Of All the Poems You Have Written

Of All the Poems You Have Written

it is my favorite

of all the poems you have

written

a single untitled sentence

jotted in jagged little lines

& stops more than half way

down a published page

the sentiment mute & modest

itemizes all of my certainties

a good long morning stretch

a powder pink sunrise

a spring breeze through an

open window

the smell of fresh cut grass

sharing a smile with a stranger

a warm drink on a cold day

re-reading a favorite book

jumping for joy

            planting seeds

giving thanks

I know you wrote it simply

& sweetly with me in mind

I don’t like

to make too much of such a

small thing      

but the understated beauty of

your unadorned language

makes my tiny heart sing

on the top of its lungs

***

I truly believe that the appearance of the sun in the sky today made this cheery poem possible.

Happy Friday, happy weekend!

In propinquity,

Nic

Little Affinity

Little Affinity

whether by fluke

or cause & effect

our inspired oath

frittered away in

slow

motion

I have

little affinity these

days for the frothy

tales of unmoored

minds & the cold

wisdom casually

flung in my track

in direct reference

to the funny-sad

stories I am trying

to tell

whether by fluke

or cause & effect

our stirred pledge

perished

            one

            day

            at

            a         

            time

I have

little affinity these

hours for busying

myself alchemizing

            fool’s gold

***

My bud threw ‘fool’s gold’ at me late last night.  I slept on it and came up with this poem for today’s writing exercise. Pecking on my commute is fun.

In propinquity,

Nic

Lunching With Joe

Lunching With Joe

there is a

sweet disorder

to lunching with Joe

deep in the middle of

the worst month

cowered in a dim crook

among the Irish barflies

their scruffy clothes

brooding looks

& racking coughs

over pints of draft beer

empty soup cups

& lively ukulele music

we are

dedicated to poetry

he draws

the world closer

proximate to touch

shouting lines from        

haikus

                sonnets               

                                odes

words warp w/ a romantic

crookedness

he is a buoyant devotee

confronting impossibility

                & my decrees

are prized in his company

words wound tight

fitted w/ implication

so when I rise to leave

                sodden of poet sage

(how the end

always begins)

inexpressible anguish

                floods his fair face

& he murmurs low

a lonesome farewell

I was beginning to love you

                alas you leave

he is unaware

                of my grieving

**

The title of this poem came from book passage and I couldn't get it out of my head. I fell asleep last night dreaming about two souls converging in an old dark pub, among vagrants, over sustenance in bowls and cups, sharing their musings about poetry. A union fleeting yet rife with meaning. It was an image, a relationship I couldn't shake. 

And so, I tackled it. Played with it. Molded it and composed it. 

Another nugget for poetry month. 

In propinquity,

Nic

She From Tumbledown Cottage

She From Tumbledown Cottage

each sip of black coffee

each dip of brown bread

in a bowl of light olive oil

&

her introspections excavate

meandering slowly amid a

deep interior

&

the thorny

world she ambles around

woman so odd & amiable

inventories her incentives

affecting eccentric flashes

of

humour

                resolute faith

                                melancholy

memory

                & consolations of art

she from tumbledown cottage

transacts in first-person vignettes

                                & artful snapshots

akin to navigating a lucid dream

& performs w/ sincerity of spirit

she from tumbledown cottage

traversed

dive bars in Detroit

Frida Kahlo’s Blue House

Café ‘Ino

                Rockaway Beach, NY

Paris, France

in her

she from tumbledown cottage

I find my own kernels of truth

                & resonance

**

I am currently in love with Patti Smith. More than I ever have been. I started reading ‘M Train’: it is so beautifully written, so ethereal, so solitary, sumptuous and satisfying I am savouring every single second by reading at a snail’s pace. I don’t want to miss anything she says, or sees, imagines.

I am fascinated by her perceptions, her connections, her approach to art, the world, kindness, simplicity, and her humanity. She speaks of those she loves, those she’s lost with such tenderness and loyalty that it almost breaks my heart. She has lived such a life, in the kind of way that I will never be able to. While there is envy there, I am grateful I can now visit with her, through prose, poetry, music and be transported accordingly.

Patti Smith is a masterful artist. She is an extraordinary woman with an exceptional intellect and heart. ‘M Train’ has rekindled my need to approach my days with kind consideration, to ensure art is part of all of them, whether I make it or intake it.

If you are looking for a good book, give ‘M Train’ a try.  I am smitten.

I am still working on a writing exercise that this book has inspired. I hope to complete it shortly.

In propinquity,

Nic

Bits and Pieces

Bits and Pieces

all the bits and pieces of this and of that

vanish in the precise moment we make a

virtuous home among perfect strangers

shared simply in a long letter or a soft cry

all things dismal tend to dazzle just a little

I tell this to the moon and a spray of stars

as I know who will to greet me at the door

smiling when I have no gift for speaking

I am not terribly old but no longer young

less naïve more tough bright and skillful

all the bits and pieces of then and now

a busy intersection of strong pretty things

subtracted by privately owned pleasantries

heed to the sweetest custom of kindness  

everything murky made magic with an easy

exchange of warm hand over obliged heart

enhances the romance of my departure

a short trip outward to come back inside

to share the wealth of wisdom with eagers

all the bits and pieces of this and that

disappear in late afternoon’s unnamable light

when one has lived a long time alone

to arrive for someone never there before

for brief moments to turn into endless hours

all the bits and pieces of this and that

become anything other than what they once were

**

This one is for those of us who spend their time alone among the lovers. It's meant to be a hopeful poem, to express the yen for companionship, the longing to walk shoulder to shoulder with another human through the wilds of the world. 

