Hello, stars.

Hello, stars.

If you wish it so

I will shape every

lovely word

quietly congregating

in your warm heart

set them into the stars

so that the keenness

of their true meaning

might whisper
                in your ear

whenever darkness falls.

Only if you wish it so.

**

A little poem off the cuff.  Slightly romantic but nothing special.  Just a few thoughts, a few words on something that resembles love and loyalty.  Two things I believe to be precious commodities, two things that are far too rare.

So, it's John Taylor's 53rd birthday today.  Yes, that John Taylor, from Duran Duran.   I have a lot of love and deep respect for him.  In addition to being the wallpaper on my adolescent bedroom walls, he has served (both in Duran Duran and his solo efforts) as a huge portion of the soundtrack of my life.  Not only with his music but the music I was turned onto because he liked it.  Same can be said about art, books and films.  I love how inspiration is, a long succession of moving sentiments passed down from one blown mind to another.  I admire his creative spirit, his fortitude, is attitude and his art.  I am grateful mostly though because through him, his decisions and and music, I met some of the most incredible people who live in all corners of the world, who have become my extended family, my heroes.  These women and few men remind me that this big crazy world is still beautiful and that there are always things to be grateful for even when the chips are down.  I have watched these people get married, have babies, be present to celebrate their accomplishments, support them with hardships; and for the few we've lost, Bec and Lisa, we remember.  The friendships I have formed have elevated my life, made me better and they continue to inspire me to be better still.  John Taylor made all this possible.  That, is a beautiful thing.  He is the man.  And for that and because he's just a good egg, I wish him a very happy birthday today.

It's the eve of my four day weekend.  I took vacation days tomorrow and Monday.  I have some errands to run, one of which is to apply for a passport.  After I hit publish on this little ditty I have to do my check-list:  birth certificate, passport photos, form fully filled out and most importantly my money.  The goal is to take a week-long trip south with friends as a late birthday present for myself and my friend Colleen.  My birthday is in December, hers is January, exactly one month apart.  For this milestone, we're planning a girls getaway in the Spring of 2014.  Sad to say that it'll be my first official grown-up vacation.  A real vacation.  Exciting stuff.  That's the current plan.  Who knows what next year will bring.  If all else fails, I'll hop on a plane west and go visit Ruthie, one of my most important comrades gained from the Taylor times.  Anything is possible.

On the writing front, I got another little chunk written this week.  Slow going but I'm enjoying the process.  I'm hoping these four days off will be productive.  And of course, this is Matt Epp weekend!  Sunday night at The Carleton!  Yayayayayay!  I'll be on inspiration overload Monday, just you wait and seeeeee.

Still feels like a work night because I'm pooped.  Brewing a small cup of vanilla tea and crawling into bed.  I won't turn the TV on tonight, instead I'll use the time to reflect, count blessings and send my prayers up.

Hug your people.  They need you.

In propinquity,

Nic

The Better Love

Could someone please explain …. where the blazes is the time going this year?  It seems to be flying by so fast.  Tomorrow is November already, done with the Halloween shenanigans and preparing for yuletide elf duties.  This year, with all of its blessings and a few imprudent decisions still has a little bit of life to be lived yet and obviously, more words to be written.  I can honestly say that since I’ve started this blog, I have been focused on and always mindful of literary pursuits so reading and writing has really started to fulfill me in a way it never has before.  That is a good feeling.  Fostering my artist and feeding the Muse, nothing like it.  It helps to move through things that offer emotional strain, it helps to then find solace in the comfort of comrades and it is helpful to know joy in acknowledging gratitude when the chips are down.  I tend to break out in a ruby red rash of sentimentality when I feel a year closing in.  Come November, inching toward the Christmas season my mushy heart tends to be verbose with love and thankfulness for just about everything and everyone I love. 

One of the things I really love is being part of the Open Heart Forgery gang.  I submitted a poem for the latest edition that is available for public consumption throughout the Halifax area.  I am working on a little something now to submit for the very last edition of 2012 but in the meantime, here is the poem that can be seen compiled with other talented local writers  in the latest issue:

The Better Love

the better love

was left behind

its weight

pressed into

tight stanzas

undefined

undetermined

denied

the better love

was disadvantaged

deprived of ripeness

the better love

was the best love

now unrequited

the saddest love

of all

Universal theme, no?  Something I believe each and every one of us can relate to or has related to.  Unrequited love, never felt so good as it does in a poem. 

I finally finished reading John Taylor’s memoir, In The Pleasure Groove.  I savoured every page to make it last as long as I could.  His story is one not so uncommon for those whose rise to fame was fast and furious but in saying that, none too revealing.  He came across as apologetic which I expected knowing the tender soul he is and very protective of those he holds closest.  His loyalty is endearing and I did learn a few new things about the guy whose face was plastered all over my bedroom wall for much of my teen years.  And while I know it was a brave undertaking to share his story, I feel as if he held a lot back and skimmed the surface instead of really digging deep.  I understand the reservations of sharing so it is not a true criticism but more of an observation and that I understand what it is to bear your soul in words.  It’s not an easy task. I just know that it was lovely to spend time reading about someone I have admired for my whole life and whose career has broadened my knowledge and tastes for other kinds of music, art and authors and by virtue of a loving fan-based, introduced me to some of the most amazing people I am happy to call friend.  I’ve always been in the pleasure groove because I am a fan of his and continue to revel in the music he creates with my favorite band.  It’s one of those things that has defined who I am and led me to so many fascinating discoveries.  The beat goes on.

