Showing posts with label Shore Club. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Shore Club. Show all posts

Saturday, August 13, 2016

Two Poets


Two Poets

two poets rave
in downtown Halifax
his stride matchers her pace
both knocked by hurly-burly
poems
with all their words missing
our eyes
monitor their molten movements
how he lures verses out from under
                her lovely dress
how she forgets how to swim to him
& the explosion
of stars in each willowy hand
they are all we refuse to ignore
                unrestrained inheritance
two poets rant
in a dingy basement bar
still downtown Halifax
                in their limited light
opening sentences taste the same
as the shiny elastic prayers hidden
in the luxury of our worry
he is an action not taken
& she a simple twist of fate
                perfect bodies
                purple hearts
                parallel pains
two poets
                who unbutton the night
leave everything bare
skip town before dawn
                & we all take the blame
for everything they left behind

**

Vacation has been nice. A good break from the 9 to 5. I intended to devour books, write my face off, and do a ton of creative stuff: if daydreaming counts … I did spend a good chunk of time on my own, breathing and thinking, musing and scheming but I failed to follow through on the ‘plan’ and instead went with the flow. Isn’t that more of what a vacation should be? I do regret not taking more time to write though. I have to get my head back in the game but until this week is over I won’t shove myself too hard for it.

Today’s pecking was fun. I set up a ‘best of’ Matt Mays playlist (to get my soul prepared for my Hubbards get away next weekend), poured myself a ice cold cider purchased from a road trip I took on Thursday with my best bud, and just dug in.  I mentioned twice today how I hadn’t written enough on vacation to two different people so it was time.

Drinks and laughs tonight with friends and then my last day of vacation tomorrow before returning to the work desk but burning through the days so my weekend in Hubbards with friends comes quickly.

Happy Saturday!

In propinquity,
Nic






Wednesday, August 28, 2013

Take It On Faith

I decided after a glorious weekend away to give myself the week off from writing.  I started the prompts and then swiftly abandoned them in exchange for down time in Hubbards.  I did intend to write my last prompt on Saturday but I just didn’t get around to it.  I was too busy enjoying this:



My friends and I had a stunning weekend.  We had a scrumptious lobster dinner at the Shore Club, lounged at our Inn on the patio with a breath-taking view of Hubbards Cove drinking wine, laughing, talking and marveled at sun set.  Before long it was time to hike around the corner, back to the Shore Club and cue up for the Matt Mays show.  I have had the good fortune of seeing him play several times but this particular show was, by far, the most outstanding, the most fun.  I attribute it mostly my companions and to the venue because I always have fun there, it’s impossible not to.  The show itself was a hell-on-wheels rock ‘n’ roll show’.  Young River warmed up the stage and got the crowd primed and are quite good all on their own.  As soon as they were finished we took a few large steps and ended up right in the front for Matt Mays.  While it is true that I the next morning my ears were still ringing from being so close to the front monitors, I was ridiculously stuffed up dangerously close to black lung from the smoke machine but my heart was happy.  There is something heartening about Matt’s music, something that sounds like … well … home.  It feels like home to me and offers the sense that I am right where I belong.  Plus, you can belt the tunes out good and loud in a live setting, even if the long skinny fringes of the singer’s swanky black jacket are poking out your eyes and he’s standing on your purse as he sings into the crowd on the mere edge of the gear box the monitors were resting on.  Needless to say, we left the venue happy and sweaty and elated.  Arriving back to work Monday morning was a slap in the face because I was still slightly jubilant from the weekend away.  It was hard to re-adjust to reality after the overwhelming sense of peacefulness I felt in Hubbards, because I was with warm-hearted humans, because I was breathing easy, because I was in a drama-free zone and I was content.  Best weekend getaway in recent memory.  It was much needed and deeply appreciated by all involved.

On Thursday night is also worth mentioning a small delight.  I was sitting at The Carleton having a drink with my friend Heather.  I was seated at the end of the bar by the entrance and a group of people caught my attention when they entered.  I after doing what I’m sure was a tripe take, he shot me a smile.  I looked at Heather and said, “Is that Charlie Sexton!?”  She shrugged at me and sipped her beer but I was determined to find out.  It turns out it was.  I flexed up my the gonads to cart myself over and say hello.  The singer of 80’s hits like ‘Beats So Lonely’ and ‘Impressed’ towered over me, still sporting those perfect cheekbones, he was quite delighted I knew who he was.   I stood and conversed with him for a few minutes, why he was in Halifax, what he’s been up to and a little about the Arc Angels project he did that I love, he has warm hands and a kind disposition.  What a neat thing to have happened.  Completely random and quite cool. 

