Love Poem #11

Love Poem #11

I will bring you

bright

red roses

bushels

to fill the blue space

of morning

we will sit still

                side by side

reminisce about

our interval

at the salt mines

of Salzburg

our honeyed lips

                pressed

such affection

                I gave you

praise & invitation

                to advance

I kept track of my

                envies

w/ unmatchable words

                &

your large irony

                &

when we part ways

                so aroused

I leave myself behind

                for you

to find

**

I suppose I am feeling a little bit … soft today? Long weekends with the promise of sun and solace, what else could a girl ask for? Hmmm …

Happy Canada Day weekend eve, folks!

In propinquity,

Nic

Crank Correspondence

Crank Correspondence

it is easy math

wide screen agony

                dunce fools

a playwright well-versed

                in the classics

an amateur comedienne             

                dispenses rape jokes

a grandiloquent dictator

                rises in America

a slapdash sister-in-arms

                runs for the hills

in light of what we know

it ought to be good fun

to compose limber prose

dense thickets of sentiment

it

begins in a dank basement

stops in-utero

writhes deviously

then shoots into

outer space

the words

                informal mathematics

                                vs

                rigid parsing & syntax

formal tensions

                men with sharp thorns

                women with shiny crowns

it is easy math

widescreen agony

                dunce fools

ruling the world

                corresponding only with

conceit

**

Brain is needling today. Emotions are somewhat high. Blerg.

More coffee perhaps?

In propinquity,

Nic

(Nightmarish) Short Film

(Nightmarish) Short Film

widower Mycroft Nylund

side-stepping

                refusing Heaven

until the end of Dante’s

Paradise Lost

leans toward the Cezanne

low hanging fruit

                not weakening

from Rexroth’s adjectives

widower Mycroft Nylund

says the angelic ones

                pave roads red

slay the turquoise monsters

                Wallace Stevens

dispatches

arms across his face

                he grieves wonderfully

his afternoon opera depicts

                evanescent symmetry

there is no cure

                for sorrow

**

There is an old Chinese story about a woman who lost her only son to death. In her grief, she visited a Holy man and asked, “What prayers, what magical incantations can you share with me so that I may bring my beloved son back to life?”

He answered, “Fetch me a mustard seed from a house that has never known sorrow. Bring it back to me and with it we will expel the sorrow from your life.”

The mournful woman set off in haste in search of the coveted mustard seed.

She came upon a splendid mansion, rapped on the front door and asked, “I am looking for a house that has never known sorrow. Has your house never known sorrow?  It is very important to me.”

“Our house has known many sorrows.”

The family went on to share all of the tragic happenings they had endured. The woman was agog and decided that who better than she to help this unfortunate family, someone with misfortunes of her own. She stayed awhile to comfort them before carrying on in search of a house that has never known sorrow: except each place she visited housed tale after tale of sadness and hardship. The woman found herself busy ministering peace and comfort to so many others she almost forgot about her quest to for the mustard seed. When it crossed her heart again, she realized that her search for the mustard seed that led her to those in need was the very way she quelled the sorrow of losing her son.

Moral: (especially in times of sorrow) living with the intention to love and serve others is a great and healing power.

Amoria.

Of course, my poem stands ironic against this parable and truth. I thought it would be fun to compare and contrast.

In propinquity,

Nic

Sun Stands Still

Sun Stands Still

when earth is most

inclined to the sun

& it sinks beneath

the brave horizon

on the longest day

of the year

I am a Reveler

in a warm knit-sweater

spread out on a blanket

w/ a thermos of green tea

Buffy Sainte Marie tapes

summer solstice ready

                a strawberry moon

it is worth looking up

it will not appear again

for a good many years

                under amber glow

I am grateful for being

                & pray for time

**

This poem is a little late. I’d have shared it sooner but I was still fussing with it up until a few minutes ago. I was re-organizing a few clunky lines, I finally managed to make them work.

On Monday, we say the full June moon rise on the summer solstice. The Northern hemisphere hasn’t seen once since 1967, the Summer of Love. It was rare and worth observing. I hope you were able to ponder in wonder, even if just for a moment.

