Author Archives: David Emeron

Sonnet V: The Peace Prayer | David Emeron: Sonnets

Posted by David Emeron on

I have recently titled this one “The Peace Prayer” which is a reference to Samuel Clemens’ (Mark Twain) “The War Prayer”

These two are none too opposite, in that they both reflect something quite true, and point out, among other things, unintended consequences; Mr Clemens work, the untended consequences of war and praying for victory in war; and mine, the same for peace. This dichotomy underscores for me the nature of peace and how peace and freedom are related. Freedom, even here in the US, creeps away by inches. I think it must not matter the form of governance attempting to watch over it, except to say that the US has been remarkably resistant to this, particularly when one realises that we are much more a target for such sedition than perhaps any other civilised nation.

I have come to realise that there is only one price with which such freedom can be purchased back once it has crept away to a greater or lesser degree. That price is paid in blood. I believe our founders knew this and took amazing steps, given their circumstances, to preserve this hard won freedom for as long as possible.

She sang her hymn before her eyes had seen
The glory of the coming of the Lord;
The blood, and death, of mortar, gun, and sword;
And brother killing brother, long had been.

Then callow, sang of peace, with freedom won,
To eager faces, white, and brown… and black;
Whose liberty had just been handed back
Still soaked with blood by mortar, sword, and gun.

Imagine men had heard that hymn, four score
And seven years of blood and death before;
Heard next her callow, pacifists decree;
Laid down their arms to study war no more.

With shackled peace, from sea to shining sea,
What hue would, now, such eager faces be?

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Sonnet II: Once More for Sam

Posted by David Emeron on

He sung of Sisters close and sweet, and taught;
Of sea, and wealth, he droned a mournful view.
Of Death himself, as fine as Death, he brought
A smile to my lips when fear they knew.

And lovely, to a barren cheek he drew,
The very first and only tear, he claimed.
Of no return, that no man ever knew;
So quick and fleet an image, thus he named:

“In Xanadu…” he dreamt a man beyond;
A man, within that Sunny Dome, was he.
Who dwelt in Paradise that dream had spawned;
I know, his home, he must have lived to see.

For I, enticed by Crystal Caves of Ice;
By Honey Dew, have drunk of Paradise.

Christians: Instead of Swallowing – Look First | Tea with a Pirate

Posted by David Emeron on

Thanks for the insight – and now found time to reply! Yes, agree very much with what you say about graphs. However, the graphs here are ultra simple and barely in context in order to lure an audience to a post that is not a be all and end all.
I appreciate the mathematic analogy and contextualising, but the main issue is the raising of awareness of a supposed audience with an alarming degree of ignorance and either designed or triumphant “laissez-faire” attittude to news of the conflict: designed if they have religious caprices that include god’s chosen people and all that, and triumphant if they actually believe that North American media is actually merely reporting the conflict.
The analysis of the graphs come from the mathmetician, my alarm comes from your acknowledgement that among many you have some lack of understanding of the conflict and have minimal acquaintance with the background. To me that makes your position inevitable. Allow me further reading of your well written comment to further digress shortly – thanks!

you are welcome. And thank you. For, as Bayes Theorem applied here, would also predict, were you a random person–which I feel very strongly you are not–that you might very well take such a comment as mine much too personally. I am very happy that you do not. It may, or may not, have taken effort on your part, but regardless, I so appreciate it, because, as I mentioned in my post, I do believe you to be a quite genuine person, and as such, not at all duplicitous. Regardless of our relative interests in some current event,; I really do feel that you “call ‘em as you see ‘em.”

My interest in the abstract eschewing current events is more than a whim or a default state, however, but one inspired also by abstract mathematics:

If, for example I am made quite miserable by being involved emotionally in some issue (in which my involvement will have very little impact) I am, in fact being used by those, whoever they may be, who have a greater interest and/or desire and/or ability to impact said issue. This puts a bit of a lie–at least in my mind–to the concept of the “if we all know/do a little then maybe ultimately…” type of argument. If the sum total of my impact is far less than the sum total of my personal misery (even when simply emotional duress) Then it is reasonable to assume there are many like me–that is, in the same position. This is true whether they court or approve of their state of misery or not–or might count themselves (vainly) among the activists in such an event, or not.

Now take the sum total of all the impact all of us “minimal impact” people will have. While it is true, it may be significant, it is also true that the sum total of all our miseries together is a huge sum. Such a sum cannot help but having–in a most unpredictable way (owing to catastrophe mathematics)–a profoundly negative effect on society in general, and in particular, the immediate world of each of us “marginals impact” people.