So this self-imposed writing hiatus is a little bit painful but my days are long this week and by the time I get home my brain is mush and I don’t really have a spare minute to create anything.  I do scribble, words, thoughts, ideas, and names but it isn’t the same.  I look forward to Friday being over and having five whole days off to relax and open my mind back up to all things creative.  I’m itching to finish ‘Large-Hearted’, so that’s a goal.  Fingers crossed.

I’ll take it on faith.

In propinquity,

Nic

Friday, July 26, 2013

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 118th 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

Monday, July 23, 2012

Luke



I truly believe that the universe takes care of us, that goodness is infinite and whatever higher power we choose to believe in has a beautiful plan for each of us.  To foster our life's purpose and to touch as many lives as possible.  At least, I think so.  After my last post, a friend of mine and I were talking about how love in an instant is possible and while it is more often than not, fleeting, still carries weight and further proves that it isn't the length of time that a person is in your life that matters, it's the mark they leave on you.  Some can change the whole of your insides, some change your perspective and some awaken you to what you weren't able to see before.

At a time when I was blown wide open, in extreme pain and trying desperately to ease it anyway I could, one such human-being appeared.  I was in Hubbards with my family and friends, on my way back to the cabin after kicking up my heels at the Shore Club.  We were walking the same path, both figuratively and literally.  Somehow we ended up strolling together, engaging in meaningless small talk.  Enjoying the coy exchange, we then parked our weary selves on a big boulder by the beach and talked deep into the night.  Either of us was really in a position to offer much else but the timing was perfect for both of us to have an ear to bend, a shoulder to cry on and someone to laugh deep belly laughs with.  It was soul-satisfying.  Just to feel noticed, just to be heard and be in genuine company with someone who wanted to be beside you and not away from you.  He mirrored the same anecdote.

It was foggy and cool that night.  We both started to catch a chill, it was time to go.  He walked me back to my cabin but not without being a bit of a boy.  He was the kindest man I'd ever met; rapt, munificent and mirthful.  I had never been regarded with such tenderness.  We parted ways and that was the end of it.  I will always be grateful for that little bit of time I shared with him.  It was the best first and only date ever.  He has no idea how altered I became from our encounter.  How fulfilling it was and how much it was needed.  In my opinion, that's what a real man is made of.  I've yet to meet another like him.  I hope wherever he is in the world, he's happy and bestowing that Lion Heart on a deserving partner.  For a brief moment in time, he was my hero.

It happened just like this.  A snippet for you:


Snapshot From a Chance Meeting

Luke took my hand and together we climbed the steep craggy ocean wall from our stoop. He said,

'Let's break into that cabin over there and make out!' nodding toward the dark, ominous structure.

Piquant humour, I mused to myself, I like that in a man. Our midnight conversation shifted from elegiac to that of amusement.

'Absolutely not! That's how horror movies start.' I protested. All things considered, taking risks at this juncture wasn't in my best interest.

He threw his head back and laughed, squeezed my hand. Still chuckling, he whispered,

'Also how love stories begin.'  Luke had a tender, broken spirit. We matched.  For too brief a moment in time, we were meant for each other.

We were a mere whisper in a much greater cacophony. Two fractured hearts in transit, high on the smells of summer and imbued by the trials of loss and longing. His story written in boldfaced cuneiform, mine in italicized Times New Roman. There was nothing injurious about the person sitting next to me beside the water's edge, exchanging war stories and innocent words about life, love and the Great Canadian Dream under a lazy moon engulfed by fog.  It was a chance meeting, irreverent, erotic, and contented set against a subtle sea-side landscape; all through synchronized dialogue.  The time spent was all heart-song, every ounce sincere.

Our blurry silhouettes, spent from sharing our secrets under invisible stars, embraced and parted ways just before sun-up. He held me a second longer than he needed to. His arms were strong and comforting, a fortress. I savored in it, breathed it in. The kindest man I'd ever known.

Letting go, he smiled at me and tipped my nose with his finger, 'I'm glad I met you tonight. Thank you for all that back there.'

I returned the smile and blushed a little in his stare. 'Me too. It was lovely.'

With that, he slowly turned and started to walk away. At the same time, we both turned to look back at each other. We laughed. And then he was gone, into the wild but always in my heart.


***


While this moment is deeply personal (as is the subject of some of the best art in the world), it was such a charming twinkling of time that it deserves to be committed to the page (it started as a poem and ended up being a sliver of prose).  Also serves as a welcome reminder when I need it that there is enough love out there for all of us but sometimes it comes in small suites, as a surprise, when you least expect it.  It is moments such as these are worth living for, make the darkest days a little less lonely and keeps one buoyed in the notion that anything is possible and that goodness, in people and in the world, in the end, always prevails.

 In propinquity,
Nic