Sonnet 14, Part 1 of 3
Listen to poem:
1. Ripples in warm sunbeams dwell.
From a sandy cocoon I wake and stir.
A floater in the blue does knell,
A dot, a stain, a blackened blur.
Am I the only one who sees?
No, the beach is afoot with myriad peeps.
The knell is deep -- a woofer wheeze.
A transient blot that fades and creeps,
Until it is vanished and we all take a seat.
I gather my belongings, pining for home.
An odd Summer chill swirls the waning heat.
A disquiet, discomfort invades my bones.
Driving like ants, mindless, small.
A soul in flux begins to stall.
2. A soul in flux begins to stall.
On the cool of an evening breeze,
We listen for the cicadas' call,
Lighted by the firefly trees.
"They're disappearing," so she speaks.
"The birds, the fish and the honeybee."
My disquiet returns with an odorous reek.
I shamble in for beer and tea.
We retire to the living room
To watch a passive, virtual play.
On a couch that sinks into the gloom,
A strange perception has its way:
An eerie change that has befell.
I meditate on a living well.
3. I meditate on a living well
Through oceans of calm and chaos,
To deep depths where Dagon fell.
My teeth bleed of paste and floss.
The news is grim, the weather bright.
Two automatons breakfast in business style --
My eggs and bacon, her vegan delight.
Commuting to work from our secret isle.
Yes, a change -- imperceptible, *****.
A singular irritation of the masses.
An impossible shift in the magnetosphere.
The populace don their blocking glasses.
Stubborn separation and a promise to call.
I pray the night may never fall.
4. I pray the night may never fall.
In an outdoor cafe, absent of her,
A fish-eyed woman loosens her shawl
To an odd-smelling wisp of ocean liqueur.
The coffee cools in Creamsicle light.
Up in the sky I spot crosses.
Still no sign of my better sprite.
Some things land in saucers.
The city appears dimensionally off.
An amazing woman crosses the street.
"What happened, my love?" I cough.
"I can't ... remember," in deadpan greet.
I hold her close, without reply.
A flicker blurs beyond my eye.
5. A flicker blurs beyond my eye.
Cafe 14 shrinks in the rearview beams
Of the cab where I breathe a sigh.
A curious fly flits hither and preens.
She has not uttered a sound since 14.
There are people in the street disrobing.
The scenery swells, offensive, obscene.
A mist on the Hudson rises, disturbing.
I see ... things on the Bridge,
Across bumpy roads in disrepair.
Odors pervade like a forsaken fridge.
The Isle of Coney is drawing near.
Into the darkness we three....
Softly she sits upon my knee.
Copyright © Tom Arnone | Year Posted 2016
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