Category Archives: Sonnets

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

Sonnet II: Steps

Posted by David Emeron on

First one foot, then the next, and then the next;
They step on recklessly five at a time;
Hindered fecklessly by internal rhyme;
And by Olympus mercilessly vexed.

First one, then two, then three, this playful text;
Until the beast is bested; until I’m
So mercilessly tested; and sublime
Pursuits I may attend. Much more complex,

They joyously transcend this five foot beast;
And I am taken in: to my own world;
When to this world, my life may be released.
To better times and places I am hurled

Away. ‘Til four, or five, or six, can this,
My day allow, and dream, and write, in bliss.

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

Sonnet I: Not Alone

Posted by David Emeron on

I sleep and then I dream and then I wake,
And live and work and play from sleep to sleep.
And sleep again and dream, and wake, and keep
My hand, to pen, and psalm, and song; and slake

This lust I feel when, weak or strong, I make
Them manifest; I sow, and press, and reap;
And joyously, my vintage test; I weep
And laugh as, for one day, I quell this ache;

And thrill to share each cup with those I love,
And even those I may; though not in hope
That I might ever sway, or help them cope;
But merely seek them out; and deem, above
All else, they might not doubt that there was one
Who felt as they, when sleep and dream was done.

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

Sonnet: Gone

Posted by David Emeron on

Through countless centuries you’ve gone with me.
You’ve followed me from world to world it seems;
To other galaxies and into dreams
Of lands that never were or will not be.

Whenever from I call, you’ve heard my voice,
So ready to be taken to the place,
From which I, longing, called to you. Your face,
Alight with angels’ fire, so too, with joys

Of more, and greater, joy which was to come;
Of promised beauty that you knew you’d see;
Of past events whose fabric only we
Would touch; of futures, countless, and wherefrom
My dreams, if held alone, could not come true—
So meaningless, if not because of you.

Sonnet III: Dark Lady

Posted by David Emeron on

O Mistress of the Light, why burn thine eyes
So bright? What mystery dost thou reveal;
What stranger thee, thine eye to me conceal
Within thy night, thine opalescent skies?

O Child of the Earth, Who guards so fine
Thy berth? Who hath consoled thine eyes of pain;
And giv’st thee hold, to lands controlled? Explain
What purpose gives’ thee worth to thus enshrine.

O Mistress of the Dark, When shalt thou next
Embark? Dost one thou know as darker still;
So dark as goe the depths below? But thrill
Such depths, as stark, Cimmerian, as vexed?

As vexed, but thrilling still, thou next enshrine;
Thine eyes reveal concealing skies so fine.

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

Sonnet II: Rebirth

Posted by David Emeron on

Still, this fearsome sibylline wonder falls
Silent to her very parting lips.
Her soft, resilient splendour candid dips
Below her barren, naked, winter halls

The silent wind who lulls; a stolid wall–
As a river empty of passing ships
Creates for her a quiet, lulling crypt;
A place of fitful reverie that all

Might pass unheeded. Still it signifies
Her needed rest; her ever-present pain;
A tribute to her elemental dance,
Whose song remains in echoing reply.
Sing, my Goddess, sing thy great romance;
Thine awe inspired dance wast not in vain!

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

Sonnet I: Death

Posted by David Emeron on

Within the misted shrouds of Erin’s dark
And fertile land–so dark, the magic there–
The Lady courseth through the land and air
Where no man shall her baneful music hark.

Yet keens’ she still to heather and to lark;
Her soul, still toucheth, frighteningly fair
As dark, her opalescent, raven, hair.
But now, stand solemn cairns of stone who mark

The bed of earth where she hath lain to rest.
And dreameth, ominous, as given life,
Her gift of fearsome song, and of her man;
From death he craveth comfort of her breast.

Who feeleth still, where ere he drifts’; the land
He toucheth, dark, as with her spirit rife.

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

Sonnet VII: Respite

Posted by David Emeron on

In peace, my love, forever do I goe,
That blessed nectar I adored to seek,
That gave thee rest and ease in its mystique
That long ago hath poured and I bestow.

Take thou, my love,  these tears that overflow
To quench thy soul; restored, do they forespeak
To thee; I shed them gladly, take my cheek
To drink–so blush, as though with wine aglow.

But soft, my sweet, and drink thou ever deep;
Breathe now the vapours of my soul–and heart:
Read thou its sonnets, and thou wilt mee know.
But peaceful, shall I lay thee down to sleep,
Bequeathing thee, when we awake, such art
And dance that from thy hearth shall never goe.

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