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Letting Go (Revised format)


fdelano
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Steady rain makes it easier,

standing naked with feet in the rising tide,

reliving times we walked early

in the wet sand for miles, hardly even talking,

joined in our chasing of the best times we could create.

 

Now alone, that world has succumbed to mundane living.

I, just to stay alive,

in wasted pursuit growing stronger by the hour since you left for higher ground,

away from the sea and that one time I believed would never leave.

 

How could something true to the marrow become tainted just by appealing words,

and his Adonis form? How could I have misread such warmth?

What do you have now? What do you own with close-holding in the nights?

 

The tidal pull becomes my craft to slide beneath,

enveloped with sleek softness into my sudden but beautiful aqua home

as I give way to the flow and inhaling of salty sea,

becoming one with an uncaring world.

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This perfectly captures the oft-sadness of the beach, as well as the related human emotions. So universal, so understandable.

 

something true to the marrow

 

Ouch. Dredges up 20 year old disappointments. Still, I enjoyed this.

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A poignant suicide note, of lost love and lost life. Very well done. The beach images are pitch perfect.

 

Juris

thegateless.org Come on over and check out my poetry substack y'all;-) Or if your bored, head to the Zazzle store: https://www.zazzle.com/store/gateless. If you buy anything I lose a bet, so consider that before you violate the digital rules.

 

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The eternal and unsettled way of the sea prompts philosophical thoughts in us probably more than most other aspects of nature. Perhaps because it was the font of all life; and subconsciously we feel more affinity towards it than "ashes to ashes, dust to dust." And after all's said... the longer we live... the sooner we die. Thanks for sharing this. Geoff

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My thanks to all who found something here. I have always been fascinated by the ocean, but learned early on there are so many things there that can kill you, even a beautiful shell creature. We may have evolved from the sea, but we are not adapted to survive there.

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I have read this 5 or 6 times and I was really wondering whether to comment or not. The thing is, I have problems with it. Apart from the closing stanza, which stands out from all the rest of the piece, and is totally fuckin THERE

 

The tidal pull becomes my craft to slide beneath,
enveloped with sleek softness into my sudden but beautiful aqua home
as I give way to the flow and inhaling of salty sea,
becoming one with an uncaring world.

 

 

... the rest of the poem doesn't hold together, morally, linguistically, poetically. It sounds like a moan sheet

 

joined in our chasing of the best times we could create.

 

 

Like, huh?

And this:

 

How could something true to the marrow become tainted just by appealing words,
and his Adonis form?

 

 

What??

 

All right, Captain Paco (They never made you a Major, did they? Thought not. Rebellious bastard). I was really considering a pass on this one but upon re-reading that last stanza I thought, God, this is finally good.

So what I am suggesting, amigo, is that you rewrite the whole poem so that it moves towards that last stnza, which is the real nail in the coffin. Get rid of telly-telly. get rid of extra adjectives, get rid of extra words. Desccribe things, the sea, sand, flowing hair, smiles, gas stations. roadside fruit stands, and save the feelings for the knockout punch in the last verse.

 

Your friend,
(don't even think about it)

Bren

Drown your sorrows in drink, by all means, but the real sorrows can swim

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Quite a challenge there, friend Bren. I shall mull this over for a month or so. Thanks for seeing the last stanza. Yes, I made major before quitting. Didn't seem to make much difference. Just like the poem, sometimes you have to wade through a lot of shit to get to the pony. Truly, thank you. Paco

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  • 4 weeks later...

I don't see it as a suicide. Perhaps a metaphorical one ...

 

There is nostalgia, and there is a cotton-wool warmth that's analogous to those accounts of what it's like to be on a heroin high. But then there's the inevitable emergence from that cocoon, not to a new life, but to despair. Ultimately, in the last line, is a touch of cynicism which leaves a not so pleasing "if you can't beat them, join them" aftertaste.

 

Very, very good work, Franklin.

 

Tony

Here is a link to an index of my works on this site: tonyv's Member Archive topic

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Thank you, Tony, for realizing there is more than one possible outcome. Life and love are like that.

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