Old Letter

Anyone who knows me knows that I'm a hopeless romantic. I'd wager a little more on the hopeless side of things these day but still a gooey romantic center. That said, I no longer regard things through the rose-coloured glasses I once did. With experience and time I've grown more practical (and it pains me to say it) a touch cynical. That happens, eh? However, I am the goofy sap who has penned long languid love poems for past suitors, rolled them up and adorned them with silky red ribbon and lived for Valentine's Day in elementary school. I loved making the heart-covered envelopes to hold all the cards my classmates would dole out. I loved the whole process of hand-picking the right card for specific pals. It's where my addition to stationary came from. No question. I'll always be the nerdy one who looks lovingly at card racks and love-related consumer items. I don't buy them, I don't receive them, but they are pretty on the heart to look at.

In that spirit, I found myself scratching on a scrap piece of paper and there it was, a poem. The image above and the accompanying verse is in no way a slight toward love day. It gave me a chuckle and a happy vibe that words pushed out of my pen. Who said love poems can't be cheeky? 

The poem:

Old Letter

rough-edged

& crumpled

a single-spaced

scribbled instant

of vulnerable uncertainty

addressed to you

a silly letter that should

            have never been

opened

lay silent in your

kitchen junk drawer

I hope your

            wife finds

it

&

wonders

            why you

saved it so long

***

Have a happy heart day, folks. Even if you don't buy into all the hoop-lah. It's still a good day to have a loving day.

In propinquity,

Nic

Old Fever

Old Fever

between a cup of sweet tea

& a bowl of stemmed strawberries

with sour cream and brown sugar

I find myself seized with the longing

for an old fever

that likened me to an astronaut in orbit

we never know precisely what to want

**

With the cupid's holiday looming, one I do not believe in despite it's origins, I pose a poem. A single gal's guide to not looking back, but forward, open-hearted.  I of course am a romantic by nature and have penned my fair share of love poems but Valentine's Day should be observed daily with all relationships, romantic and otherwise. Your people should always feel loved and appreciated and shown, not just told. But that's just me.

Having said all that, I can easily get behind any excuse to exchange chocolate, stationary and other sundry goodness. Just seems so much nicer when they are just because.

I am ending my Friday with a a grande Mint Majesty from Starbucky Bucks (thanks Phil!) and a little jaunt out in the deep-freeze before heading home to hunker down. Snow is expected tomorrow but then Sunday it's Galentine's Day! THAT, is worth celebrating. A gelato date with my best bud to celebrate life, friendship and frozen treats!  It's also a long weekend, holiday Monday, so I have an extra day for reading, loafing and creative thinking. Sounds idyllic, no?

Happy Friday, folks!

I leave you with one of the most beautiful love songs ever written by my amazing friend Matt Epp:

In propinquity,

Nic

Pastel Hallmark

Happy mushy heart day!  I wish you love, affection and happiness in great abundance.  Be good to yourself and to others, today and every day, not just because the calendar says we have to.  Love is good.  It sustains us as human beings and it makes us hopeful and honest. Love is everything.

And from me, for you all, little love poem to accent the occasion .

Pastel Hallmark

the very subject of love

galvanizes the human heart

amorousness consumes

adorned with foolish gallantry

rampant with crazy grandeur

& perfectly blind assurance

that it is an enduring marvel

the very subject of love

phrased with riddles of romance

pledged with flawless syllables

a valiant formidable undertaking

of gentle good-tempered lovers

& impenetrable practiced psyches

to attain the pastel hallmark of receipt

the very subject of love

is an unhurried trusted triumph

the very subject of love

is a laborious venture

the very subject of love

a promise with daring status

I know nothing of love

nor of its touching trademark

but its sounds find me longing

to understand the words

**

In (amorous) propinquity,

Nic

Permissionary

The feast of Saint Valentine is upon us.  However you celebrate (if you in fact do celebrate) and with whom, I certainly hope it is a joyous occasion for you.  I’ll be flying solo but there’ll be no shortage of love.  This year, I am humbly expressing my undying affection to my Muse.  My writing adventures of late have been so fruitful and challenging and liberating, how could I not shower my passion, my reverence, my commitment to such an ardent presence?  At present, the Muse is not one specific person as in bygone days.  Currently, it behaves like a whole universe of suitors eager to show me the sweet splendors of the world, willing to touch me, embrace me and then let me run free, naked to the possibilities.  Cupid may have missed me on his drive-by but I’m not disappointed.  Love disappeared as quickly as it came for me and the best recourse is to focus all emotion on the task at hand, what I was made to do and that is to write.  Until such time that I am smitten by a male human form again, I will endow my Muse with gifts, words, sentences, stories and poems.  There is truth and certainty in the grammar, explicit with pure intentions.

I will also be spending February 14^th, the evening anyhow, with a package that arrived from the west coast.  My dear friend sent me a crisp copy of her current short story and it delighted me more than anything chocolate or Hallmark.  I will be stationed somewhere after work, in a quiet corner, with coffee or wine and her pages.  It is indeed a love celebration, fit for a writer.  I peeked at the first few pages before sleep last night and am incredibly excited to devote a whole evening to reading.  I will, the following day, a day off from work for me, go sit at my coffee place and write to her all of my gushy musings on her latest offering.  I am alight with joy to receive new work from my kindred.

This poem is a love letter for all of those who continue to offer their support and encouragement with my writing.  I am so grateful to have such tender and intelligent people all squished into my cheering section.  Their feedback, their belief and their love of words are unwavering and I love them with all my heart.

Permissionary

thank you

for granting 

me permission

to imagine

I write for love

I write for truth

better art

is challenged

is counter-clockwise

thank you

for crossing my 't's

for dotting my 'i's

my human heart

my fertile pen

move for you

permissionary

with ease

with grace

I create

I believe

**

Cinnamon hearts for everyone!  Romantics of the world unite!

In (loving) propinquity,

Nic

My Little Broken Heart

My Little Broken Heart

you say

my little broken heart

is arresting

equal parts

precise & reckless

curved w/ incentive

to accompany

figurative angels

without a map

home

you say

if I surrender

examine carefully

questions & answers

symmetrical lines

my little broken heart

will be the weight & measure

of a sweet dream

of a quiet prayer

but

I am always ruined

always untrusted

I am not afraid 

to be wishful 

my little broken heart

knows

I am a good writer

& I see things 

instead of feeling them

now

**

A winter storm blew in this weekend, a Nor'Easter and made a big snowy mess that resulted in a lot of shoveling, swearing and staying in.  The winds are still high today and it'll take a good 48 hours to get things back to normal out there in terms of clean-up.  I stayed in and caught up on my sleep and some things I had DVR'd.  I drank tea, gabbed to family and oddly enjoyed being hunkered down waiting for the storm to subside.

On this Sunday morning, I woke, made myself poached eggs on homemade multigrain toast, a pot of tea, chipped away at a crossword and polished this poem.  I meant to read more of my book this weekend and work more on my story but I didn't.  I just let things stew and enjoyed the quiet and the knowledge that I didn't have to go anywhere or do anything.  I waded in the peace.  Sometimes you just need to.

Today is the annual Valentine's Day tea with the Myers women.  My sisters and I are going for the 5pm seating.  It's a lovely way to spend an afternoon.  I always look forward to see what tea cup will be mine for the duration of the tea.  I'll be eating light today so I can enjoy the delicate finger sandwiches and sweets that are served along with the company of fabulous women.

Enjoy your Sunday wherever it takes you and whoever you choose to spend it.

Peace.

In propinquity,

Nic