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

Syntax of a Serial Prose Poem

Syntax of a Serial Prose Poem

I endorse it

the act of

transmuting

words into gold

the cut and paste aesthetic

qualifies a very lovely engagement

between

writers as allies

poets as paradoxes

when the native tongue

of a serial prose poem

is singing syntax

is singing syntax

I endorse it

the unadulterated awe

the translucent undertow

the formal element

when the native tongue

of a serial prose poem

is mellifluous

a traditional piece

outlined with fidelity

outlined with perception

all entries in this volume

are true accomplishments

from

acrostic to sonnet

privileged poems

potent storytelling

the book takes its title

**

On all levels, yesterday's artist date was magnificent.  Despite the wet snow showers, I maneuvered my way around downtown Halifax.  I started at The Wooden Monkey.  I enjoyed a mimosa and a Mexican brunch while pecking away at the edits on 'Half Windsor Knot'.  I didn't accomplish a lot in terms of actual edits but I thought a lot about him and some of the feedback received by the few who peeked at it.  I confess, early feedback got me a little off track with conflicting likes/dislikes but after a good bit from a fellow writer today I was able to re-focus my energy, correct some of the things that irked me and even added a small paragraph further explaining things (I hope).  While I was at The Wooden Monkey, eating and editing I was inspired for another story.  A little boy was sitting with his family behind me and his conversations with someone called Jennifer sparked something in me.  Next thing I knew I was jotting notes down and again dis-engaged from HWK.  I did get back on track, my pages are full of scrawled notes and red scratches and strikes.  After brunch, I took myself for coffee at Paper Chase and did a little card tag and got lost daydreaming, waiting to go to Neptune Theatre to see Glace Bay Miners' Museum.  And, just as I suspected, the show was absolutely stunning.  Just as wonderful as it was back in '93 when I was working at the theatre.  Every single thing about it was perfect.  The cast was riveting, the set was all-encompassing, the music pitch perfect and the lights expertly lit.  The direction and production was top notch.  I was in tears as I stood for the standing ovation at the end.  The story, originally a short story by Sheldon Currie and adapted for the stage by Wendy Lill, isn't a happy story but it's rooted in truth and honesty and heart.  It's painful at times but rings true for so many people connected to the mining industry.  I laughed and cried and I was completely covered in goose-bumps for the whole two plus hours.  If you live in Halifax and you have some time between now and March 17th, go see it.  It's masterful.

It's Sunday now, my first blog of March.  I went for a long peaceful walk today and came home to my stories and pages of poems.  I finished this one this morning drinking my tea so that's what you got today.  I also worked more on HWK and have been formally introduced to my new characters for the story inspired by the little boy yesterday.  I'm excited to put HWK to bed but I'm also excited to move on with something new.  I still have this one character nagging me but that'll have to be for something else because that character isn't right for what's next.  I'll stew a little and see what happens.

I'm going to let my noodle rest for the night, maybe watch something meaningless and do some relaxing.  

However you spent your day, I hope you spent it well.

In propinquity,

Nic