Sonnet

We are all in a minority-of-one, of sorts,

Embedded in the randomness of thought,

The quirks we cultivate, or choose to ignore,

Is our first glance going to ceiling or floor?

 

Raising the intonation at the end of a statement

Problematizes even the most complacent thought;

Or, maybe, we look our interlocutor straight in the eye

Let him slowly work out the exact nature of our reply.

 

Saying what you think is the opposite of what you mean?

Accelerates irony's declension, a form of false redemption?

Removing the ego from the solitary pursuit of meaning?

Releases us into seeking the essence of meaning in feeling?

 

Words do not solve our long held sense of an abiding-silent anguish

But language reminds us not to languish in this profoundest anguish.

◄ A BOTTLE-NECK BLUES

Hearts are thrown at Strangers aren’t they? ►

Comments

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John Marks

Wed 14th Aug 2019 23:54

Thanks Devon, Don and Ruth. Knew what I wanted to say - yes, the awkwardness and pretension that characterise so many social (none) interactions at the core of it Ruth - but took a while to get the right words in the right order. Following a traditional form helps in this. John

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Don Matthews

Wed 14th Aug 2019 23:39

I really like this John......

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Ruth O'Reilly

Wed 14th Aug 2019 23:27

Beautifully encapsulates the awkwardness of interaction!

Devon Brock

Wed 14th Aug 2019 23:15

John, love how the third stanza supports the premise of the second. Each line both a question and a statement. "Language" to "Languish" to "Anguish" in the final line, a profound syllabic progression.

As always,

D

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