Led the Away (For Gord Downie)

Led the Away

(For Gord Downie)

V1

I woke up to the inevitable

man, it’s so unbelievable

Gord, up on High

a quick flip of the moleskine

and a liter of cheap wine

gonna sit in this dark bar

and write this song for him

Chorus

with constant revisions made

to the Canadian curricula

always poised a portent

assigned our Poet Guardian

gloriously, you kissed the dream

my exquisite friend

o’ how you led the away

V2

what it means to be hip

how to follow a seamless script

every sentence so imperative

cool lessons measured by his time

mumbling and raging every rhyme

we urged them to become our heart

and that makes losing him the

            hardest part

Chorus

with constant revisions made

to the Canadian curricula

always poised a portent

assigned our Poet Guardian

gloriously, you kissed the dream

my exquisite friend

o’ how you led the way

Bridge

the inevitable

so fucking unbelievable

Gord’s graceful goodbye

the inevitable

left us inconsolable

crying under a bruised sky

whispering please stay

***

In a little less than a month, it’ll be a whole year since we lost Gord Downie. I’m no less broken now than I was when I first heard he was sick and it was terminal.

The day he passed, on my commute home, I scribbled a bunch of lines on scrap paper I found in the recesses of my work bag. I stood tearful, on the side of the road, writing out my feelings. I’ve penned a good few poems in his honour but this one was singing its way through my head, as a song.

Fast-forward to Halloween weekend, 2017. I’m dressed up as a bumble bee standing outside of Freeman’s Fairview with my brother who is dolled up like a rock ‘n’ roll ghoul. He hauled me aside to tell me about a song he was writing. I listened intently and we talked about the weight and beauty of what he was working on and then as an afterthought, I told him about the lyrics I mashed into that bit of paper. He encouraged me to send them to him and he’d set it to music. Eventually, he did – and, beautifully so.

The lyrics have evolved since his first rough recording of it which left me in a tarn of tears on first listen. Not only because he did such a stunning job embedding my words into his music but because he sang the line: ‘Gord up on High …’ the exact way I heard it in my head when I wrote it down. It gave me goosebumps and it still does now whenever I am wherever he is playing it in his shows. It’s a really special thing, for someone solitary like me, to hear something jotted down in private, come alive in such a powerful way.

Soon enough, God willing, you’ll be able to listen even if you can’t make a gig. Perhaps it’ll be closer to the anniversary so we can pay tribute in an official capacity. For now though, I wanted to share the lyrics, conserve them here in poem form, here at the Teapot.

I’m really proud of how it has advanced from a tear-stained cut of paper to a gorgeous ode set to beautiful music. I appreciate, with all my tattered little heart, my big brother even wanted to tackle it. I’m excited for you all to hear it but if you’re able to check out one of his gigs when he’s playing around town, you just might hear it.

In propinquity,

Nic

My Prosperous Solitude

My Prosperous Solitude

cross-legged

on the chesterfield cradling a mug of tea

reading Hugh MacLennan’s ‘Barometer Rising’

I determine that the salve for suffering is art

I stop just short of the right margin in reverence

it is in my prosperous solitude I promote him as

a big, brave lead – thinking of him in 1917 in his

house on 197 South Park Street a ten year old

Hugh MacLennan washing his knees for school

when at 9:05am two vessels laden with explosives

collided in the narrows of the Halifax Harbour

the North end of the city razed yet the two-storey

Victorian dwelling Hugh lived in stood a lonely 

tomb in the rubble of a shattered city aflame

            twenty-four years later

he penned his primary novel – a conclusive illusory

account of the catastrophe – its alleged truth glowers

among the yellowed pages of the tattered copy I

acquired from a miles long yard sale that wound

its way along the Eastern Shore – a welcome find

although I’m not prone to reading war stories his

account woven with romance and intrigue caught me

            after supper

dressed in a warm coat pulled up above my chin

I took a brisk walk for a drink downtown and on

the way back home found myself atop Citadel Hill

surveying the modern skyscape of the very city

obliterated by the 2nd largest man-made explosion

after the atomic bomb – it is astounding to me that

Halifax was once small enough that Parade Square

barely big enough to house the Women’s March

was the town center – upon the Citadel with the

company of my headphones Gord Downie croons

the last line of ‘Courage (For Hugh MacLennan)’

it streams into my ears and makes everything feel

tentative in full circle fashion to know that just

across the once ravaged harbour there is a bar

fatefully called ‘The Watch That Ends The Night’

I should make a point of buying that book next

***

Just a little something I wrote on my travels in the sun yesterday. I actually stood atop the Citadel for a minute and marveled at our city and its history. We are lucky to live here.

