribbled a little more. Tonight, I came home through this sudden humid heat-wave the east coast of Canada is experiencing ate gross hotdogs because it was too hot too cook much else and watched 'Tragically Hip in Bobcaygeon'.  Got goosebumps and maybe cried a little.  While trying to stay hydrated I pieced together the scribbles and came up with this poem.  Good, right?!

Get this.  While I still haven't managed to seep back into 'Large-Hearted' mode, I actually walked into TWO more story ideas.  What the french toast!?  One of the ideas scares me a little bit so I'm not sure how that one is going to go.  It stems from a dream I had not long ago.  The majority of my dreams of late have been twisted like pretzels.  I haven't been sleeping very well and so when I am sleeping I'm conjuring up all this insane garbage including revisiting an ex to discover he murdered someone and made art out of his victim's bones and this insane doctor injecting my niece with poison.  I'd be afraid to have them analyzed.  I mean geez.  The other one, which shocked me out of my sleep is going to be hard to write.  I don't know when I'll get to it but it'll come.  And, the other idea is light and fuzzy so fear not.

I'm melting so I must go re-fill my icewater and sit in front of a fan to stay cool until I go to bed to toss and turn.  Silver lining?  Tomorrow is Friday!  Yay!

In propinquity,

Nic

Affliction

It happened.  I caught it.  Writer’s block.  It hurts.  Make it stop.

Not a good way to start the month of July.  I’m half way through a new story and came to a sudden stop.  Now, it appears I have to endure some of those obligatory exercises to exorcise my block.  I knew the creative stream, would slow down to a mere trickle but I didn’t anticipate the agony.  It’s as if my whole noggin is empty!  I am desperate to tap back into my character’s life.  Her story.

Pray for me.

In propinquity,

Nic