An East Coaster Travels

An East Coaster Travels

while

a night’s stay

at Chateau Marmont

is a little rich for the

commoner’s blood a   

            $14 dessert

of almond & hazelnut

meringue        

            chocolate ganache

& espresso buttercream is

not

            while

savoring each sweet bite

            a browse through

the rest of their decadent

menu

            garners a delight

the

mussels served in a

coconut curry broth hail all

the way from Prince Edward

            Island

my neck of the woods           

                                    I have

to sample them of course, a

            little taste of home in

West Hollywood

***

A fun little poem/blurb today.

It’s Friday, sunny, and a whopping fourteen degrees so naturally I took to the daydreams. A true Spring day that’ll knock whatever ills left in my system from my sick day yesterday.

I’m happy to have put pen to paper. It’s getting me in the mood for tonight, the annual poetry reading at City Hall with Open Heart Forgery for Poetry Month – the Mayor will even be on hand for some of it.  I love that it falls on a Friday this year. And, while I’m there, I’m going to see if I can peek at the Legacy Room and feast my eyes on the Gord Downie statue. Fingers crossed!

I am reading a poem for my Big Sister tonight. One poem. One purpose.

Happy Friday peoples!

In propinquity,

Nic

Creative Criminals

Creative Criminals

Imagine: a gritty chase novel

two lonesome ghost riders

with the dissolute demeanor

of stiff whiskey sodden poets

in muted cable-knit turtlenecks

taut bell-bottom jeans & square

toed leather boots with big brass

side buckles battering the sands

ancient teenagers poured into

the husk of an old GM rattler

deviating around hulk pines

old rickety & flaking billboards

shallow tarns & gutsy swerves

hawking tobacco squash into

hollow long neck beer magnums

fulfilling a long larcenous agenda

scalping Angels check

            highway robbery check

blatant plagiarism check

flagrant bootlegging check

two doomed Devils in utter disrepair

fierce fiends of unvarnished veracities

creative criminals

they swindle

they swallow

& then sour

from the blow-back of raw appetites expended

plunging waist-deep in dense, avocado muck

twisting their tight torsos upstream: shit creek.

Somewhere there is a beautiful woman  

in a kitchen thinly slicing fresh vegetables for soup

the sun gathering strength outside of her window

& while she concocts the many ways to disappear

the caravan of days & nights the Misbehavers spent

obscuring were all just to see her soft delicate face        

                one more time.

The plot: scant.

The characters: fictional.

The story: true.

**

Moral of this story? 

Even the derelicts dream.

In propinquity,

Nic

Downtown Poet

Downtown Poet

writing from a cheap apartment

with the hefty drapes frequently

                pinched shut

to boast in obscurity

the Irish Catholic Boy

the Novel Rimbaud

                sinuous rust-red hair

                notched cheekbones

stupidly skinny

his sloppy scrawl on napkins

with a leaky ballpoint pen

                imposing digressions

                panoramic prophecy

gritty punk rock

hip-hop/no-wave

alleyway swagger

poetic propensities

reads reams of Rilke backwards               

                & bottoms out

                just to transcend

as an ephemerist

a downtown poet

in a Chelsea coffee shop

always too late for breakfast

                but always early to the

side-spoon Shangri-La

it is that complicated sort of grief

to run with a gaggle of eccentrics

the comical foil

& then die a death void of ecstasy

**

It's poetry month! I've been avidly writing it, reading it and buying it up. On Saturday I took a road trip with my best bud to the South Shore and spent a little time nosing around in Lexicon Books in Lunenburg. It had a handsome poetry section and indications of the April celebration. I purchased a copy of 'Lunch Poems' by Frank O'Hara. Ironically so because it's been sitting on my Amazon wishlist since binge-watching 'Mad Men' (for the second time). It was meant to be. 

I will be congregating at City Hall with the Open Heart Forgery crew tonight for their annual reading. I have five poems printed and tucked in my bag. I will only read two and like other years, will choose at the 11th hour (the above poem is included in my pile). I am looking forward to being in a room with like-minded folk, word smiths, creatives. I live for this stuff. Great way to start a week and end a busy Monday at the work desk.

Happy Poetry Month!

Write one! Read many! All poets! 

In propinquity, 

Nic