In propinquity,

Nic

Audible To You

This is all I've really been able to write thus far. I've tried to sit with pen and paper all week and even working on my writing project has proven difficult. This, came as part of me finally sitting down this morning to catch up on a week's worth.

Audible to You

in the calm

of nightfall

you lapsed

& you leapt

it’s mortal

mathematics

artist to

artifact

I

trusted

how you

treated words

how you spoke

the stories true

this little prayer

audible to only

            you

he who walks

amongst the stars

            thank you

& goodnight

see you down the

road somewhere

**

What a difficult week.

In propinquity,

Nic

Gord's Crown

Three years ago today, fraught with worry over my Dad’s rapidly declining health, Gord Downie saved my spirit and my heart, just by singing not two feet from me and my buds. It was a life-altering experience that I have waxed poetic about time and again but on the anniversary, it takes me back to the Marquee, back in the moment when he walked on stage and my worries melted away just for a little bit. Because of that, Gord seeped into my writing project page for September 14^th, incidentally the same date the Hip’s ‘Long Time Running’ doc premieres in theaters.   Sillyheart wrote a poem about Gord so I wanted to share it here since every word she wrote, I believe in.

In honour:

Gord’s Crown

a head

full of gear

tinny recalls

brief poems

loud refrains

spontaneous bombs

under a hat

robust brim

plumed w/

feathers

wheat

& porcupine quills

atop

a stanch

wonted man

ordained

a signifier

an atom of

eternity

kindred champion

a soul adorned w/

diamonds

            & we bow

we listen

            we revere

eye & spirit

ear & heart

to the

Royal He

top tiered

            dropping

heavy

 ***

Sigh.

In propinquity,

Nic

Exit Poll, 2016

2016 has left me speechless. That's all I can really say today. I plan to ring in a new year with my chosen family, Chinese food, jammies, merriment, belly laughs, champagne, with the same wish in my heart as always: that goodness will prevail.

But, even when the chips are down and the cards are stacked against you, there is music. These, the three songs that got me deep in the heart muscle and shaped my insides:

The Sound by Matt Epp featuring Faouzia - Everything Matt does is a revelation, I discovered this wonderful human being in my Myspace days and it has been so much fun watching him share Amoria and incredibly moving music with the world. He is, hands down, one of my favorite people on the planet. I listen to CBC Radio 2 Morning faithfully and this song is swinging into some heavy rotation and rightfully so. Matt is an artist worth your time. And this song, so deeply resonates with every soft heart that has known love.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HYWVePW6Ovo

The Stranger by Gord Downie - The inclusion of Gord Downie goes without saying. I will keep this to a minimum to not go so deep in to poetics and emotion of all things he means to me because his Secret Path project, his passion project, changing a whole layer of the Canadian landscape. It may be his greatest legacy and I think he'd be okay with that. I still believe, after losing Leonard Cohen this year, Bowie, that Gord will live forever. 

Rehtaeh by Adam Baldwin - It has been a good year for Adam Baldwin musically, off on tour with his exceptional band in support of his new record with July Talk and open here at home for Sam Roberts Band. I stood in the Forum during his set, in awe of the crowd; eyes forward on our Dartmouth brother, singing his words back to him. That has to be a good feeling. And still, in all of the rock splendor, when he pulls out his ode to Rehtaeh Parsons, the gooseflesh pops and the tears form. It's a powerful song and it's beautifully written and executed. Should have one all the awards, and at my gala it did.

**

However you choose to bring in a new year, I wish you well. Hug your people. Be present. Be kind.