Now that I’m done Mr. Taylor’s book I have decided I am going to make the commitment to re-read all of Carol Shields’ books.  I am still missing her volume about Jane Austen but it shall be mine.  I plucked Unless down from my shelf this morning to carry along to work with me.  I decided to start with Reta’s tale because it delves into my most prized virtue, gratitude.  Carol Shields was a stunning scribe.  She made ordinary things extraordinary, built memorable characters and imagined stories that leave you full of humanity and wonderment.  She is also a hero of mine painted by a completely different brush.  I’m pleased with myself for coming up with the bright idea to enjoy her books again as I have many times over.  My insides will be rich and my breathing will come easy as it always does with time spent in her stories.

Happy last day of October, Halloween.  It’s raining and windy here today, residual effects of Hurricane Sandy who has devastated much of the East Coast of the US.  This weather could pose a real problem tonight for the littles out and about trick or treating.  I had my Halloween fun on Saturday evening with my best friend, hamming it up as a trailer trashy gal, complete with a wig that had beer cans for curlers.  It was a fun time, being silly and being in the company of folks who enjoy laughing, spooky treats and good music.  I suppose though if there are no little ghouls to claim tonight’s treats, I’ll have to eat them all. Aww shucks.

Remember kids, witches don’t like to fly their brooms when they are angry for fear they will fly off the handle.

In propinquity,

Nic

Curriculum Vitae, Ars Poetica

I was playing around with words today, stealing seconds and minutes throughout between busy spurts at my work desk.  I had difficulty focusing on any one thing for too long; my head has been pounding like a bass drum for forty-eight hours now but somehow I still managed to pull up my proverbial socks and stay lucid and poetic-y.  This verse was a mere shell, scratches on scrap paper and then I started working it around until it was singing up at me.  It’s a little on the esoteric side I know but I’m going to save this one for the next Open Heart Forgery reading.  I can’t wait to unleash it and read it aloud.

It’s really just about writers and what they do, how they do it, why and for whom.  I admit, I often would only write for myself but now that I have this little home on the interweb I’m content to share my words instead of hoarding them in writing books tucked away for safe keeping.  I’m all about letting words breathe now, less tense about releasing what I write and so pleased to have friendly readers (even if you don’t always enjoy or ‘get’ what you’re reading, I still appreciate you being here).

Curriculum Vitae, Ars Poetica  

Discreetly, in my own words

& in my own passionate assignation

I have anthologized my last soliloquy

& all that has escaped me.

With the aid of notable presence,

active exercises

& conceptualized patterns

supreme fiction and paradoxes

inhabit the middle.

What is written first

& the last voluble lexes

disclose the shapes of the world

mirrored against my internal theatre.

With ambition, I seek

stronger sympathies for artistic labor

by my oblique ability to infiltrate

rococo ingenuity & lure capricious counterparts.

I, without hesitation, by my own assertion

endorse charmingly ribald admissions

that the veneration of my elevated artist

is

imaginative realism

dominated by the constant desire

to upend conventional expectations.

Abstain your banishing of poetic currency

from the support of penciled illustrations

look forward to the precipice of peace

& permit me to push the margins of excess.

This bookish ideal has persisted for centuries

& whether it was meant to confirm or deceive

a litany of language remains a constant curiosity.

Cease to falter on a fulcrum of reservation

or consent your acute perspective to hinge

on egregious grammar & snarled semantics

it is certain the result is commonly chimeric.

Subtly, in my own pristine voice

& in my own arcane acknowledgment

I am the architect of a true sequential story

& all that I have been hard done by.

Don’t leave me to weep

don’t repudiate my place

or

deny me the challenge to

cultivate an audience for poetry.

It’s a writer’s life,

& an extraordinary duty.

Visit me, my entangled alliances

& my fine assortment of verses.

I am a good hostess,

let me read to you.

 **

And as a sidenote: once I’m finished reading John Taylor’s highly anticipated memoir Into The Pleasure Groove, I’m going to dig in and explore some of Wallace Stevens work.  How did I not know how wonderful he was before this!? I can’t wait to read every poem he’s written.

Second sidenote: thanks so much to everyone who stopped by to read ‘Whistle’.  I received so many lovely notes of praise and even some constructive criticism, all of which were so appreciated.  It was also quite a coo to have my Dad who has so often in the past toted my lust for writing as a passing fancy lament how much he liked it and proceeded to ask open-ended questions about the characters and then where I planned to submit it?  Alternate universe? Perhaps but still a welcome surprise.  So thank you again for taking time out of your busy lives to read and share your thoughts.  It means oodles.

In propinquity,

Nic