Cold

I had thought we’d never talk again
Not because we’d have nothing to discuss
But it takes will to reverse a heart when
It resolves to forget and so adjusts.

You ever abandon a cup of tea?
After too long a time it cools and settles;
It doesn’t taste the same, not as it should be
And thoughts may turn to refilling kettles.

Okay, I know some do like their tea cold,
But that’s like finding someone you had lost,
Clinking ice giving new taste to the old,
Not the sad taste of tea left to be tossed.

I had thought that, thought your silence hostile,
But now ask if it hid a heart, a smile.

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This entry was posted in Sonnets.

5 comments on “Cold

  1. Nausheen K says:

    The hopeful ending seems to spoil the perfect way in which the cold tea expressed that sense of it being just too late and not the same even when you do want to take a sip.

  2. Rafael says:

    Hm. A just criticism, and yes, I’ll admit there’s a disjoint between the couplet and the rest of the sonnet, which I’m not very pleased with as whole anyway. Ezra Pound would compose a sonnet a day to keep his hand in the craft — only to throw away most of them.

  3. Nausheen K says:

    No, it’s just as valid an ending as if you had continued the negative theme. Afterall, who can say whether it’s better to chuck the tea down the sink or to reheat it and drink up.

    Really like your blog btw :-)

  4. H says:

    Is this the same person from March 2009 who invaded your heart and was only forgotten after considerable anguish?

  5. Rafael says:

    Are you the same person that advised me to ignore personal desires for the sake of the One? Now you desire to invade the personal space surrounding my public works.

    Look, if you are really concerned about my personal life, you can find my email and gain my trust before asking personal questions of this sort. Otherwise ask in public what I make public: the work itself rather than whatever brought me to write it. Furthermore, don’t make assumptions about my personal life: at times I write just to write, to practice, or to develop an idea — that doesn’t mean they have any bearing on my private affairs and I appreciate if people understand that. Sometimes my poetry is not even about my own private situation but another person’s — or inspired from another person’s work. I wrote about a giant condor coming to eat my liver, I doubt anyone thought this was a reflection of a personal event in my life.

    If you haven’t figured it out already, I’m not amused by your inquiries and I find the manner imposing and distasteful. Most people comment on questions they have about the work itself (particularly people want to learn about writing or ask about my decisions), or write about their reaction to it (whether or not they like it or whether it echoed a personal sentiment or memory). Otherwise, as I said earlier, if it is not in the poem, then it’s not likely within the bounds of what I’m willing to openly discuss.

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