Pondering how best
To rework my fifth sonnet
With internal rhymes
Author Archives: David Emeron
Sonnet: Again
To sit with thee and talk with thee again,
Delight in thy reflections sweetly then,
To kiss thine understanding lips once more…
And every moment’s poetry explore;
To dwell once more and wander so in love,
To hold thy hand and prize all price above,
That sweetest and that wisest I adore…
And stay with mee forever would implore.
O sweetest and my brightest and my dearest
I, would spend one fleeting day a year,
So gladly this but touch thy fingertips…
And will thy hand to mine, that nary slips.
And should I pray that soon will come the day…?
What could eclipse the heaven of thy lips?
Intro: Wordsong
I was so with thee
Besotted, that lyrical
My wordsong did fly.
Sonnet VI: Invocation
Pray now, defilers; pray there is no Hell;
For as you dredge all Greatness through the mire,
Yet fear your acts deserving of Its Fire,
Pray now, to quell this dread you cannot quell.
Pray now; then jeer and mock the Great to sell
Your squalid lie; equate your filth; conspire;
And crave Them all to die. With shrill desire,
Pray now; deny this Pit that may untell
Your lie–exact Its Payment for your crime.
And I… will pray Its Fires to be true,
That you, the unredeemable, will rue
Its searing brand–unyielding–as you plead,
Demand discarded Grace to intercede,
And beg… and shriek… and burn… for all of time.
- For Roger Kimball, Author of
the book for which
this sequence is named.
This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all:
Intro 6: Epilogue
Comes now, from the East:
Sun, to turn this evil tide;
Burn it back to Hell.
Sonnet V: 1914
See there, what are those pestilent that smother
In the muck? And there, I see, ignored
Within the mire, more are stuck; and Lord!
Behold, one bunches up to bid another
Well! Though unobtrusively, its brother
It disdains with such a tell. With bored
Enthusiasm, one will slither toward
A wretched thing as if to give the other
An award. But lo! What it intends!
Now can it actually be, to grant
The other honours and a meaningless
Degree? How sweet, if my corrupted friends
Would slyly acquiesce, to grant me scanty
Honours with an automatic yes.
This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all:
Intro 5: Strange Days
I fell upon, particularly strange
These shores wherein I found myself marooned
Instead of somewhere infinitely light.
My voyage, it began capriciously.
And, though within it lives embedded form,
Possesses also an embedded soul.
David Emeron: Sonnets 