Rather than rearranging what I have scheduled to post, I shall delay #11, which will post on January 3rd, 2014. Number 12, which is not yet completed will most likely be done this morning(ish) and will therefore post on January 4th, 2014, or perhaps shortly thereafter.
Sorry to make all-y’all wait this long ; )
…addition to a sequence, comes at rather a late hour, in more ways than one. I have been preoccupied with a trip I am planning to take at the beginning of April, 2013–the first of such travel in quite a long while for me. I found myself avoiding everything–including thought. Still, tonight I had to see if I could push through it. I am pleased to see that I am able to do so. I have posted tonight’s entry which is now scheduled to go up on the 28th. So the “addition” link will not be live until then. The “sequence” link is good, but will not include the new entry until then.
The newest entry is a Reverse Spenserian with alternating rhyme at the first of the line–alternating similar sounds. Plus a few internal rhymes as well. The Reverse Spenserian scheme has a slowly metamorphosing rhyme sound scheme. So each new rhyme is related to the last in some way. And each alternative rhyme is related to its former by an addition of an ‘R’ sound added to the final vowel syllable.
Hast thou the heart to touch, or even look
Upon such art as this and give its due
An thou profess as fanciful, outgrew,
Though for this canvas rapture overtook;
But are such things professed forever true:
That hath these sculpted works thy nature shook;
And shall thy past refinement be forsook,
Though long thou from thine innocence withdrew?
Rare, priceless, as may not be seen again,
Wilt claim thou of thy prime: the best doth wane;
And of this art, so fast a friend may come,
Though whether ancient made or new, as fast.
Shalt thou most proper frame such art at last,
Or once more to thy patronage succumb?
This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all:
Through turns and twists, an endless beat, we ran;
I’d spurn the mists, descend to meet with thee.
We’d turn a bend upon a stone, and we
Would earn an end, and on our own, began.
But for a while–and never knowing when–
Once more to smile, then time to go, it was.
Through turns, we twist, an endless beat, and us
Returned, we list, pretend, and meet again.
You’d wrest some rest from lies and flight, and stole
From me some paradise, not quite forlorn.
I took, from you, a measure of that sworn
A garden, too. You stole no treasure, whole;
But gave us shrift, though magical and brief.
Forgiveness gifts me gratitude, my thief!
He sung of Sisters close and sweet, and taught;
Of sea, and wealth, he droned a mournful view.
Of Death himself, as fine as Death, he brought
A smile to my lips when fear they knew.
And lovely, to a barren cheek he drew,
The very first and only tear, he claimed.
Of no return, that no man ever knew;
So quick and fleet an image, thus he named:
“In Xanadu…” he dreamt a man beyond;
A man, within that Sunny Dome, was he.
Who dwelt in Paradise that dream had spawned;
I know, his home, he must have lived to see.
For I, enticed by Crystal Caves of Ice;
By Honey Dew, have drunk of Paradise.
As dawn they rise whilst waning moon are we;
How fairest they wherefrom increase our lives;
Incalescence to our recondity,
As one might give, the other so deprives.
Yet in thine eye burns reason’s flame; as fell,
As rivalled, any flame of spring might be;
And seem’st thou wise to all wherewith thou dwell’,
Though reason’s merest bloom to wisdom’s tree.
And through thy tempest, still art thou as fair
In deed, in sight, content to slake and quell
The worst of spring. Thou: tender, unaware,
Dost far more bring than wouldst thou take. As well,
Thine innocence doth thrive: awake, laid bare;
So true, wilt thou survive the world’s despair.
This sonnet is part of a short, or
possibly at some point, very long
sequence; click here to read it all:
Although to thee thou wouldst that life is lost;
Declaim the shame of all that it contains;
My love doth live in this thou wouldst accost;
Yet see how free her innocence remains.
I would that shouldst thou know thine eyes may trust,
That she as thee such trial here sustains;
Though long hath life to her so dealt unjust;
Yet still she will her innocence remains.
I pity thee if still thou canst not see,
The difference from thy sameness she attains;
Though lost, thy life the same, my love is free;
Through this abyss, her innocence remains.
So deep the sweetness still thy soul contains,
I pray this day thine innocence remains.
This sonnet is part of a short sequence: click here to read it all:
David Emeron: Sonnets 