In propinquity,

Nic

Je Est Un Autre

Je Est Un Autre

I am another

willfully opaque

unable to choose

between

an Olivetti typewriter or

a leopard skin pillbox hat

I am another

where you are not

                between

the present moment or

a place of grave vacancy

I am another

better than words

more lovely than

                a dream of

                serene wiles

I am another

a minute vertical line

counterpoint

to the void of course

I am another

here only to

translate the surge

                of           

arbitrary signs

               

**

There are nods in this poem to men I greatly admire: a recent Nobel Prize winner, the Senior Cohen, and someone who this summer, united a Canada I believe in and love, through music and compassion. Poetry, for me, is my outlet, it’s my vehicle, it’s my happy place - where today I have encapsulated three venerable human beings in the medium we each call home.

In propinquity,

Nic

Twenty-fourth May, Two Thousand Sixteen

Twenty-fourth May, Two Thousand Sixteen

tin angel troubadour ages

intrepid bar-stool bard weakens

tambourine tackle

                dolefully downcast

this the news

twenty-fourth may, two thousand sixteen

**

Bleary-eyed, I took my work station this morning, booted up my PC, logged into my email, and then promptly tuned into Tom Power on CBC Radio 2. It’s my morning ritual. No deviating unless I’ve got something to pop in the toaster or I need to set the kettle to boil for tea. It was a few minutes before 7am, the news was on when I heard in two separate breaths, today was Bob Dylan’s 75^th birthday (I smiled as I put myself to work) and Gord Downie had brain cancer (I stopped smiling).  It took a second for me to absorb what had just blasted me through my rutty speakers. I burst into tears and sent a text to my best bud, in shock, in horror, gut-wrenching heartsickness spreading all through me. It has lasted all day. It will last forever. My poet love, my literary comrade, my rock ‘n’ roll sweetheart: brain cancer. Incurable. Unbelievable.

The Hip are set to tour this summer, for Gord, for themselves, for us. It was hard to keep the tears in listening to their music peppered through Power’s show this morning, a show is going to be both extremely joyful and painful all at once; knowing it will likely be the very last time any of us will encounter he and his microphone.

A beautiful mind is being taken from us. Not today, not tomorrow, not even next month: but when they say incurable, well … it is an injustice to the world. I can’t understand in these instances, what kind of God robs the world of a person who delights with their talents and doesn’t steal the evil-doers.

It is difficult to imagine a world without him in it and for now we don’t have to. We give him our love, our prayers, our courage, our voices. For as long as we are able.

Courage, for Gord.

In propinquity,

Nic

All My Fears Are Trivial

I don’t believe in resolutions. Well, not anymore. Resolutions, eat better, exercise more often, be kinder, be better … blah blah blah. I believe in intentions.  And not just on January 1^st but 365 days of the year. Life shouldn’t be about the annual clean slate but rather the on-going mission for growth and goodness. But, that’s just me.

For me right now, there are a few areas that require a little extra work on my part but that has little to do with a new year dawning but from circumstance. Isn’t that usually the case? I have meditated on it over the Christmas break and realize my problem areas and am now striving to improve upon them, which includes but is not limited to strengthening the fortress around my heart to prevent impurities in and firming my small but mighty circle of friends. Time to purge the toxins, metaphor intended.

The one exception to the resolution rule this year is I started a gratitude jar. Nothing fancy but today I dropped my first slip of paper inside. I vow to add to it, even on the difficult days, one little thing that brought joy to my hours. I will do this until December 31^st and then hunker down with a celebratory beverage and read them all. 2104 was a difficult one so this is my attempt to remember the good stuff if things go south. It’s Amorian, it’s good for me. I challenge you to do the same. It’s a negativity net if you will. I’ve reached my threshold and my ability to cope with drama and folks who don’t deserve a chapter in my ongoing saga. Simplify, simplify, simplify. Just happens to coincide with a new year but if the need had come in June … same tactic would apply.

2014 had magical moments. Singing on the top of my lungs under the most incredible moon I’ve ever seen with The Killers and my people in PEI, Gord Downie squeezing my hand, watching people I love and/or admire succeed and flourish, beautiful reunions, getting my tattoo, meaningful conversations with my Dad, card tag, good deeds, daydreams, Hubbards in summer, nights at The Carleton, seeing my dearest friends smile and laugh, my Mom’s 80^th birthday, the amazing rock shows and ringing ears, all of the poems and notes and stories I wrote/tried/wanted to write.

