Category Archives: Sonnets with Introductions

Sonnets and introductions to them

Sonnet: Jena

Posted by David Emeron on

Just wait ’til dost thou see her, as have I;
A luscious and so mischievous a thing;
Not hesitant her mind to speak, or tease;
Enjoying every twist that might it bring.

To know her is, as I, to know her wry
Tempestuousness, enervated so.
And take from thee delight, as doth she please;
But even then, so much doth she bestow.

Endow thee all the more, doth she thereby,
Regarding not thy happiness nor joy;
No good to give, that first did not appease;
In truth, wilt not thou notice, but enjoy.

Enigma wrapped in mystery is she,
Rewarding us this fortune, I, and thee.

  • One more for Jena

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Sonnet: To the Muse

Posted by David Emeron on

O Thou my Muse, reflecteth much Thy flame
That maketh words within me flow like fire,
Abating not, as torrents deadly spill;
Upending doth within me all transpire.

O Thou my Muse, as once I did disclaim–
And though I run a thousand miles away
And lock up all my pen and ink, and still
Without consent, so choose to disobey–

Yet never could I wrest myself, reclaim
My very life, for all was lost… in Thee.
And only once again Thy captive, will
I find such words as once had set me free.

Then with Thy fire tame me, O my Muse.
My quill and my desire are Thine to use.

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Sonnet XII: Patronage

Posted by David Emeron on

Hast thou the heart to touch, or even look
Upon such art as this and give its due
An thou profess as fanciful, outgrew,
Though for this canvas rapture overtook;

But are such things professed forever true:
That hath these sculpted works thy nature shook;
And shall thy past refinement be forsook,
Though long thou from thine innocence withdrew?

Rare, priceless, as may not be seen again,
Wilt claim thou of thy prime: the best doth wane;
And of this art, so fast a friend may come,
Though whether ancient made or new, as fast.
Shalt thou most proper frame such art at last,
Or once more to thy patronage succumb?

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

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Sonnet XI: The Art of War

Posted by David Emeron on

How strangely opposite our sameness then,
My friend; although I know thy form–as hard
As mine–not pliant, nor as soft, we men;
Nor sweet, as  fond our distaff we regard.

With toil, these untendered limbs are scarred,
That reach for thee, though laughingly, with force
To equal thine, as though we will have sparred–
Yet battle merely reticent remorse.

And, having long since made our peace, the source
Of this reserve has fuelled our desire;
And brought us far along our wicked course!
That we, forbidden wickedness, conspire.

And–battle, artistry, or sin–we choose
This contest both would win, or wish to lose.

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

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