True Objective Occurrences

True Objective Occurrences

my thoughtful process is tethered

an elegantly designed limited edition

a noteworthy measure of artistic intention

a significant percentage of provocative analog

I suppose it means something akin to compromise

or an over-determined allegiance to instructive joy

a sunset-flush shared only to propose civility

an obvious argument for quiet happenstance

I will try in good faith not to hold it against you

the banning of my bare bones and my daring breaths

be mad with desire

be riled by knowledge

be assimilated by art

it is a fated pursuit to become the Invisible Woman

it is a fated pursuit to become exceptionally vague

the prayers of misguided angels are rudimentary in design

the predictions of vestigial clowns pale in comparison to

enticed writers

artful painters

faithful architects

my observant progression is a generous portrait

instrumental in adding wistfulness to apprehension

a simple remedy for bewilderment and righteous despair

a humble antidote for soaring shelves of pitiful prose

I suppose it means something to rally against the bravado

to perpetuate the philosophy of heavy fists and sharp words

into something believable and deserves deft devotion

into something that leads you to the source of my words

laid neatly and organized carefully on sheets of soft paper

ubiquitous creations

voluptuous chastity

distinctive penmanship

all of it seems magical to those of us dependent on typical flaws

challenging our contemporary impression of fire and brimstone

and that is the dirty little secret of poets writing reams of poems

about true objective occurrences swathed in incendiary language

**

I had a burst of creative energy this afternoon while listening to the rain pour against our hot tin roof.  This is what transpired.

In propinquity,

Nic

So, Sylvia ...

I came across this wonderful little image on the inter-web.  We are so accustomed to thinking about Sylvia in her darkest hour, head in the oven at the end of her life; this reminded me that she was a woman, a mother, a wife, an active member of the creative universe.  She smiled even though she cried.  But most of all, she was a writer.  Intelligent and thoughtful, relevant.  

I stopped for a moment to consider the expression on her sketched face and the bullet points around her pretty head.  Her words, her effort, her artistic spirit; they lasted long after her vessel expired.  Her presence in the physical world was meaningful.  She left footprints, deep, indelible impressions.

Believe in your story.

Work at it everyday.

Keep trying.

... this, my new writing mantra.  

Thank you, Sylvia Plath.  Not for teaching me but for reminding me.

In propinquity,

Nic

Preposterous, but delightful …

Preposterous, but delightful …

be eloquent, your true imaginary best

procrastinate, pen the perfect sentence late

be essential, collect a slew quantifiable accolades

adjourn, to muse on the publish or perish superlative

be cagey, reveal your sensibilities on third impression

intend, smile and perform tongue twisters in silence

do not be haunted by looming long shadows

do not be frightened of staggering contradictions

do not be repetitive, snappy or sound phony

be superstitious, about hubris and about hilarity

position, be coolly deliberate and be elegant in clarity

be contradictory, situate yourself aesthetically on the verge

sustain, selfishly replete with outstanding inventive narratives

do not be a clichéd carbon copy

be preposterous, but delightful

**

I haven’t been writing much these days but that doesn’t mean that something isn’t brewing.  I have a folder as thick as my head full of notes and snippets of conversations, thoughts and descriptions for my pending story.  Yes, I did write the first page or so that I’ve since added and subtracted to but I’m still uncertain on exactly how to proceed.  In the meantime, I’ve accumulated a stack of material that is begging to be molded into a story.  The characters are full figured (fictionally of course) and active but I’m being cautious instead of anxious.  I like these women, new female characters, creative people (yes again, I know) and I want to do them justice; funny that I ended up writing a poem about one of them today.  The title is almost how I feel about her (Tilda).  She is indeed preposterous but delightful.  This poem is a nod her and my gratitude for her presence in my imagination and whispering to me.  I can’t wait to share her story.

I know it’s only a wee update but the poem perked me up today and I wanted to share.

In propinquity,

Nic