Gaze upon me, O Lovely, and beware,
Or as thy frosts unfairly come, rejoice.
Fair-play with fortune will confound Despair
That, hideous with pride, hath shown its voice.
For never-resting, God’s anointed here
Excel: to verse thy numbered days, to bear
This work, to lend thee summer; and to year
Thy days, and keep thee and thy children fair.
In all our seasons, prisoners are we–
As checked, and sapped, and pent, as tyrants fear
All eyes the beauty we distil may see–
Who gift these days to winter they who sneer:
Though thieving Time all substance yet destroys,
We left thee more than wretched Time enjoys.
- David Emeron
To: myself
The final draft of this sonnet became part
of a short, or possibly at some point, very long
sequence; click here to read it all:
David Emeron: Sonnets 
I like it!
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I am now, after the two I have done on Shakespeare’s Sonnet V, eager to do another one of those.
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Truly remarkable stuff. If insults really make you happy, I suspect you’re going to have a pretty miserable time of it.
[Except to say that, a propos your “bio” anecdote, if that’s the way you thought of the humanities then maybe the reciprocal attitude of we humanities students towards soulless career-obsessed science students would satisfy your yearning for insult…]
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Bravo sir! For such a wonderful insult! And compliment. I have confessed a time or two or three or four… that I am very very, embarrassed by the anecdote. Still, it was a genuine reaction as is the one you cited above, which of course I have now felt–both really–from either side. As such, it is a fair look into a young man’s life and how such a young man may change–or rather, perhaps even more to the point, the transformative power of love.
Also, re this sonnet: It was once subscripted because there is a second version of it that will post here. They were different enough that I wanted to keep them separate.
You will see, if you have time to take a look, that the form and shape of the thing called out for the treatment, and that it came out quite naturally.
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aha…hoist upon your own petard. But then again, we technicians and machinists (ahem), are truly in touch with the music of the spheres, the magic of the planets…..the waltz and rhythm of numbers.
Gears engage, rhymes engage…..poetry is poetry and will not be denied. I have sat on my back steps tonight and thought on this.
A cold night but no frost. Moon fading, her distant song lingers and I alone hear, alone.
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True… and true!
This one was the genesis of the Shakespeare Project–well actually I did number 18 first, but that was before I hit upon this idea to write a reflection to all 154 of Shakespeare’s sonnets. I plan to continue this project soon now that “real” work is trailing off. As such I will re-present the sequence in its proper order. But for now, here is a link with Shakespeare’s originals as introductions to them:
https://davidemeron.com/tag/to-my-former-self-with-shakespeares-introductions/#post-5017
I am sorry that, for now, they are not in their proper order. Also note that this one above is the first draft of sonnet V (I think) which final (ish) version I prefer. I always reserve the right to lucas my own work : ) some of which may happen when I start the sequence again and begin in earnest a reprisal of its content.
Also, I admit, I had hoped you would stumble upon sonnet VI, which is a new entry of another series which posted two days ago (I think.) I am rather pleased with that one, and am not providing a link because I fear the Wrath of Spammy ™ who will no doubt dump this comment in the trash if it contains two or more links : ) Just search for “Invocation,” if you wish.
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