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DistraXionz by Ian- The Strathmere Sonnets, Vol. 1 - Pt. 1

9:00:00 AMPaul


The scene: December thirty first on Roman
Calendars of the current passing year,
Approaching midnight, so the earshot clocks
Attest to our bewildered young narrator
On the shores along dearest Strathmere
Who, mounting vacant silent seaswept docks,
Is struggling to control an alternating
Mind between acceptance and lament
For revoked companionship. What ensues
Are recreations of those unrehearsed
Attempts to finally become content
So if this text Our Reader misconstrues,
Convinced all sour fortunes are reversed,
Address the speaker who seems not to know.


When the year resolves in nat'ral cadence
Bottles broken open effervescing,
Strains of conversations coalescing,
Decadently loud and tone deaf singing
Heard behind, beside those two persuaded
Lips colliding, drawn anticipating
Laced with bubbles quickly dissipating
Heralding like midnight bells set ringing,
Let a memory, though accidental,
Of me surface once, be fleetingly revived
Then fade, still softly resonating.
Think it fair my dear, not sentimental
Since my thoughts of you are constantly relived,
To ask a brief reciprocating.


I cannot say I love you anymore
Than anyone who's made a proclamation
Of the like in supple supplication.
I do not know what promises or for
What ends they made or if you were deceived.
I don't know which attempts, when first suggested,
You inspected skeptically, protested
Proudly or you possibly believed.
I'm certain, as I sit alone and stare
Into the tide receding from my bait,
My failing and regret in your absence,
Pronounced more than they'll e'er experience,
Will bloom and flow and loudly resonate
Though I'll assume you never were aware.


Romantics can't expect to live beyond
Preliminary thunder of the squall.
Their thinly veiled attempts are all a stall;
Unburdening themselves alone their bonds
Through echoed proclamations of desire
And notoriety yet unattained
While their voluminous loquacious pained
Loud platitudes go unheard in the mire.
It's to our benefit we're not romantics--
Yes, vulnerable for each other, yet
Not in the vulgar sense of cigaretting
Invalids with airy and pedantic
Hearts. I'm uncertain we'd survive--
We'd be the first to fall into the dive.


Apprentice, see the iron cooling fast
From fragile blazing harsh sunrise-orange
To solid, calloused black as molecules
Retire, at leisured pace. Well, hurry! Cast
And wring the dear material! Arrange
The form by force according to the rules.
Create yourself a weapon or a tool
(Though both possess the same utility).
Before your livelihood becomes too cool
To mold and shaping is futility.
It may not be what you anticipate
But hammer hard as you wish, thin and long,
Then let it breathe, grow antiquated
For well-tempered metal remains strong.


I don't feel tired and No, I do not care
If I should fall sleep tonight or in
A week a month or in a half a year
(If it should make some sort of difference
To you). I'm not convinced of an inherent
Need for me to sleep. I'm not an infant.
Your insistent claims I’m incoherent
Only come from mirrored inference.
Let those who take offense splash and slap
My face for fear of a misfired synapse
Or perceived consciousness-deprived mishap.
I’ll not allow myself to nod or nap
Until my cells can finally collapse
Collected on their cross, intended lap.


The waves that we can touch will never freeze.
As they continue rolling parallel
Along the cracking boards, not to increase
In size but in the bracing saline smell
They bring, they slowly will subside
To naught beneath our feet, however I
Imagine often the ascending tide
Not crashing in, but slowing at its highest
Peak, each wave solidifying, ice
From foam down, building on the various
Forestanding crests, continuing to rise
Some hundred meters, a precarious
And pending momentary monument
Enveloping just me in its descent.

Darling, the darkness doesn’t become larks
Like you and I, no, we’re much better suited
To the safety of the sun-polluted
Hours. Our shadows, our radiance
Beneath the blinding sky will, having grown
Longer, dominant and adventurous
In noon light, maliciously be swallowed
By bitter tides, despite their valiance,
Be overtaken and undertown
By nighttime currents, strong and censurous
I can only check the daily shallows
For your returned shadow and check its pulse
Hoping the sea didn’t bring someone else’s;
For the world’s dark’ning and we’re but sparks.


We'll try again tomorrow to restore
Or build anew that which the sweeping tide
Has gathered at our feet along the shore--
Our promises dictated or implied,
Retrieved like driftwood wreckage from the deep;
Old sentiments unvoiced and vocalized,
Attempted voyages too small to keep
Afloat and whole, thus ravaged, split, capsized--
To teasingly withdraw (so show the charts)
And, laughing coarsely, constantly reverse
And seize a minor fortune in spare parts.
While scavenging for what it may disperse
If you, as with the tide, must steal away
I'll try again alone another day.


When we believe the year to be renewed
Through repetition of comparing stars
And tearing pages from our calendars
And from these clues assuredly conclude
We must abandon or revise conceits
While singing wistful melodies of auld
About a new beginning--so it's called--
Dismissing as mistakes what's incomplete…
Forget our old acquaintance and relieve
Your mind of ev'ry measured honest vow
Of ours, all now replaced by bold design,
Ignore my memory, it will deceive
And pain you. Trust me, for I still allow
Your promises of yore to clutter mine.

You're a lush, no doubt, a lush and lavish
Costume--jewel encrusted, golden dusted--
Or the flesh inside it, so long lusted
After by impatient, nervous, knavish
Paws, unwashed and rough. Or you’re a petal-
Laden walkway where we find reclining,
Resting in resplendence on a shining
Rendered throne of solid precious metal,
Readied virgins, full with flush and thrusting
Lips, prepared to be adored, adorned
In feted fashion fast with praise beauty brings,
By an eager fool, well-trained and trusting.
You orchestrate nimbly, hiding horned
Intent, a composition for puppet strings.

Love for us has been a daily series
Of methodical vocabulary
Exercises practiced by us merely
Cooing, then consulting dictionaries,
Correcting syntax. What shall we do
When our words fail us? Give up literal
Associations? Create context clues
From simple gestures, grunting guttural
Suggestions like reborn barbarians?
Or do we invite the nat'ral candor
The shore employs in its grammarian
Certainty to replace with sly grandeur
Our fallacious phonemes while we realize
It’s silence on which connection relies?

My jealousy is fading and I fear
So is my sanity. Although it’s queer,
No longer can I say that I resent
The grainy wind contending for your bliss
And winning when you dictate with contented
Sighs that it’s the beach, not me, you’ll miss.
Imagined sights of nightly arms inviting
Smiling You inspire no bickering…
When harmony existing in my spite,
Replaced by patience, begins flickering
Its last light nearing total dissolution
Where quietude always will elude
My mind, I’ll sweetly sit in disillusion,
Stupefied kindness my only mood.

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