Stars Bloom At Scalloped Edges

Stars Bloom At Scalloped Edges

happiness is this, I think

to celebrate a relentless desire

for something that cannot exist

terminal romance summons you upward

just where stars bloom at scalloped edges

of un-borrowed books and minced words

a moment of hesitation is returned affection

and the sharp subject of improvised melodramas  

expressions so quizzical admirers are acquired for

an accommodating view of glittering shambles

easily navigated by naïve hearts of willing praise

happiness is this, I think

to commemorate a constant yearning

for something that is explicitly impossible

contingent on fiction tinging phosphorous truth

among embedded pleasures at scalloped edges

conspiratorial language detonates the soft stars

artless mythology tangles the far side of fading light

but at my firm demand I confess with my reluctant pen

I shudder in the darkness where I hear a name repeated

truth surges until I am an endangered volume of poetry

and it is revealed happiness is nothing that I expected

**

I wanted to work in one last post before we ring in a new year.  Wow, 2013 has flown by like a dream and I have a lot to be grateful for.  I accomplished a great deal of writing this year and am excited for the new stories and poems that will materialize in the coming months.  I saw a lot of great shows this year, live theatre, concerts and attended excellent literary events that propelled me to continue to do the work I am passionate about and that is writing.  Anything else, as I have always said, just pays the bills.

I am certain that 2014 will have its share of challenges and obstacles but I look forward to pursing them, in my 40^th year on this planet, with courage, strength, wisdom and experience. 

Despite a crippling cold that plagued me Boxing Day through this past weekend (the dry cough still persists) I am set to celebrate a new year dawning with champagne, fancy clothes, my good friends and one last Matt Mays show at the Casino.  I intend to do all of this with optimism and with faith in what will fill the days, weeks and months ahead.  No resolutions, just the continued practice of being good, kind, generous, creative and thankful for my blessings.

A very happy new year to you and yours. 

In propinquity,

Nic

Merry Christmas ...

 ... from my memory tree to yours.

Ode To An Affecting Writer From A Foolish Visionary

Excerpt #2 - a poem written by Imelda for Brucha's birthday.

Ode To An Affecting Writer From A Foolish Visionary

I imagine you when you write

with your meticulously tended gardens

old-fashioned virtues and simple metaphors.

I imagine you taking a break for steeped tea

Puttering around in your country kitchen

sipping, thinking, annotating:  creative criterion.

I imagine you when you are set alight

deftly  aware of sunlight’s directional pull

stringing words tightly enough to change a life.

I imagine you completing a plain-song treatise

sublimely fortunate that words did not fail you

reviewing the notion of the beginning, the middle, the end.

It is because you believe words have weight

it is because you inspire the fire of artistic necessity

that I challenge every muscle to achieve solitude and fortification.

Because you write we read.

Because you create we revel.

I imagine you when you write

oblivious to the lucrative wisdom you dispense

into our entrenched sadness and our restlessness.

I imagine you are unaware of your authority, your beauty.

I imagine you imagine yourself so much smaller than you really are.

**

It's coming along, still at a crawl but it's still coming.  I think I may know an ending but I'm still not 100% sure.  This poem was fun to write.

In propinquity,

Nic

Live. Work. Create.

Here is a sneak peak of my current story.  This is a poem that Brucha Beech has written and will soon be published in a literary journal.  

Art Is Making

creating

this is how we open ourselves up to a book

this is how we are certain of art’s goodwill

art is making

art is appetite

this is how we learn to dance to the music

this is how we interpret physical language

art is creating

art is sustaining

this is how we acclaim creative habits

this is how we scratch surfaces for ideas

art is construction

art is exaltation

creating

this is how we continue to live and breathe

this is how we produce perfect propinquity

art is making

art is believing

**

I love these women.  They allow me to share their stories AND write poetry.  Best deal ever.

