Beautiful Minefields

Beautiful Minefields

“In another life, I would come back as a blond soprano who could sing high, clear notes without fear.”

~ Georgia O’Keeffe

            dear Joni

I am only a featherhead

for as long as your art requires

& what traps await in the time

it takes know exactly when

calculations fail while you are

so busy being free – the one

they say sings first in a patter

to a rue & all the way to rhapsody

in one fell swoop

            all those tinges of sadness

protests, rounds & felicities

surrendered on thin paper

every carefully chosen word act as

slight shunts into oblivion

            I am thinking of you today

from my hotel room trying to turn

a dirge into a love song to meet the

sharp expectations of your dignity

            o’ Joni

I confess

I do lean a little too heavily on your

good graces to emulate your clout

& w/ evident joy of course

in the hopes that one day soon we

might have a chance

conversation that flowers into a song

one that ambles & veers the depths of

my heart & your pockets full of sand

it would be a slow reveal

all those years of bottled

up melancholy

the wash transcendent & bracing for

restoration

restitution

dear Joni

            it still doesn’t rain in California

& yet the hydrangeas bloom brightest

along the sharp chances of the Canyon

while you sit vigil in British Columbia

            & I am desperate to be forgiven

for trying to steal all the light you have

                                                gathered

for thinking I could pass off the extra

syllables of your openhearted heroics

            as my own

If I know you, Joni

you’d send me back to the garden

through beautiful minefields just to

endure basic human longings 

                        just as you did for all

these seventy-five fitful years

***

Happy 75^th birthday, Joni Mitchell. Thank you for the music, the poetry, the passion, the power, the art – all while defending and maintaining a true sense of self. Fucking admirable. Thank you for paving the way.

In propinquity,

Nic

Woman Troubadour

Woman Troubadour

she has been accredited

with many miracles

woman troubadour/articulate activist

a champion of narrative poems

on the subject of love & adventure

devoted herself to nursing broken hearts

never afraid to contract beauty from loved ones

woman troubadour/delicate hand-writer

watches the sun wind down

while the rest of us nest tentatively

the chorus of shared friendships

give way to a wide open margin

mutual sentences of loneliness & poverty

navigating the blueprints on pure instinct

woman troubadour/crowned felicity

never deceived

never betrayed

kindness & courtesy make every impression

on her remarkably advanced reasons to grieve

to know nothing of heart’s cold draught

is to single out the meaning of indifferent wind

woman troubadour/frequent flier

conquering faces by diminishing belongings

the beautiful multitude of singing in silence

your city expired in a war fought for justice

a woman with the fragrance of redemption in her hands

her message & the sky lowered

her expression & the ground swelled

milks tenderness dry

wrinkles the embers

do not cling to her button-down neckline

do not caress the complications of moonlight

woman troubadour

melodious matron

lives vicarious

through your tears

breathes miraculous

into your fears

with every intention to escape with a song

she grows too fierce employing impractical instruments

**

I kicked back into gear with ‘Large-Hearted’ yesterday and again today while it is slow at work.  Writing two stories in one has proven to be a challenge and I’m not exactly pleased with one of them.  I love the bulk of the whole story but the secondary tale has me at odds with word play.  I can’t seem to get it to flow the way I want it to.  I know what it is I want but it’s coming out like a big pile of dung. Gah!  I will continue to press on.  One word, one sentence at a time, right?

I finished this poem this morning after seeing a tweet by Carmen Townsend last night.  She shared a you-tube video of Patsy Cline’s ‘Walking After Midnight’ and it made me recall this one week where I was afforded a string of days where I was home alone.  I carted the stereo down into the kitchen along with a stack of CDs, my writing gear and a cookbook.  For one blissfully solitary stretch, I wrote and baked perfect apple pies from scratch and sang along with my musical friends at the top of my lungs, something I don’t do often because I’m not known to carry much of a tune.  But, it was peaceful.  I spent time with Joni Mitchell, Diana Krall, Tracy Chapman, Norah Jones, Ricki Lee Jones, Courtney Love, Stevie Nicks and Patsy Cline.  I think of that time fondly as I could easily spend my days that way, squirreled away with the company of music, Muses and confectionary delights.  I don’t mind being alone until the well needs to be re-filled.  In the spirit of my soulful sisters, songstress angels, poetess influences I wrote ‘Woman Troubadour’.  It reflects the spirit, strength, courage and wealth of all creative women and the gifts they give and their brave hearts.  

I tweeted in reply to Carmen that I often hum ‘Walking After Midnight’ and she then said it was attached to fond memories of her Mama.  I love how music does that, for women, for the world.  It’s powerful.  Wonderful.

Back to working on my story until it’s time for my afternoon commute where I’ll get lost in my book while singing a pretty tune under my breath.

In propinquity,

Nic

SoCal Rescue

SoCal Rescue

a house in Laurel Canynon

full of Joni Mitchell records

walls lined with used books

hazy artists roaming the halls

&

the smell of slow burning incense

saved my life

**

Poopy Monday.  I'm still tuckered out from staying up too late on Saturday night.  3am is waaaaay too late for me anymore.  I've ceased being a party animal and while I still love to have fun and enjoy myself, late nights destroy me now.  I spent most of yesterday yawning and fighting to stay awake so I would actually sleep through the night.  I settled in really early, watched 'The Dark Knight' and passed out cold.  I'm still a bit loafy tonight but it was worth it being able to help dear friends celebrate their engagement.  I am going to treat myself to a few new episodes of 'Arrested Development' after I finish a second stream of Matt Epp's new record 'Learning To Lose Control'.  It's MASTERFUL.  I am FULL of goosebumps.  I can't WAIT for his show in June.  His work is so beautiful and soulful, he always inspires me.  I always like to think of my heart was made of music it might sound like his work.

Just a wee poem today.  To the point.  Simple yet heavy.  If you feel this poem, you know exactly what it means.

In propinquity,

Nic

PS - I didn't write much else today.  I opened 'Hardscrabble' to correct a few typos and add a few bits just before my day ended.  It's still in the front of my mind.  I can't wait to write more!