Rape thou not these Gods
For We shall clean all of thee
From out Our ravaged world.
Tag Archives: Beauty
Sonnet I: Warriors
Have the Gods of the Copybook Headings,
Tall… by you wretched deceivers controlled;
By the Knights of the Copybook spreading,
All… of the truths of your lies will be told.
They have burned all the books you have written;
When… all your books were rewritten with lies;
They’ve uncovered the books you have hidden,
Then… they have ripped from your face its disguise.
They have cast you to fall from the towers,
How… they, you ‘surpers, they’ve torn from their thrones.
Though you’ve cast your aspersions by hours,
Now… you’ll be lucky to pick though the bones.
Not a gauntlet was raised nor contrasting
Frown… for they did it by lifting us high.
This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all:
Intro 1: The Knights of the Copybook Headings
To Rudyard Kipling:
I have seen what thou hast seen;
And praise its return!
Romanticism
Hath breathed, for thee, new breath.
Through electricity.
Sonnet II | Lyrical Love
I never know when she will come or go, but when she appears, there is always such beauty:
Come with me, into the chilled winter mist…
Our hearts breathe, under silent, navy sky,
Frosting moonlight with every passioned sigh.
Let us wander in an evergreen whist,
Where the seduction of heat will insist…
That we create a burn hot as July.
As closer we draw, the stars can’t deny,
Brighter we burn if we torridly kissed.
You reached my soul with your caress of word.
You left me shaken and trembling and weak,
You wrapped me in a haze of devotion
I breathed your love in, not able to speak.
The silence more piercing than what is heard,
I awoke…entwined in silk emotion.
Sonnet X: Labyrinth
His shape as pleaseth me, this fiery art
Doth longsome dream to me whilst gripped in sleep.
Shot through with lightning’s fire, doth dream impart
Such thrill: convivial to wake, to weep,
To think it trivial that thence I’ve gone,
That this Oneiran path: forever lost;
Not Morpheus, nor Hypnos’ other Spawn
Reveals’ this darkened place to whence I crost;
For these three Sons shall ‘ever show
A mortal man each labyrinth but once.
So at my waking hour, must I go
Away within imaginings, unless some bunce
Befall me; kindly providence might choose
To call me with such luck as I may use.
This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all:
Sonnet IX: Eros Philia Agape
As perfect thee, thine image as thine art:
Sublime, as sculpture’s ideations see;
Though mere in thought do such ideals exist,
My hands believe perfection thus to be.
Do not I trust this truth my hands impart
When next they touch conviction wrought of fire:
This certitude of which mine eyes insist
When they confirm withal my hands acquire;
Wherefore our brothers, hath He given heart
That for the other, petuous, will burn;
For she, from whom our brothers’ ribs consist,
Do all of us, this undespoilt, yearn.
For one: with art, we praise His strength thereof;
The other: doth enlist with us His love.
This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all:
Intro 9: In Truth
Do not thou name me;
For, by this very naming,
Shalt thou name thyself.
Do not thou brand me;
For, by this vile branding,
Art thou, so branded.
David Emeron: Sonnets 