Tag Archives: Fixed Verse Forms

Sonnet VIII: The Craven and the Valiant

Posted by David Emeron on

I’ve been ashamed I have not held the line
Myself. Nor shown respect for those who did
Nor ever thought I could, a thought kept hidden
On a shelf of false disdain, maligning

Those who would; and pained to think my spine
Was weak. At least, until that day undid
My cravenness. That day I knew, amid
My web of lies, that woven not of mine–

No, tangled from another’s twine, a slack
And mangled maven–much more meek, supine,
More cowardly as then I was.  No black
Nor white existed, why the fuss? he late
Insisted, only grey: The grey of hate
Of they who save the day, and hold the line.

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

Permalink

Sonnet V: By Their Fruits

Posted by David Emeron on

I saw and I believed and then I knew;
As brick and mortar fell, and glass and steel;
And blood and flesh and fire, mien, and weal,
And hope, and dream, and aspiration slew;

And friendship, love and heart, and sky once blue
Now green with envy, angry red with zeal
Of hate, of lie, of wound no lie can heal,
And speculation knowingly untrue.

I heard, I disbelieved and then I thought:
How typical that supposition grew
So cravenly away from where it ought
To rest; from certainty that, shining through
This calumny, these wailing filth have wrought
This death–these filth who hide from what is true.

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

Permalink

Sonnet IV: The Valiant and the Craven

Posted by David Emeron on

So valiantly hast thou thy battles fought
For everyone we love, as well as we.
Our fathers and our mothers lived to see
The grandchildren thy blood and valour bought.

And what a crime that none today are taught
The sacrifice thou chos’t as thy decree,
The horror thou hast braved so valiantly,
Thy blood with which their apathy was wrought.

How they will rage when next the bugle sounds
And none are left to stand before its call.
How they will curse thy gravestones one and all;
Yet none may wake thee in thy hallowed grounds.
With ramparts left unmanned, they’ll know the why,
And know thy sacrifice before they die.

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

Permalink

Sonnet III: The Vigilant

Posted by David Emeron on

“I teach the use of ordinance to boys.
It’s just a job, not so unlike your own.
I wake up every morning to the drone
Of my alarm, and teach them what destroys

“And kills. A job like yours,” he said, “employing
Skills ones discipline requires. Condone
The harm or not, my job inspires alone
Young men who sought this life. When mine deploys,

“We, rough and ready, make the day our own.”
“But can you quit?” I asked, “you’ve pledged to keep
It–like a wife–for better or for worse.”

“And, quit or fail, I won’t be sought nor thrown
In jail; nor watch my wife, from heaven, weep
Upon my empty coffin in a hearse.”

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

Permalink

Sonnet II: The Devoted

Posted by David Emeron on

So fine are ye who hold the line unsung
By any but those proud few men who know–
By virtue of their own devotion; though
They boast not how they crossed an ocean; young;

An age at which so few would broach, among
Themselves, such grave and worldly things; who show
The world, by deeds, that matters which bestow
Such life! such death! affairs of kings! who slung,

So rife with breath, together, tales told
And sung, and written down, with reverence;
Who know the price which, sometimes, must be paid;
Who, though as any, fear malevolence,
Dare throw down tyrants, numbering untold;
Who pay with blood–the sum that freedom weighed.

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

Permalink

Sonnet III: Where I Rest

Posted by David Emeron on

So quiet thou beside me; so austere
Dost thou confide thee, silently to sleep.
Angelic thou, delightful; though as clear
Dost thou alight believe thou safe to keep…

Thee well protected, do I; and so sweet
Thy dreaming true; mine angel wouldst appear.
And though thou art about me; so discrete
And so devoutly, shall I hold thee near…

And dearly do I wrap thee, my surround
I would enrapt, be to mine own replete.
Delight at once to hold thee and abound
That once untold, rejoice for thee complete…

And wound about thee tightly; and so deep,
Profound, and knightly… love thee; yet I weep….

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

Permalink

Sonnet VI: Violets

Posted by David Emeron on

‘Til noon, before these Violets lovely stir
With bloom that splendour morning’s promised awe;
Too soon, I made my contract, drunk on her
Perfume, and swore this compact as my law;

And strewn for all, to savour all the more,
Presume this Moonlight-sweet enthralment were
Immune to circumstance; that here, before
The gloom,  ill-fortune shan’t to these occur.

From Moon unto Aspasia, then, I go,
Subsumed by Columbine ’til Dawn’s deplore,
Marooned and Wild; to Corsican I know,
Entombed this fivefold Covenant I swore;

And prune such flaws, assuming naught will show;
Festooned and drawn: my doom from long ago.

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