I have struggled for a really long time, trying to tap back into my creativity. I was nowhere near as prolific in 2014 as I should have been. I’m sad that I let life and hard lessons get in the way of the words that wanted to be written. I am working my way back to that self. I know, I sound like a broken record but the long cold winter us upon us and I have to pick up my heart, dust it off and put it to good use. I have to turn off the TV and turn on the poetry. I need to make an Open Heart Forgery reading. I need to dig back in, visit the new library that opened in Halifax and have more artist dates that include writing, research and results.

So, here’s to you all making your fresh start, wiping the slate clean, I’m here with you, listing my ongoing intentions, rooting for you, hoping the best for you and smiling when you succeed.  And even if you don’t, when a door closes a window opens. It’ll be okay. Chin up, open heart, and try try again. If we are always doing our best, we can never truly fail.

In propinquity,

Nic

The Conquering Sun

Like yesterday’s sun, I was conquered.  Conquered by a little big show at The Marquee Ballroom on Gottingen Street.  Gord Downie, The Sadies & The Conquering Sun completed their summer tour in Halifax.  I had been looking forward to this show for MONTHS.  Gord, of course, is my poet love and hero.  I have so much appreciation and respect for him and his art, his performances, his ideals and approach to music and the world.  As I mentioned before, I’ve seen the Tragically Hip a lot but I’ve always watched from a fair distance.  Last night, I was fortunate to be right in the front and prior to them taking the stage butterflies swirled around like caged animals in my tummy.  Nerdy as it may be, it was a big deal for me to be that close to the stage, to experience Gord.  The whole damn thing altered my insides, shuffled my pieces around.  I haven’t felt that way since my Leonard Cohen show in 2013.

He looked like a rogue angel in white, wide-brimmed hat and all. He was incendiary right down to the tips of his black pointed budget shoes.  He toyed endlessly with his microphone stand, toyed with the audience that were just as rapt as I was. I am in complete awe of the man, his antics, his facial expressions, his inventiveness and his command of the English language, he knows how to manipulate words to make wonder.  And really, what other man do you know who would insert the word ‘odious’ into audience banter? He is the polar opposite of anything extremely unpleasant, repulsive.  He is a Supreme Being. My heart grew six sizes to Sunday, I thought it might burst in my chest.

So close, so damn close.

Holy snappin' bananas, so close.  So cool.

I was nervous that with all of my family goings-on, I’d be hard pressed to find it in me to fully enjoy the moment and be present.  For the minutes he was obliterating the stage, everything melted away.  I was in my moment that I had been anticipating all these months.  I am grateful for the time that I spent outside of my head and my worries; fully engaged in music, euphoric and weightless.  Gord looked down into my little old soul, literally. He stood over me, looked into my face as he sang, full frontal eye contact.  All at once, it was soothing and overwhelming, so much so I had to momentarily look away. Too much power for my tender heart but I will savour that feeling for the rest of my small literary life. At the end of the show, he reached down with his warm hand and squeezed mine (my bud’s too) and said, ‘Thank you for being in front.’  I wouldn’t have wanted to be anywhere else.

Mind was blown.

In addition to the music from their ‘Conquering Sun’ record they were touring in support of, they also pulled out three stellar covers, ‘So Sad About Us’ by The Who and in their encore they pulled out Guided By Voices’ ‘I Am A Scientist’ and then obliterated us with ‘I Got A Right’ by Iggy & The Stooges.  Musically, it was a perfect show.  What am I saying, it was a perfect show in every single aspect.

And what about The Sadies! Holy snappin’ bananas they are increddddible.  They are an opulent and cohesive unit.  They melted my face. Miraculous. I was just as enthralled by their musical offerings as I was with Gord’s.  And together, they are a mighty mighty force. When The Sadies get back to Haliax, I will be there.  No question.

I should also note that the Adam Baldwin Band opened with a killer set and primed the room with his exceptional songs.  He tweeted yesterday (and I am paraphrasing) that The Sadies are an institution, Gord Downie was a legend and he was just a skid opening for them. I, in my nerdy fashion, being the music geek I am replied and told him he is OUR institution.  I am pleased to see him doing so well with his EP, he was nominated for SIX Music Nova Scotia music awards this year.  He’s loved and rightly so. Skid no more in my opinion, not that he ever was one. The kid can PLAY.  And his band is top shelf.  Hometown pride right there.  And all of this happened with my good buds alongside me.  There’s nothing better than having your friends next to you for the important things.  I sure do love them.

