It’s not a beastbut is a gift to release the blessings He commands. I have much enjoyed this particular sequence. Perhaps you will too. The style varies from old to new. It changes as do the seasons.
Tag Archives: Five Petalled Flower (with introductions)
Sonnet III: A call
No albatross is this around my neck,
This talisman to set my soul afire,
A host of angels, heavenly; a choir
Who, singing endless blessings, at my beck
And call, continue to adorn, bedeck,
Enthral, enslave the muses they acquire.
And, subject to my will, they must inspire
My pen to greater heights; until no speck
Of life remains within my body; or
My soul is, from its heart still beating, ripped;
Or locked in shadow, knowing only breath.
For, nothing less will end the oath I swore;
Until I have, this mortal coil slipped;
Or when the shadow takes me unto death.
This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all:
Intro 3: I Won’t Be Cryptic
It’s interesting how, in setting oneself a task, even a burdensome one, one ends up with more time to pursue ones endeavours, rather than less.
Sonnet II: Steps
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:
Intro 2: You Want Something Done
Then you ask a busy man.
That’s what this has wrought.
I find I’m able
To travel to my own world
Much more often now.
Sonnet I: Not Alone
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:
Intro 1: One Must Do
What one must do.
Why fight it?
Why deny it?
When giving in,
the rewards are
beyond measure.
David Emeron: Sonnets 