Monthly Archives: January 2015

All this writing of reverse…

Posted by David Emeron on

…Spenserians, I have finally (I think) ended the male body series with number ten, the last of which is a more or less standard Spenserian.

And, I believe perhaps, this is the one that causes me the most embarrassment.  I found myself blushing as I wrote this one–quite a comical picture, I may assure you.

To be sure, this was very definitely not the most embarrassing moment I have felt during this sonnet project.  I believe I have never been so embarrassed in my entire life as while writing the sequence which idolised me, myself, from the eyes and words of my sweet wife.  That was by far less theoretical, and hence, much, much more embarrassing.

Regarding the ending of the series, I say “I think” it is the last one in the series, because…  well… one never knows.  Embarrassing or not, it really is quite an intriguing subject, and does, from time to time, elicit moments of curiosity and reflection.

Even in cultures wherein such things were known quite openly to be commonplace, as in Ancient Rome, for example, there was still a bit of embarrassment among ordinary men regarding the subject.  Such things needed to be kept in proper perspective, after all!  Among the vast numbers of men–the great majority of which had no degree of unusual inclination or nature–even given that it might have been more common a subject at such times–such things would have been met with reticence, particularly when in the case of admitting such things personally. This kind of reticence spans all ages of the world, as far as I am able to discern, and even seems to be woven deep within our DNA perhaps, along with such inclinations as and of which we are capable.

And, of course, I am not speaking, or rather writing, of any of us less usual, such as today might be so labelled as one type or another.  Such people also were well known to those  as in my example of Ancient Rome.  Known and well understood, much as they are today, quite in contrast to the nature of the vast majority of us so glossed over, or perhaps, to re-purpose a common term of deconstruction: “marginalised.”

And…  I believe I have now said much more than I had at first intended, and certainly, even by Roman standards, far too much!!

Sonnet: Good Intentions

Posted by David Emeron on

The face, within the mirror, shan’t display
The visage of a monster? Nay; but, who
Might set out to discover what is true;
Not planning to destroy; nor ever stray

From good. His mild manner could allay,
And ever would his good intent undo,
Near any fear or doubt he’d not renew
His Godly pledge; and never disobey.

He,  to the mirror, says: “I shan’t forget
That I, this day, shall take this world, unclean,
And, of it, make a better place.”  Foretell
Ye; face with horror; watch his silhouette
Perform those actions sure to bring, unseen,
Into reality, the road to Hell.

Sonnet: My Friend

Posted by David Emeron on

When hope’s last touch had, ever weary, left;
And never, solace opened up her arms;
Sweet dreams pervading comfort had been reft;
And fertile life had quitted of her charms.

Life, seeming ended, ever lingered on;
And pity choked her ever-ringing word.
It seemed as though I were a passing pawn
Unheeding of all joy and never heard.

When panic reared his dreaded mask, I had
To desperately seek to task this ache.
Instead, you offered friendship. (I was glad
To take whatever kindness I could take.)

Though first, it seemed your offering was small,
What magic, that you gave a gift at all!

  • One more for Jena:
    Though never would a hundred
    Ever be enough.

Joe Haldeman wrote…

Posted by David Emeron on

…quite a lot of ground-breaking science fiction.   Being of a rather childish sort, I tend to like his more quirky, flashy, more “Haldemanesque” novels.   Mindbridge, and Buying Time come to mind.  His other work, though exemplary, I can take or leave.  Any old writer can crank out plain-jane, dull, boring-looking blocks of prose that look like nothing more than…  well…  boring-looking blocks of prose–indistinguishable, unless read, from any other such blocks.  To write something that looks “really cool,” so to speak… something that, dare I say “knocks your socks off” with its originality, even from a distance, before you read it; yet is not some kind of random junk of the type produced by other “avant-garde” writers attempting simply to confuse–to make the well seem deep, by obscuring its shallow bottom, so to speak… no, to write something such as I describe takes… well, actually… Joe Haldeman.

Anything else about the man, including his less imaginative–and eminently less entertaining–prose, and his strangely (for one so unique) collectivist, and anti-individualist views, holds little interest for me.

I would, of course, prefer that one of the most amazing and interesting such writers, might be a little less crazy; however, I suppose one might say it goes with the territory.  Although not always.  Refreshingly not, I am happy to so state.

Still, if Mr. Haldeman had a blog on wordpress, I’d give him a “follow,” and any number of random “likes” and an occasional comment; because, that’s what we do here.  And in all good faith.   But that…  is about all.   And though at this point he clearly doesn’t need it, he’ll not get another dime from me.

UNLESS…   he writes another of the “awesome, wicked-cool” non-boring works of which he is most capable.   Then I might not be able to help myself.  God forgive me.

Sonnet VII: Lucky

Posted by David Emeron on

It’s true, I always get what I desire,
But most of my desires rest in you.
Such boyish dreams, but definitely knew
What would, in all complexity, transpire;

I knew the field, I knew the world entire;
And this, that every wish of mine came true.
I saw our lives as they began anew,
And understood what life would then require.

That both of us, so perfectly sincere;
So very much as when we first began;
And now, as once we did, we would declare;
As strong as ever once, and as severe;
And all our long tomorrows, better than
Our yesterdays; and all beyond compare.

This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all:

Permalink