And, what’s this I hear about a potential Canada Post strike!? Holy haystacks! How will I card tag with Ru!? Send Alya books!? Postcross!? Amazon!?  Yes, I used Amazon as verb, sue me. This is not happy news to my still achy on occasion ears. Blerg.

One more sleep until Friday. I’m anxious to sleep in. I am tres tired this week.

In propinquity,

Nic

Which Is Of Course The Miracle

Which Is Of Course The Miracle

there you are

(west) walking across your

manicured lawn your bare

feet cool in the dew

here I am

(east) wiggling my toes in

rubber boots puddle-jumping

across faded concrete

which of course

is the miracle

two coasts

two conjectures

                one inclination

if I stand still

you are dancing

if you sit down

I am on the move

there you are

(west) smiling through your

                homesickness

here I am

(east) standing on guard listening

for your laughter on the wind

which of course

is the miracle

of our bloodline

**

If someone were to accuse me of extreme sentimentality right now, they’d be one hundred and fifty percent right. Father’s Day really put a knot in my belly, and, after writing TJ’s birthday poems, I can’t seem to stop writing odes to people I love: first for my Mama, now for my darling niece Chelsey. She recently gave birth to her first child, my little lightning bolt Ayla Grace, and got to spend a little bit of time here at home, on loan from her new post in Sylvan Lake with her love. She is the little sister I always wanted and feel so blessed she was put in my life's path. I value her friendship and admire her resilience and strength even thought she’d be the first to deny owing either of those attributes. This wee poem is a small celebration of our bond, hanging off of the same branch of the family tree. I miss her a great deal now that she’s stationed back in Alberta so this is just a little something, capable of reaching across the miles and the interwebs to express my deep affection and gratitude for her.

Tell your people you love them. Better yet, show them. Today.

In propinquity,

Nic

Mama

Mama

Mama

you are not without amazement

you know what it means to smile

birds winging toward the horizon

soft blushing moccasin flowers

dazzling darkness of old midnight

                Mama

have you ever seen anything more

beautiful in your life? all the lovely

words billowing toward your heart

feather kisses on your glossy cheek

                Mama

you taught me how to love this world

be surprised by unexpected kindness

content in the pure peace of giving

                Mama

we are bound by unbreakable string

the bond of blood, flesh and home

                Mama

                                thank you

**

Missing my Dad so badly on Father's Day this year really made me think about and want to express just how deeply I love my Mom. She is such a dear-heart: kind, gentle, humble, generous of spirit and has no idea how to say no (although she's gotten much better at it out of sheer necessity in recent years). She isn't rich but is wealthy in all of the ways that matter and she deserves the world. She is often lonely, never complains, never judges, doesn't ask for a thing. I am so grateful for all of the gifts she's given to me, my propensity for goodness and my inclination to care for others without condition are on the rather lengthy list. I have watched her come through her life with such grace and quietude. To be certain, she has endured a great deal of hardship but she never allows that to tarnish her ability to shine in the light and in love.

This one is for you, Mom. I love you.

In propinquity,
Nic

Encounter

Encounter

I caught sight of you

eating a burrito on a streetcar

                Bloor/Danforth

a view from the cheap seats.

I listened for something familiar

recalled you sinking into your

old love-seat seeking comfort.

An exposed world I lingered in

too long: it crackled to life

your strict routines short fuse

& when you hauled anchor.

I caught sight of you

stood in plain sight unnoticed

sagging in circling sunlight

until I was sorry I ever met you.

Bereft tangled & brazen, to

unburden myself of your poetry

I take my stop, buy a new sweater

an armload of old 45s & lumber home.

Your testy smile: the hardest habit to

                break.

I sent my silly cries into the pines

                where love never slips through.

Where you are a lie.

**

Tonight I wrote next to an open window, sunny and breezy accompanied by a generous playlist. I am tired, one of my ears is still aching a little but I really just felt the need to hide away in my writing room, door closed, with all my friends (rock wall) and just tinker. Good for what ails you on a Monday, yes?

I’m pecking at one more. It was strange, I was flippy floppy between two pieces and it was starting to make me dizzy. I had to discipline myself to work on one at a time. Now that the sun is setting, I will hunker down and continue with #2, a little something for my Mama.

In propinquity,

Nic