Adam Baldwin Band KILLING it as per usual.

Last night’s show and Leonard Cohen at the Halifax Metro Center in 2013 are the two most important music moments of my life.  And Duran Duran in Montreal, seeing the O5, as it brought my childhood full circle.

I’m still reeling from the whole crazy thing this morning.  I’m appreciative to have a vacation day to unwind and process it all before I return to my 9 to 5 and my family.  I can honestly say that the smile on my face is a genuine one.  I haven't had cause to smile for a little bit now but when he waltzed across that stage, my face hurt from happiness. This moment will always be a bright spot in a large sadness.  I'll never forget it.

Grateful, grateful, grateful. For music, for my heroes who are also my friends and for Gord Downie, my poet love.

In propinquity,

Nic

More Ideas Than Time

You know that saying, 'when it rains it pours'?  It applies to my current creative situation.  I've mentioned before that half way through writing 'Large-Hearted' came to a sudden stop.  Then, while fretting over looming writer's block, I culled a new story idea from a dream I had.  Afraid to write it out though.  It's heavy and it scares me.  The visuals are frightening.  All the more reason to commit to paper, right?  May be small potatoes to some who will read it but to me, because of the subject matter and setting, it's bone-chilling.  And THEN, while falling asleep the other night I met a NEW character who spoke up, wanting her story to be told.  I went from being barren to bonkers, zero to sixty, no time flat.  I mean yikes!  Help me, Rhonda!

Long week this week.  I had to come home today and throw on my sneakers, grab my music and go for a long sweaty walk to blow off some steam, just to be quiet, just to breathe.  It served me well.  I arrived back to my door calmer, with a bottle of wine in hand and my gratitude for the weekend fully intact.  My kitty is curled up at my feet, Gord Downie is crooning it's been a long time running from my speakers, I have a glass of wine and the window open watching the sun set behind the clouds.  I hope to write a little bit but it's weird because I keep waffling back and forth between them, writing bits and bobs on each one.  I'm certain I'll loose my marbles.  You wait and see.  I did spend some time yesterday reading essays by Ray Bradbury about the creative process.  That also doesn't help because I want everything to be written  YESTERDAY.  I swear, I need a writer's retreat.  A month in a small cottage with a computer, a cellar full of wine, cupboard full of tea and a bowl full of fresh fruit.  Add a deep bathtub, a cozy bed and a necessary but modest library of books, writing essentials and music and I would write you the world.  My dreams are lofty but isn't that what dreams are supposed to be?  I think so.

Happy weekend!  Be happy.  Be good.  To yourself.  To others.

In propinquity,

Nic

Don't Tell Me What The Poets Are Doing

As suspected, Saturday was spectacular.  The double bill of The Arkells and Tragically Hip was deliciously equal parts rock 'n' roll extravaganza and Canadiana.  There I was once again, a proud Canadian, congregated with a few thousand of my closest friends to be obliterated and elevated by the universal language that is music.

I have seen The Arkells a few times and I really love their music, in particular Max Kerman's vocals.  Their music and their set is energetic and punchy and it feeds the fever.  I was pleased to see so many Haligonians in their seats for their opener.  And they did the night justice, getting the crowd on their feet, priming them for The Hip.  I was wound up and full of fire by the time they finished off with a rousing version of 'Whistleblower'.  Tres impressive and I am certain that their fanbase increased during this tour.  If you don't know them, do yourself a favor and check them out.  I said so.

I'm afraid I'm still a little lost for words.  I tried all weekend to write about it but it was just so amazing I am still having trouble conjuring up the proper sentiments.  It's been a long time since they've been to Halifax, having to pull out of Virgin Fest in 2007 (which I was SO pumped for) so we were overdue and more than ready for what Gord and the boys had for us.  

The Hip are known for switching up their setlists and sometimes randomly play things you'd never think they'd dust off.  Erica and I were praying for 'Fiddler's Green' which they surprisingly delivered in their encore.  At the risk of sounding crass, goosebumps doesn't describe the feeling that came over me.  I felt like one giant erect nipple!  

The whole entire show was one long explosion.  I was surprised they gave up 'New Orleans Is Sinking' so soon, it was the second song in and that to me is more of a send off song but I didn't really care because it was all so spectacular.

