Tag Archives: Italian Sonnet

Sonnet: Be the Change

Posted by David Emeron on

I read; and then I write; and am refined.
I comment, then I like, and then agree–
Devoutly follow everything I see
And proudly let it wander through my mind.

The order which such actions are combined,
Could offer up a great variety.
Yet still, this order is, to some degree,
The one my heart prefers, and is inclined

To offer up my strength that I enrich
Each author, and his talent; and decree,
Though safe within my digital redoubt,

I’ll be the very transformation which
Into the world, I’ll bring, and wish to see;
And by my very actions bring about.

Sonnet III: Step after Step

Posted by David Emeron on

First, second, third, and fourth, I walk alone
With measured footsteps, each one as the last;
My future is as hopeless as the past;
These plodding steps, the only things I own.

I face my work, I wake, I sleep, I hone
My pace to take more measured steps. Not fast
Nor slow, I have become adept at last
At going nowhere. See how I have grown

Such roots, and with such care, which but permit
The taking of a single measured step
And then another–fancy how they fit
My feet. This pace would scarcely ever let
Me eat, except that I might starve to death
And that would end the measure of my breath.

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

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Sonnet II: His Gift

Posted by David Emeron on

Near every effort I express is less
Than what is necessary to survive;
Yet, I remain ironically alive
Although my work is not enough to bless

My life. But why then shall I acquiesce
To strife when all around me is the live,
Unending truth that I can still revive
My worthless Plod. To see within this press,

My worthless God has gifted me the tool
Of nothing; still, the only gift He has
To give. And I, His ever steadfast fool,
Must live within these scenes! I think that as
I die inside, these means I come to see:
That one thing God Himself has given me.

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

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Sonnet I: It Comes

Posted by David Emeron on

If ever I could spare a minute’s time,
I might enjoy a moment of the day.
A place where I might be forgotten, pray,
That I might run from here, or even climb

A mountain far away. Not Reason, Rhyme
Nor Deities could sway, nor could one pay
The world’s unyielding, universal clay,
That time should not be stolen. Such a crime

Continues on, beholden to no man,
With cruel impunity–continues on
Its prurience, as only Satan can–
And gives the poet grist to mill upon:
To sow, and reap, and dream of sweet release,
And then to sleep, and dream of death, and peace.

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

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Sonnet VI: Her Call

Posted by David Emeron on

I hear the rain; she calleth as she did
So many years ago. But now I can
Not heed this pain. She claimed me as her man;
No longer is it so. Thus am I hid

From she, whom hath she been, my dearest love.
Thou canst but ask: But why dost thou forsake
This holy path of love which thou bespake
To be the flask who’s nectars rank above

All fruit; wherethrough, all Gods and men, subsist.
But to be true, I sometimes answer her;
Though not so loudly she should know exists
The man she proudly loved, because he were
The shell of what he was, so shan’t she know
The depths, so shut, a failing love may go…

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

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Sonnet V: Inscribed Elegy

Posted by David Emeron on

The gentle rain, as gentle notes, inscribe:
A mourning song for images withdrawn;
A pleasing elegy to moments gone;
Or passing fancies, never real. Describe

The rain, and gentle airs will drift to mind:
The dreaming sounds of feeling; river songs,
A never ending symphony, in throngs
Of sound, imbibing, then, of rivers winding

Endlessly about the morning light;
Entwining dewy havens of the heart;
And mountains of a mighty spirit’s height,
Transfixing grateful captives of its art.
How beautiful the rain and music are,
That take us into paradise so far.

  • To my friend Jena:
    So that you may remember
    How I love the rain.

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

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Sonnet II: Deprived of Thee

Posted by David Emeron on

My Rain, why left me here, hast thou, alone
Without, luxuriant cool, thy tender kiss?
Of thee, I dream, confess of that I miss,
Deprived of thy caress. My Rain, mine own

Sweet Rain, hath left me only wind, and blown
Away. Thy lofty havens toss and list
Astray. Hast thou forgotten me in bliss?
And am I not thy dearest love alone?

Come back to me, my cool and softing Rain!
And cover up this never-ending blue!
Touch now my lips, my hair, and end this pain
Of missing you. I long to see thy true
Face shining through my lonely night again,
So prest against my yearning lips anew.

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

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