Category Archives: Sonnets

Sonnets, or anything I call by that name. Sometimes an invented sonnet-like form.

Sonnet IV: Paradise

Posted by David Emeron on

My Sister, I have been to Paradise!
My place in Heaven I have surely touched;
Although I were not calm enough nor wise
That I in that abode might stay, as much

I wished. Mine Heaven was thine Earth, my sweet,
Thine hand, the hand with which sweet Kali held
And breathed life into cold unyielding heat!
That very primal Earth which is thy world.

And so, with Kali’s hand and Helen’s eyes,
Not knowing what a mortal thou hadst touched,
Thou sent thy brother to his paradise;
A heaven which, too beautiful to love,

Would ever be the prize of Earthy trips:
The Heaven of thine hands, and of thy lips.

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

Sonnet III: That which Falls

Posted by David Emeron on

Such tears as I do weep are tears of joy;
But sadness is with joy forever twined.
Such tears as purest crystal so enshrined
Should be–such wonders of extreme employ!

Miraculous; for what would once destroy,
And in the very wonder, this would bind
Us to our fate, our destiny of mind
And body, soul and sinew, girl and boy:

In youth did we enjoin the gentle touch,
The halting kiss; and these were each the more
Exciting for the newness of the act;

And through the years, each sweet caress was much
More fine than was the last; and did restore
My faith in Paradise with thought and fact.

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

Sonnet II: That which Dreams

Posted by David Emeron on

How a gentle rain, a soft rain shall drift
Upon my lonely night, and bring me rest
Like story-book music, beauty at its best,
It singeth songs so lovely and it lifts

My heart as I rejoice its subtle gifts.
Such wistful dreams of peace made manifest,
I lay my grateful head upon thy breast;
And sleep, at last, while on thy love, I drift.

I love thee as I love the touching rain
Which maketh us this soft, prismatic night;
I love thine happiness, I love thy pain
That I may ease with rain—and quiet light;
I love thee dearly as I would restrain
My tears which fall like gentle rain tonight.

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

Sonnet I: That which Sings

Posted by David Emeron on

I sing to thee of winter’s rain, my sweet;
I sing of hours spent and hours kept;
Of all the dreams beneath this rain, we’ve slept;
For all the time I’ve held thy head, thy feet,

I sing to thee, although my heart is fleet.
If not for me then thou wouldst not have wept;
Thy tears doth fill my pen which make adept,
And make me to produce such indiscreet

Reflection. When I think of all those hours,
Innumerable, they, within our frame;
As sore beset with devils, as with flowers;
Of all the seemingly unending pain;
Those times that seemed controlled by other powers;
I remember, then, how soothing is the rain.

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

Sonnet: No Faith

Posted by David Emeron on

Can now, I truly see the Holy Ghost?
Believing yet in nothing, not the Son,
And not the Father, nor the fallen one;
With only a desire to play as host

To a belief which, at its very most,
Do I admire to adopt–and shun
All else; for now, I see the truth, and run
To-ward a stark, inevitable, coast;

A coast whose beaches speak a Holy Truth;
Though that alone is not why I so care.
It is a great utility of youth;
Yet pains me that it cannot be a tool
Whose faith will serve me, if indeed ’tis there,
Unless a man accept it, as a rule.

Sonnet: Hidden Virtue

Posted by David Emeron on

I thought, one day, I wrote a thing of beauty.
Later on, when taking it in hand,
And sharing it with those, as was my duty;
Neither they, nor I, could understand.

The virtue of a verse is that its meaning,
Often may completely hidden be.
And God, it seems, prefers a lack of gleaning;
With His truth revealed more cryptically.

I thought I could, from Heaven, feel Him looking;
Sung my hymn about it, none could hear;
Though none would deign to join me in my brooking;
Never did a votary appear.

I read, again, my words much later; and
I finally began to understand.

Sonnet XII: (lyrical couplets)

Posted by David Emeron on

If swore I, ne’er describe to thee my heart:
How desperately doth it yearn; and start
To quicken at the moment first I see–
And when I hear a voice and know ’tis thee.

Withheld I, how’t doth race when com’st thou near:
And skip when touch my cheek to quell my fear;
To pound its expectation of thy touch,
Doth fierce thou see my body shake as much;

Withheld how at its quiet pace I’d be
Amazed, as beat our hearts in synchrony,
My wonder as their beat would nary stray;
Thence, locked my parchment, quill, and ink, away.

If swore I, ne’er describe my heart to thee,
Then would it’s beating stopped forever be?

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