Think on this for a moment. We all may be being used as a cog in someone else’s wheel; and whether this cause is just or not–whether or not this wheel is rolling in a just direction (if indeed such is even possible)– the sum total of the misery, due to the method and amount of our impact vs. the some total of our misery will have a far greater negative impact on the world–and each of our individual slices of it.

I am not imparting to you any of this in order that you might change your opinion on whether you, or I for that matter, should or should not participate in some cause or interest; I am simply explaining, in as succinct a manner as I can, why I pay attention to that which I pay attention, and why I take no interest in such things as those in which I take no interest.

Then again, our hearts and minds are fair enough one thing, in reality. And one must follow ones heart, I think. Which can in this case, be reframed to mean we must do what we think right. This is not a contradiction. I am not what one might call “neurotypical,” and as such, I see patterns in complex interactions which, I am constantly reminded, others do not, or cannot see–at least not without some careful explanation.

This might make me seem heartless to some: however, if I perceive the pattern as I have outlined above, and chose instead to do the opposite, I may not appear heartless to they who might think me heartless as I am now; but I would in actual point of fact be quite heartless–and quite deliberately so. I therefore chose not to be heartless, all the while risking the appearance of such; because, I am not heartless–which I think, like them or not, one could not help but know from reading my sonnets.

via Christians: Instead of Swallowing – Look First | Tea with a Pirate.

WHAT WAS (POETRY)

Posted by David Emeron on

I like this poem very much.

As for the prompt/picture, here are my two cents worth, so to speak:

When it involves poetry, or in fact any act of creation, there is no such thing as living in the past. I know this very well, as I have witnessed the search for novelty in art result ultimately in mere unintelligibility; the unconscious backlash from which results not so much in living in the past, but to some artists, choosing to master, or even refine older forms, and some to chose newer forms or invent such forms. Materials and subjects may always change. Therefore all new art is new, regardless of whether it is in an older style or a newer.

There is one poetry critic, whose name I will not mention here, that suggests that all subjects have been dealt with in poetry. But that is a ridiculous notion as well. I may well have read, for example, all the love poetry throughout the centuries and found nothing that made sense or “resonated,” so to speak, with what I feel, and think. Then, perhaps, in the year 2020, I happen to read some poetry that our dear Latoya has written on the subject and I might say or think: “Yes! That’s it exactly! That’s the way it really is for me!” That is newness.

And what if our Latoya has decided, for what ever reason, to master some older forms in 2015, and perhaps writes these poems in 2020 in the style of Greek Odes, simply because she likes the sound of them now that she has come to appreciate such a sound. So, am I then reacting to something old or something new? Obviously it is new, because all new poetry–new art–is new. In fact when I encounter a 500 year old poem in 2020 for the first time, it may strike me the same way. This poem is new to me.

In any event, I loved this poem and am going to reblog it–am reblogging it even as I sit here writing this in the bitter watches of the night. This has the sound when I read it aloud of loose couplet rhymes, and the line breaks punctuate it nicely. Lovely. I hope you will keep writing.

mentalnotes1's avatarmentalnotes1

Was a love I couldn’t control

Washed up tears, aggressively stole

Running through trees

Rose bushes and oceans abound

Lost in time that had such a beautiful sound

Leave me to dream

Denial hates to be  found

Playing between the sheets, blankets, pillows and all

Hearing the voices but never once answering to its call

Please wake me from this forbidden craft

That hides itself fully

Behind religious mask

The lust and betrayal

Well, it’s really hard to tame

And it could never be the same

Because sensations knows my name

From past games

I know there are many ways to avoid

Such gut wrenching pain

Love is really powerful

And can drive the strongest king insane

Pleasurable pain

Strong enough to awaken the most forbidden sin

Love will stir your heart up

Take it back

Strengthen it

Only to begin the madness again

Put me back together

Because I’ve…

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Sonnet I: To S. T. C.

Posted by David Emeron on

He sung of Sisters close and sweet; and taught
Of sea and wealth; he droned a mournful view
Of Death as fine as Death himself. He brought
A smile to my lips when all they knew

Was fear; and to a barren cheek he drew
The first and only tear. A place, he claimed,
Of no return, that no man ever knew;
A quickly fleeting image, And he named

It “Xanadu;” he dreamt a man beyond
A man within that Sunny Dome; An he
Should Drink of Paradise that dream had spawned
His home. I know he must have lived to see

Those Crystal Caves of Ice; For I, enticed
By Honey Dew, have drunk of Paradise.