Category Archives: Sonnets

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

Sonnet: The Hand of my Beloved

Posted by David Emeron on

Thy hand hath stopped my fall and lifted me
To quell my tears, and cool my fervid cheeks;
Withal thy power hast thou known its plea:
To grant my heart this respite that it seeks.

Tomorrow, shall I write for thee, although
The Gods are neither fooled nor do they sleep,
But smile upon thee; surely do They know
I sing with joy their deeds an ne’er I weep.

But sweetly given me hast thou my voice,
And moved my spirit; for my hand is thine
To take thy gifted rest; though fear my choice:
That rest will fall to apathy’s decline.

Yet might for me despair make worse my plight;
Tomorrow, with thy gifts, for thee I write.

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Sonnet: Blessings of God’s Anointed

Posted by David Emeron on

Gaze upon me, O Lovely, and beware,
Or as thy frosts unfairly come, rejoice.
Fair-play with fortune will confound Despair
That, hideous with pride, hath shown its voice.

For never-resting, God’s anointed here
Excel: to verse thy numbered days, to bear
This work, to lend thee summer; and to year
Thy days, and keep thee and thy children fair.

In all our seasons, prisoners are we–
As checked, and sapped, and pent, as tyrants fear
All eyes the beauty we distil may see–
Who gift these days to winter they who sneer:

Though thieving Time all substance yet destroys,
We left thee more than wretched Time enjoys.

The final draft of this sonnet became part
of a short, or possibly at some point, very long
sequence; click here to read it all:

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Sonnet: Again

Posted by David Emeron on

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?

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Sonnet VI: Invocation

Posted by David Emeron on

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.

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

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Sonnet V: 1914

Posted by David Emeron on

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:

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Sonnet IV: Heirs

Posted by David Emeron on

Ye Gods: Ye Old and New, and Yet Unborn,
Ye need not climb with Armies of Your Own
To banish each corruption from its Throne;
But light from soul to soul, and each adorn

With Grace; and watch as true believers borne
Will magnify the knowing and the known
Until they have unnumbered billions sown.
And someday, to their young, will point and warn:

See there, my daughters and my sons, that stain
There, crawling nearly lifeless on our height?
Dare you believe it thought it had free reign
To tear down what was Beautiful and Right?

And all the youth will laugh, and never see
How such a foolish thing… could ever be:

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

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Sonnet III: Scions

Posted by David Emeron on

More tragic still are They Who, yet unborn,
May never be; or Who, once born were not
To ever see what prize Their Birthright bought.
Olympian, Their Blood aflame; yet mourn

They not, for know They not, how They were torn
From out Their Mothers’ Arms while still She fought,
Believing They, with Holy Blood, could naught
But thrive. They know Their Legacy as scorn;

Yet not why They, your legions, chafe to join.
‘Til you, upon Their Mothers’ Throne, decree
And point “This is a god; and this is not.”
Defining ugliness as beauty, point
And sneer “Art thou as beautiful as we?”
But fear to know the answer you have wrought.

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

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