Tag Archives: Haiku

Intro 2: That which Heals

Posted by David Emeron on

If this elixir
is the balm that, so gentle
and quiet, wouldst calm

my mind and my heart
nay, even my very soul,
my sweet love, for thee.

So gently shalt it
ease thy pain, as though a rain,
so soft, hath fallen.

This, of pure flavour,
shall not offer thee regret
and shall give but none

to thine heart; so warm
yet daunting as an angel’s.
Forget not, my love,

this cruel earth also
playeth host to elements
which may heal even–

in right proportions–
the loneliness, and longing,
we two have suffered.

Sonnet I: Nectar

Posted by David Emeron on

If thou, my sweetest love, if thou, with me,
Wouldst share the sweet Xerex, that sweetest grape,
That loveliest of nectars, which may shape
One’s very soul, its very contours free;

That selfsame nectar I proclaim to be
The fabric, flowing as a fluid cape,
Which ribbons, over all creation drape,
Returneth me, my sweetest love, to thee.

Drink thou, this sweet elixir; know thou calm;
As will its magic sooth my restless mind;
Raise thou its crimson crystal to thy lips.

Drink we, such still, sweet, grape, such perfect balm,
And we have drunk the blood of lover’s, twined,
And conquerors who venture forth in ships.

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

Intro 1: Xerex for My Love

Posted by David Emeron on

Oh, my sweetest love,
share with me this sweet Xerex,
this, which I proclaim

Return’th me to thee.
Oh, my sweetest love, quiet
my restless mind with

the still, sweet, grape, which
is born of they who loveth–
they who conquereth.

Sonnet: What Flows

Posted by David Emeron on

Magnificent, the world in which my life
Resplendent lives–the place I yet reside–
I have no thoughts of leaving. Thus I hide,
Perfection so deceiving; and the strife

I see is that which I desire; so rife
With excellence, as may inspire and guide,
As flowers of evil, peacefully subside;
Maleficence benevolently siphoned

Out, bequeathing uncorrupted beauty.
Stout perfection cracks and shatters when
I travel not abroad, as is my duty
To this perfect place, and stills my pen.

Lest, wretched with sublime I must conflate,
How stale then, the world I must create.

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Intro: A little too “dead-leaf”-ish

Posted by David Emeron on

I watch the crazy
lady yelling at the desk
clerk; The couple fighting two

booths away; The paranoid
schizophrenic handling both
sides of the conversation; The

beggar demanding change;
and
the best of everything, that

I crave, that I prefer, that I gather
up and
take with me.

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