Joys Fears Pains Sensitivities

Joys Fears Pains Sensitivities

I wonder what it feels like to be a young Bob Dylan in a

Greenwich Village apartment making prank phone calls

or the endless repetition of supernatural light creating

beautiful sun-bleached palettes of a wild paradise fire

I imagine myself as prevalent and brimming with cool

the sole owner of one inspired and continuous blunder

protected by the diaphanous sheath of obliviousness

digging dramatic ground to entomb the barefaced verity

an indolent string of made-up words are the train-tracks

to the bleached-bone straightforwardness of not knowing

the look of a dominant voice recommending you to surrender

your whole heart for something important named after you

to not be in attendance for your own departure diminishes its

perfection and resolve like balancing dancers on the memory

of the very last lines emblazoned on the softness of the sand

joys fears pains sensitivities

we were never meant to survive

under one small star

**

It is wet and cold outside today. Coincidentally, it’s also Halifax’s Parade of Lights. My buds and I are going to brave the cold and damp with layers and rain ponchos and participate. I am still planning my attire in my head as I type this. Should be fun even if a little uncomfortable due to the elements but we’ll be together, united, ready to soak in a little holiday cheer. Cheer never hurt no one!

I slept in good this morning. I had a rough heart day yesterday so I turned my phone off at 9ish, binge watched some Parks and Recreation for a little lightness and headed to sleep by 11ish. Sadness is exhausting but I woke up today, made a hearty brunch, a pot of tea and did some writing (the result being the above poem). While writing I listened to Adele’s 25 and Chris Stapleton’s Traveller records, both of which I love. I should have been working on my story but that I will save for tomorrow. This morning I just felt like filling my ears with music while I tinkered with words. It felt good.

Wishing you a bountiful Saturday. However you spend it, I hope joy finds you.

In propinquity,

Nic

Cup Of Light

It's a perfect Sunday.  It started with a delicious birthday brunch with my dear friend Sherrie.  We are both December babies so we decided this year to do a brunch together to celebrate being alive and the comforts of friendship over a decadent meal.  We dined at The Vines in Dartmouth, most noted for their Italian fare but also for their Sunday brunch.  The atmosphere was cozy and food was fabulous.  We talked over coffee, laughed while enjoying the ambrosia of culinary delights and posed thankful over a sinful bit of dessert.  We exchanged gifts and gratitude.  So lovely.  My friends truly are my estate.

It is also a perfect Sunday because it is a rare day to be at home alone.  I busied myself with a few domestic tasks and now I am parked next to a sunny window, with a cool breeze sneaking in.  The air around me is full of the sweet sounds of Matt Epp's voice and the fragrance of tea, Santa's Secret from David's Tea, one of the few teas Erica gave to me for my birthday.  And of course, with all of these beautiful elements, I finished editing my latest poetry offering, 'Cup Of Light'.  I also started working on another new piece.  You can't hope for better than days like today.

Cup of Light

when a word is beautiful

written on a piece of paper

folded up inside of a book

effervescent fonts surge in

a gentle stream of grace

from the protective pages

when discovered

& is approximate to a

cup of immaculate light

scribes leave tiny traces

words laid down safely

& some expire without ever

being passionately admired

when a word is bountiful

shrouded in the pall of privacy

secretly stashed away in shelves

full of soldier straight volumes

it longs for unbridled sovereignty

to respire

to delineate

to irradiate

a cup of magnificent illumination

one perfect word

one impeccable light

**

I will spend the rest of my afternoon working in something new, working away at a mountain of laundry I've been ignoring.  And perhaps a little bit of TV for company while I put the finishing touches on the Christmas tree.  It was decorated yesterday afternoon but still needs the icicles.  I have some catching up to do on my favorite shows so it's a possible plan but not before poetry!  Writing comes first.

Wherever your weekend took you, I hope you were among friends and you were smiling.

I'll see you on the flip-side, friendly readers.

In propinquity,

Nic

Distant Love

It’s a Friday, it’s sunny out and I've been stuck in my office all day feeling a migraine headache mounting.  Even with both of my eyeballs throbbing inside if my skull and my head pounding, I still managed to jot down a little poem; something soft and sweet, something secret and something sacred.  You can take from it what you like as is the beauty of all poetry, being open to individual interpretation or simply read for the pleasure of absorbing words.  It was written for a reason, for a certain human who owns a tiny corner of my heart.  And I find that sometimes, the tiniest corners are always the most thoughtful corners, where compassionate love swells.

Something wee tiny today:

Distant Love

distant love

your heart

a mockingbird

you will never

know just how

very close

your smile

is to God

**

I am looking forward to the weekend ahead.  I get to decorate my Christmas tree tomorrow with family, spend the evening with friends, birthday brunch on Sunday (yes the birthday continues!) and maybe a visit to my brother’s house a few hours away.  It’s been good to keep busy and in turn has helped me with the desire to keep writing.  Idle equals disaster for me, as long as I'm moving, the well is constantly full.

Short and sweet today, just like me.

Happy Friday, friendly readers.

You can go your own way.

In propinquity,

Nic