Tag Archives: Etudes (with introductions)

Sonnet XIV: The Rise

Posted by David Emeron on

And presently, they elevate, perfect
Our quiet and declining count, we save
Each existential blossom and reflect
Upon the primacy of each. Which gave
Our speech determination, therefore brave.

Perhaps, rededicated selves might lift
Anon our wishes to our great affect
For aspiration’s sake, aspired swift;

Or aspiration’s truth would ring
As true, and flower our inspired gift.
But whatsoever fearlessness might bring,

Could elevate our transcendental all.
And every waking moment that we sing,
Depreciates, abates against the fall.

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

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Sonnet XIII: Falling

Posted by David Emeron on

Extraordinary blooms, ye mustn’t fall,
Although bereft of you I plaintive sing;
Complete, your gifted dedication all–

For nothing–your renunciation; bring…
To me, my restlessness, one restful gift,
Another consequential tear, one ring…

Of truthful blossoming, cascading swift,
Of falling and of blowing, gently brave;
Traversing mountains, even oceans, lift–

Beyond torrential, gentle blossoms gave;
Beyond such starfields, drop and bloom perfect;
Away… beyond temporal counting, save…
Our loneliness, do each to us affect;
As petal-drops, alone, our days reflect.

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

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Sonnet XII: Visions

Posted by David Emeron on

…No mere illusion could be ever still
But substance make it soar when once begin
Its dances and its songs as once were thine;
Transfixing, once, existence all therein
That once revolved about my wish to kill,

And to protect; and otherwise confine
Such evil as would do thee harm, or sin
Against thee in this fragile world of mine–
To fight ’til all were vanquished by my will.

Thy safety then to mine own safely bound,
No more such evil thee should ever bind–
So not a moment more thy pleasure blind.
Ne’er once thy dance, nor song, nor sweetest sound,
When all is well, might fail to ever thrill.

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

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Sonnet XI: Here and Now

Posted by David Emeron on

Here, have I come: to know thy voice, to thrill
At every timbre, to rejoice my sin,
The very amber of my choice.  For mine
Is all perfection, comfort, and goodwill.

And, have I known: to rest, to sleep.  Therein
Shall I in thee my comfort keep.  Confine
Should I to me thy tears to weep.  Begin,
Do I to quell the fears that each of thine
Own quited years might never hope to kill.

Now, am I come: to decimate thy blind
Illusion.  And, have I known: all thy sound
And furied Confusion.  Here, do I bind
All hope no faith nor charity hath bound.
Celerity is stopped–and rested.  Still…

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

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