Sad End For A Writer

Sad End For A Writer

I believed you

emphatically

my synonym for beauty

in the present moment

when you openly professed

the intrinsic phases of poetry

evident through a summary

of sated spiritual upsurge

a veritable deluge of exactitude

so peculiar and incongruous

for your character to concede to

such an inspiring blithe explanation

that in response

I ceased a shrugging dismissal to

your dubious aggrandized anecdotes

I trusted you

haphazardly

my synonym for contentment

in the instantaneous past tense

I tended your

fragile heart

w/ quiet care

revolved around

your hours

w/ compassion

when you shed

your armor

leveled my field

& we settled into

that palpable

space in between

truth & lies

black & white

feast & famine

& then pretense

invaded the calm

I annulled our amalgamation

my antonym for abundance

disengaged our composition

my antonym for affection

all of your contradictions

have been redeemed

all of the words in your

failed language expired

a sad end

for a writer

in love

**

This week and crawling by after a great few days away from the norm.  I have Thursday's reading with the Open Heart Forgery gang to look forward to though.  The new issue is being released and I am happy to report that 'Aubade' will be included.  It's getting colder here now, with Winter looming.  I'm not a fan of snow and I hear the white stuff will fly sometime between tomorrow and Sunday.  Barf.  I was born in the wrong climate.

A little poetry for a sleepy Tuesday, hope you enjoyed.

In propinquity,

Nic

Aubade

Aubade is a fabulous word.  I fell in love with it and couldn’t stop thinking about it so I did what comes naturally, I wrote a poem.  Aubade is the opposite of serenade, one a morning song, the other of the evening.   By definition, aubade is in fact a ‘song of the morning’ and has also been defined as ‘a song or instrumental composition concerning, accompanying or evoking daybreak’.  If you were to take it at its literal meaning, as it was intended, it would be ‘a song from a door or a window to a sleeping woman’.

In poet John Donne’s heyday, aubades were written from time to time, including his piece, ‘The Sunne Rising’, a striking English example expressing the original intent of the poem type boasting courtly love.  In more modern times aubades have taken on a more abstract theme one of a person parting at daybreak as opposed to separating from a lover.  A prime example being the poetically charged piece simply titled ‘Aubade’ by Philip Larkin (it’s worth a search in Google if you are a poetry head).

In the Middle Ages, aubades were often repertory of troubadours and their travelling ways.  The more modern day scribes have taken it upon themselves to experiment and have bent the rules to allow for a more flexible meaning and a broader reach for the subject.  I think both versions are wonderful.

Aubade

the hour is hollow

après sunrise

the moon lifts

arousing dawn

&

a tiny song

sung softly

in a hushed whisper

between parceled lips

awakens the blue

clarity of daylight

dialogue between

parting lovers

is mournful

affection is evanescent

**

Sing your heart out.

In propinquity,

Nic

PS – A wonderfully talented writer friend sent me some great thoughts on ‘Whistle’ and I’m happy to report that because of her smart feedback I am expounding on the writing to strengthen their story. I'm a touch excited.