Gord was in fine form.  Faded black jeans, button down shirt, tie, vest and a chapeau.  He was a cross between Buster Keaton and Charlie Chaplain, teasing the crowd with mimed antics with his handkerchief and dancing with his microphone stand.  He belted out the songs with reverence and raw power, gyrating and and bopping around the stage with his iconic movements.  You know it's true, I hung on every word, every note.  I was a willing participant and drank it all in, on complete sensory overload.  I did choke up through 'Fiddler's Green' and 'Bobcaygeon'.  Both of those songs have deep emotional connections for me and it is so thrilling to hear a crowd's collective voice swell and wane.  It's so powerful.

I know that's a terribly lame account of the night but I am being brutally honest when I say there are just no words.  They were magnificent.  It couldn't have been better.  Bright lights, video screens, incredible production and sound.  Brilliant performances.  Esoteric, melodic, emotionally charged, humble and honest.  They are all encompassing, they are the greatest Canadian band.  Period.

Speaking of incredible production value and sound, I had last minute opportunity to attend the last quarter of the annual AIDS benefit hosted by Tour Tech East.  My brother's band, Forty Fingers, were closing the show after Saga.  Remember them?  While I can say Saga's set was visually stunning, their music isn't my cup of tea but they held the crowd's attention.  I was really there to cheer on my favorite band of brothers.  They closed the night and opened with a blistering version of Gary Clarke Jr's 'Third Stone From The Sun' and slid right into their brand new original 'Spent All My Money On Rock 'n' Roll".  It was the first time I'd heard it and it was amazzzzing.  They ripped through their set with vigor and angst and high octane energy.  It was so much fun to see them rock the shit out of the left-over crowd and take advantage of such a supreme stage set up.  They didn't have to fuss with sound, lights, the smoke machine.  They had professionals taking care of that, all they had to do was climb on stage and play.  I was really blissed out watching them, so proud.  They really are incredibly talented musicians and when you put them all together, magic happens.  It was a crazy beautiful way to cap off my Saturday night.  Mingled with tons of people I rarely get to see and rocked out with my people.  Family.  The family you accumulate along the way and those hanging like monkeys from the tree; time spent is so precious and important.

Check out how awesome they looked:

I'm still trying to catch up on my sleep.  4am is hella late for an old doll like me these days but I wouldn't trade a second for a wink of sleep.  It was a fantastic weekend despite Sunday's snow storm and having to shovel.  I didn't get any writing done but tonight I took it easy and played with some poems while I watched Storytellers.  Norah Jones.  It was lovely company.  I'm also still working on my current short story.  It's taking twists and turns and I'm still trying to wrap my head around it but it will come.  I have tons of notes, it's just a matter of getting it all down in one place and figuring out a few transitions.  

I hope all of you Super-bowlers survived yesterday and your head wasn't like a foot this Monday.  My day was long and I'm soon to retire with some green tea and my dreams.  

Poetry next time!

In propinquity,

Nic

They shot a movie once in my home-town ....

Anti-Censure

Wow, it’s February already!  Where is the time going?  Kids, it has been one long hellish week.  I am at my wit’s end with all of the irritants and dramas of real/work life.  I’m ready to shrug it all off and face forward to a weekend I’ve been anticipating since before the Christmas holidays.  That’s right folks; it’ll be Springtime In Vienna here tomorrow.  The Tragically Hip will be here to entertain.  This concert will suspend me into my happy place.  Their music and in particular the lyrics, have always left me in awe.  Gord Downie is an incredible rock poet, he inspires me and his words challenge me and make me think.  They are visual, emotional and worshipful.  He can coin a phrase, sing a line, ad-lib until the cows came home and I’d be enthralled, hanging off of every notion.  There is nothing more magical than the marriage of lyrics and music and nothing as profound of those two things united presented live.  One more sleep!  One more sleep!

I am sad to say that after I shared my two short stories and started the third, I lost a bit of prose-writing steam.  That happens I suppose, right?  I’m not worried because the idea/character/intention is still present and I am still churning out poetry.  It’ll come.  I won’t be too hard on myself for stalling because never have I ever completed three short stories and shared them almost back to back in my life.  I’m confident more will come and eventually I’d like to write something longer.  Baby steps, yes?  I worked hard at setting attainable writing goals while heeding to inspiration.  I think I did reasonably well. 

