We Talk

We Talk

            hunched & huddled together

we talk rock ‘n’ roll in battered leather jackets

& weathered boots over strong cups of coffee

            in covert agreement

we talk Los Angeles & the New York sound

but mostly we just shoot the shit about nothing

opulence to squalor

            in unspooled metaphors

            for countless hours

we talk between bites of day-old stale confections

two rapid minds hatching conspiracies strange &

verbose in detail, what some might dare refer to as  

            grievous triumphs

            combined wounds bound & sacred

we talk about traveling through twisted mountains

to reach bright lights & big cities & small towns to

loud crowded gigs

            spit, smoke & spurs – an unfettered blur       

a wild flood of accrued backseat/stage memories

we talk

            with ease, mapping out the trajectory of

                        collective electrified blues

***

Just a poem. Written on a Friday morning commute when I wanted to read my book, the Universe thought better and that I should be writing. So, I did.

I’m hitting up a rock show at The Marquee tomorrow night. Perhaps that’s where it was culled from. Wherever the particles materialized from, I was just happy, as always, to write something down.

Getting closer to the date too I get to workshop Big Magic with Elizabeth Gilbert. Counting sleeps. I am grateful the workshop is coming at the same time I’m working on the creative non-fiction pieces for Family Ties. I think it’s going to be an asset in that regard in addition to a salve for my soul.

Happy Friday, peeps!

In propinquity,

Nic

           

                                     

           

To Live

A Zen feeling swept over me today. Maybe it’s the sun shining, maybe it’s a dear friend musing about a romantic encounter that left her speechless and smiling, maybe it’s the Kerouac article I read, maybe it’s just my amorian insides begging to be tended to. I have been distracted of late, lethargic, listless, and depressive even (I am starting to see a trend in my grown-up self, egads!). And then, out of nowhere, this feeling. Fundamentally, I am an optimist. The fibers of my being are woven together with love and kindness. I am prone to the sunny side of things despite the evil intentions of things like social media and negative humans who darken my way. I am, in every way, every word of this verse. I, in every way, hope these very sentiments for my people and their people and so on and so forth. Today I am feeling the full force of collected wisdom and peace. I hope, in some small way, you do too from my sappy little poem.

Mid-week sanguinity at its finest!

There are always reasons to smile in the face of any kind of adversity. In mine, I wrote this poem. And in mine, I look to the end of the week where rock ‘n’ roll will save whatever sanity I have left from this work week. July Talk for Halifax Pop Explosion with my best bud. These, the things I cling to when I’m feeling defeated!

So, the poem:

To Live

let us ponder the fertile wisdom

of the wild rucksack revolution

who wander to bless those in their

path with kindness and compassion

let us consider the brave notions while

we thumb the rules of spontaneous prose

studied by the platoon of bodhisattvas for

the sole purpose of learning to dream out loud

let us rejoice writing with fever and truth

to allow our deepest flaws to draw great love

commandeer the sacredness of a moment

and indulge in the existence of breathing freely

let us know sadness on the inside and out

reacquaint our true selves with the excitement

a spray of stars are noble companions in silence

building our perfect shadow on a sunrise mountain

let us desire the potent will to live as a whole poem

as a whole person poised to serve with intention

for the world, the universe, the Heavens, for ourselves

**

I meet you here, in the middle of the week, in a new Canada, with well wishes.

Broken crayons still color.

In propinquity,

Nic

Inspiration Strikes

I have officially started writing ‘Too Much To Contain’ – the story that I’ve been thinking about a lot but was too afraid to write due to its dark, violent nature.  Today, I posed the question to my Facebook friends :  Why do good people do bad things?  The discussion culled up a great deal of excellent fodder for my fiction writing but one friend of mine posed something that just blew the whole story wide open for me and I’m actually really excited about how the idea has re-shaped.   And, if you’ve guessed, this story will be music related.  I’m still a wee bit frightened but now that I am starting to understand the motivations, it seems less daunting. 

When I am home this evening, I plan to compile a playlist appropriate for the subject matter and get out my brainstorming board and go nuts.  Who wishes she had vacation days now so she could write for hours on end?!  Sheesh.  Inspiration comes when it comes!

Happy Monday!