You, lonely-heart. You're next. I just know so. The poets told me.

In propinquity,

Nic

The True Path to Esthetic Ideals, Heroic Acts and the Promise of Knowledge

The True Path to Esthetic Ideals, Heroic Acts and the Promise of Knowledge

I unremittingly yield to my absolute ambition

the true path to esthetic ideals, heroic acts

and the promise of knowledge

it cannot be achieved through improvisation

nor can it be obtained by reducing the arrangement

early lessons suggest I must squash the quandary

emulsify the vicious medium and expel the hazards

this route leaves me stranded at night forgetting how to breathe

confused about a previous chapter its loose and pithy margins

my trembling hands hold up reoccurring dreams occasionally lost

imaginings fostered by hard moments and the charity of triumphs

the seams stitched with explicit instances of traveled light refined

curious lapses that one so pensive would waste the secretive season

I assiduously harvest every single second of my struggle

for the true path to esthetic ideals, heroic acts

and the promise of knowledge

I stand gazing up into a sky full of beautiful words alight

what you cannot find with your will you’ll find on the wind

**

I couldn't sleep much last night so I got myself some early morning fresh air and then came home and wrote this. My head was jumbled up and the only way I know how to un-jumble is to breathe in and write so that's exactly what I did.

Venturing out for an adventure of sorts with my bud today. Hopefully we get all the things we need to get done before the menacing weather starts. Mostly rain here I imagine but we shall see. Rain belongs in Spring, yes? Heaven help us.

However you spend your Saturday I hope it brings happiness into your heart.

In propinquity,

Nic

Timekeeper

Timekeeper

a mere man at his center

averts the world patiently

fixes romantic tenements

in blazing lionized sangfroid

is anonymous yet eminent

an ingenious timekeeper

drawn over hours and days

breathed in and savoured

a veritable man at his core

makes mountainous waves

maintains theatrical distance

to cue perfection to dance

is more than flaws wrought

an acclaimed timekeeper

an impassioned instance

embraced and then set free

keeping time

                serene progression

keeping time

                ordained peace

the timekeeper expressing the

syllables of my commandment

a mere man at his center

invisibly clear classically trained

a nighttime hymn a soft ear

the timekeeper impressing

touch on sure summer nights

standing still

standing tall

holding tight

holding mine

he is the compass of supreme fiction

the timekeeper lacquered in armour

permissible and possible

 **

I’ve been pecking at this poem for over a week.  It’s been a long worrisome one, dealing with a family matter that stopped my creativity that had just re-emerged.  This past week has been a blur, it’s been like floating in a dream, being on the outside watching myself.  It’s tough to watch someone you love weaken and move closer to their end.  It’s so important to be present and loving and open with your people.  It’s so important to communicate and laugh and share your life and in turn share in theirs.  Be kind and tell those you love that you truly do.  Before it’s too late, everything truly is temporary in this life which makes time extraordinarily precious.  Use it wisely, don’t waste it.  I’ve been doing just that even more so this past week.

I managed to spend some time this weekend out with my buds, decompressing.  Friday night I attended the first birthday party for my favorite Halifax radio station, Radio 965.  I was bone tired but loved the festive red carpet, the fun in the photo-booth and great performances by The Brood, Soho Ghetto, Dylan Gythro and Adam Baldwin.  I kept close watch on my phone in case of emergency and swallowed the guilt of being out. There are people who would be extremely judgemental of me for stepping out during this tentative time in my family but I was instructed by a wise man to pay no mind to that nonsense and do what eases and fulfills me.  The music was soothing, I won’t lie. 

The same thing happened last night.  My bud yanked me out of the house and spent her extra ticket on me to go see former Guns n Roses guitarist play at The Seahorse.  Cape Breton got Slash and Aerosmith but I got to see Gilby Clarke.  It was an excellent rock show.  I was disappointed in this city that there were so few people in the bar.  Maybe 50 or so.  He deserved better.  And what a great human.  He stopped us on the sidewalk in the pouring rain while lugging his own gear and thanked us for coming.  He recognized us from being inside.  Zero pretension.  I was glad I decided to get out in the world and experience something instead of hiding away. 

Gilby Clarke rockin' @ The Seahorse, September 13th, 2014

Tonight is the night I’ve been waiting on for MONTHS.  I scooped up tickets for my poet love Gord Downie and The Sadies right away because they are playing The Marquee and that means an intimate show compared to the several Tragically Hip shows in large arenas and open air fields.  I’m still riddled with guilt and am truly trying to maintain my excitement for this show.  The thought of being THAT close to a stage he’ll grace, gives me goose-bumps.  He’s an absolute hero of mine, I admire and respect his writing, and he’s an incredible performer.  His poetry book, ‘Coke Machine Glow’ is one of my most coveted volumes, like ever.  A massive fire broke out this morning in a commercial building just behind the venue, I hope it doesn’t have any impact on the show.  If it does, I hope the contingency plan is a good one.  The Adam Baldwin Band is opening tonight too so that will make it a good night all around. 

While I putter and lounge a little, I’m also attempting to break in my shoes for a wedding next weekend.  A family wedding.  My nephew is marrying his love and it will be so nice to witness that and have a night where my family are all in one place together.  I am hoping Dad is well enough to attend.  I know how badly he wants to be there.  Prayers are welcome.

As for the above poem, I did write it with a specific human in mind.  Exactly who it is I will never tell.  Hee.

In propinquity,

Nic