In thinking of my goals on writing stories this poem arrived.  Books are always showered with descriptive and interesting accolades as promo and tools for getting people excited about what’s between the pages.  Just something fun for a Friday.

Anti-Censure

written

an erotically charged

blistering social satire

from an articulate

observant writer

deeply entertaining

fantastically indiscreet

this compulsively

readable account

chronicles

objectionable behavior

with rollicking reverence

fast-paced

eye-opening

deeply entertaining

experience the full

novelistic breadth

of mesmerizing prose

vivid cadence of events

wide in scope

epic in depth

deliciously meticulous

from an emerging voice

in contemporary fiction

a searing debut

on sale now

**

As I was typing I think I stumbled on something, a small glimpse for the new piece.  A character and an interesting turn of events perhaps.  I don’t know what I’ll do with the flash because the new story itself started out to be so specific.  Hmmm …

As you were.

Happy Friday!  Happy February!  Be kinder than necessary.

In propinquity,

Nic

PS - The new issue of Open Heart Forgery is out and up online!  I made the cut this month.  See for yourself:

http://ohforgery.com/

A Little Stubborn

Terribly long week.   I had a trying day yesterday.  Emotions, hormones and all that crazy jazz had me in a tizzy.  There were moments where I felt like I might snap and bust open into a million little pieces. Those kinds of days are few and far between for me but it goes without saying, I dislike them intently.  I started a poem but I couldn’t write, I was too uptight and every muscle in my body was screaming.  I couldn’t focus and it took me almost the entire commute home to start breathing with ease.  A quiet visit with a dear friend turned the day around for me and afterward the latest episode of ‘Californication’ sung me into a deep sleep.  I heart Hank Moody.

The bright side is I possess focus today and despite the dreary weather I polished off this poem in my down-time and am ready to share.

On another happy note, THREE MORE SLEEPS UNTIL TRAGICALLY HIP!  I am very much looking forward to a day out with my best friend, dinner at The Wooden Monkey and then taking our seats for the show.  It’s been a very long time since The Hip and my hero Gord Downie rolled into town and graced us with their presence.  I am terribly excited and getting more so with each passing second!  I’m such a music nerd.

 And now, poetry:

A Little Stubborn

often we tell ourselves

‘he loves us too much’

when he walks away

so beautiful & promising

a little stubborn to the truth

a little blind to the naked facts

but time will stop

everything will cease

morning will not come easily

after you’ve traced his steps

to a blithe smile in a doorway

or through her open window

&

in the bend of your next embrace

it is wholesome lonesomeness

to write a story while occupied

by devious man’s rapaciousness

all of the names have been changed

but it is love that pins us down

&

makes us a little stubborn

makes us a little more tenacious

to have the opportunity to prove

our affections are more than anecdotes

**

Here’s a kindness challenge for you today – hug your Mom.  She loves your hugs.

In propinquity,

Nic

Which We Have Blindly Written

Which We Have Blindly Written

with just time enough

to glimpse the slow

merit of tenderness

we gather up our words

& read them with the keen

sense of being torn apart

by rhythms & short intervals

raised up arches & tiny details

we did not know we would never

experience this moment again

the cruelty of language

the grammar of audacity

adventure without an epilogue

notions without obstacles

with just time enough still

to balance tomorrow’s oblivion

by a void in our beating heart

silent music & dizzy motion

how we sustain our breathing

becomes a transparent miracle

which we have blindly written

** 

Greetings to you on this frosty Monday, friendly readers.  With little to share except heartfelt thanks for all of the lovely emails and feedback on my two short prose pieces.   I am so pleased they were received so warmly and am mighty proud of myself for completing and sharing them here.  The new piece I started has thrown me for a bit of a loop.  When the character introduced himself, I had no idea I'd be delving into a racy subject matter so I'm interested to see where he takes me.    

Just a little poem for today.  Something to help clear out the cobwebs for more creative writing ahead.  I'm banking on this week flying so that Saturday gets here in a hurry. Tragically Hip rolls into town and I am PUMPED.  Date night with Gord Downie is always something to look forward to.  Stay tuned to this space for my review of the show.

Short and sweet today, just like me.  Stay warm.

In propinquity,

Nic