In propinquity,

Nic

White Falcon

White Falcon

a guitar gradually moans

until it hollers and howls

under the spell of a man

discreet about his survival

postured

confessional

under an unforgiving light

in stacked heel cowboy boots

resourceful narrator

ingenious raconteur

deploys the white falcon

a propulsive amalgam of

succinct winsome dialect

impulsive rash upsurges

arresting patent passion

meticulous marauding

striking five hoary strings

on a wide hollow body

solid spruce arch-top

and laminated maple

strong back curved sides

burnished laced in gold

white layered binding

ebony neck pearl inlay

clean white lustrous form

sleek golden pick-guard

illustrious gold engraving

the falcon

mid-flight

                symbolic

sonic

sensual

symbiotic

rock ‘n’ roll

hierarchy and a hat

jeans and leather coat

and a guitar

too imperial to ignore

**

The anniversary show at The Carleton last night was fantastic.  I really enjoyed listening to two Canadian bands I'd never heard of before.  It's such an intimate atmosphere in there too which adds to the stellar groove of any evening spent there.  I had a good time with my new friend, Heather, discussing writing, music, Jim Morrison, Halifax vs Moncton and various other topics, all accompanied by good music and a nip of wine.  

The subject of Billy Duffy, The Cult and his signature guitar, a Gretsch White Falcon came up.  We discussed the awesomeness of the instrument at great length and mused on its beauty and its place in the rock 'n' roll spectrum.  

I kept thinking about the cover of The Cult's Sonic Temple tour program cover and who woulda thunk a poem would formulate.  

In other writing news, I started a new short story.  EEP!  I thought I'd take a wee breather and stretch my creative muscles but I guess if poems are still coming and I'm still getting the whispers all is right with the world.  This current story, title already firmly in place, 'Hardscrabble', has had me giggling up a storm.  I wonder if my rampant viewing of 30 Rock has anything to do with the fact there's a comedic element to it?  I look forward to see where it goes.  Going easy with this one, letting it unfold as it will, the same as I did with 'Mute' which people really seem to love much to my delight.

Long weekend is looming!  One more work day and I'll have three glorious days to myself.  With any luck I'll get an artist date in this weekend and see where 'Hardscrabble' takes me.

Hug your people today!  Just because you should.

In propinquity,

Nic

Rock Ranger

Rock Ranger

equal parts peace and promise

animate talent louder than bombs

& a pure hurricane-chasing heart

full throttle classic rock ranger

you were an exhilarating surprise

& fused unbridled passion in your stride

this extant twinkling passes by slowly

without your patient dreams dancing

& joyous flashes of musical quick fingers

on the back of a postcard from the road

it simply reads JS, we wish you were here

come back home Jay

                into the light

for you the pursuit of rainbows

on the other side of midnight

will never expire

absence will not quell your golden voice

it is absolute truth you will never be gone

in our bones your music remains

 **

I met Jay Smith twice.  Friendly banter ensued but mostly it me waxing poetic about his performances and him being graciously thankful I enjoyed it.  There may have been a pun or two in there as well, not from me though, surprisingly.

I saw him play several times, on stage with Gordie Sampson, Matt Mays and on his own.  I admired his natural ease, his raw talent, his love of music fiercely evident in his on stage antics and in his voice.

His passing made me profoundly sad.  Too young, too much left to do, see, write and places to play and people to wildly inspire.  Too much living for him to do.  I was so moved at how quickly our incredible tight knit music community here on the East Coast and Canada wide rallied together in both mourning and in celebration of their fallen brother.  I have the utmost respect for Matt Mays for finishing his tour despite their tragic loss.  It takes good humans to carry on and for that Matt and his band have my infinite admiration.

Regardless of the reasons Jay left this world, he awoke in all of us a certain kind of reverence, a great deal of happiness and the music that will continue to color the world and represent his truest essence.  For that, as a fan, I am grateful.

I attended a benefit concert on Sunday evening in support of his little ones, his family.  His musical brothers and sisters filled up the stage with emotionally riveting performances.  It was a love fest.  A celebration.  And, even though for much of the time tears came, there were warm moments of remembrance and tribute from his sister, his wife and his band. 

I’ve been trying to articulate for days what that was like to be a small part of that but I really still can’t.  So, I wrote a poem.  I’ve read over a hundred times and it feels cliché to me because there truly aren’t words beautiful enough for Jay.  But, I tried.

It is difficult to watch people lose their dearest friend, their son, brother, husband and father.  It is difficult to know someone so admired was in pain.  It is simply difficult to lose the things and people we love.  The trick is to know how to celebrate them when they are gone from us.  I will continue to listen and celebrate, for his life, his memory and those who loved him most.  And judging from the crazy amount of love he generated I am certain his gifts will be paid forward, time and again.

In propinquity,

Nic

Jay Smith

1978 - 2013

Rest peacefully, Rock Ranger