In propinquity,

Nic

A Poet Dances

What I love most about this current story I'm writing is that while I am getting to flex my fiction muscles, I'm also able to still be an active poet.  Poetry is shared back and forth between Imelda and Brucha in a neat kind of way.  It's been writing verse for each of them and I hope their voices come through.  I am currently working on a poem now but I stopped momentarily for a five minute dance party to shake my snow globe and get my mojo focused.

What am I listening to you ask?  There's a GREAT song on Avicii's record that features Adam Lambert and Nile Rogers.  It's the funkiest thing I've heard in a long time.  It's a truly bitchin' track.  If you love the funk of Chic and Nile's swanky guitar riffs, you are going to love it.  It makes my pants get up and dance and it's a true feel-good song.  I wish I had a whole dance floor to sweep with my two left feet but my writing room rug will have to do.

I have a birthday looming.  It's a big one.  Part of me is scared for me, part of me is proud of me.  I think that I have, in the past few years, grown to be a good person, a better person - from love, loss, lessons, and a wealth of experience. I have really worked on my character,  in being kind and just, I have really come to know the true meaning of goodness and am working now on further cultivation of my spiritual self.  I am still a little scared, of the uncertainty really.  Of reaching an age and knowing that there are still things I desire, I long for but know that I can only achieve those things if I continue to better my person.  And that's the beauty of big birthdays, revelation, contentment and and maturity.  As I head into a new decade of my journey, my focus will be on heart, health and creativity.  

Wish me luck.

Back to writing.  After 'Lay Me Down' with the headphones and to get my groove going.

In propinquity,

Nic

Wild Mind & A Disciplined Eye

I am still pecking at my story, currently on the 23rd page of its creation.  I slowed down a bit this week to allow the not so creative side of my brain to function for work.  It's a challenge when I favor my imagination but it's a must or else the bills won't get paid and I won't be able to afford a writing life.

I bought the new Mitch Albom book 'The First Phone Call From Heaven' and started reading it last night.  I had a heck of a job putting it down to turn out my light.  Once I started reading it, I couldn't stop.  Albom has such a tender way with words, a thoughtful approach to storytelling and he does it with well-timed ease.  I learn something from his beautiful stories each time and I encourage others to read his work.  It isn't edgy or thrilling but it's heartwarming and human, goodness is always present.  My kind of theme.  I am in the middle of my work day and all I can think about is a cup of tea and the inside of my book.  Oh, and my jammies.

I broke through a bit of an obstacle in the current project.  I was required to write a eulogy and it took me some time to wrap my head around.  I have the bones of it complete but it'll need to be fleshed out at a later date.  Perhaps some inspiration from this Albom book will enable me to fortify the small section?  Here's hoping.  I can write fiction for hours on end but eulogies are hard.

It's raining cats and dogs here today.  Wind and rain warnings are in effect for tonight.  I'll be safe and sound reading and with any luck alight with the courage to press on.

Little updates, they seem so meager but alas I still must share.  I should write a poem soon, you know, to keep up the appearance that my mind is wild and my eye is disciplined.

In propinquity,
Nic

Café Apostrophe

Café Apostrophe

Hip Cool Poets

pour in

from urban parks

punctuate the round

pedestal tables

& fold into cozy chairs

of Café Apostrophe

music experts

editors

novelists

turn-tablists

junkies

unemployed actors

congregate to listen to

Hip Cool Poets

                autodidactic

flamboyant thieves

                descriptivists

the ones who skewer

literary pretensions

w/ photocopied notes

the ones who read

honest verses scribbled

on scraps of old paper

about exposition

                & introspection

Hip Cool Poets

                write with a hunger

build linguistic lives & orate

the virtuosic absurdity of a

                poet’s paradox

people listen

assume the demeanor

soak it in

into their skin

into their senses

Hip Cool Poets

                predict

the future

w/ a map of their journey

cue applause

**

Don't tell me what the poets are doing ...

In propinquity,
Nic