Tag Archives: Italian Sonnet

Sonnet V: Her Majesty

Posted by David Emeron on

A word, then two, a fountain like a stream
That wears away a mountain. Time, a spring,
Reflection over aeons; it can bring
Perfection. Though it presses down, extreme

In ways of mystery. Its form can seem
To press its history:  On such a common thing
As common coal–transformative–may wring
A diamond fine and whole.  And so supreme

A form may limit, yet such limits might
Become the set of forces pressed upon
So commonplace a line as these I write.

The queen of all poetic forms: I fight
Her storms of pressure, educated on;
And open up my mind to all her light.

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

Sonnet I: Not Alone

Posted by David Emeron on

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:

Sonnet VII: Respite

Posted by David Emeron on

In peace, my love, forever do I goe,
That blessed nectar I adored to seek,
That gave thee rest and ease in its mystique
That long ago hath poured and I bestow.

Take thou, my love,  these tears that overflow
To quench thy soul; restored, do they forespeak
To thee; I shed them gladly, take my cheek
To drink–so blush, as though with wine aglow.

But soft, my sweet, and drink thou ever deep;
Breathe now the vapours of my soul–and heart:
Read thou its sonnets, and thou wilt mee know.
But peaceful, shall I lay thee down to sleep,
Bequeathing thee, when we awake, such art
And dance that from thy hearth shall never goe.

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

Sonnet VI: Sacrament

Posted by David Emeron on

Remember thou, that shalt thou ‘ever be,
For all of time, mine angel, and my sweet
Respite, that cup for which my heart shall beat,
Superior in infinite degree

To all the finest grape, shall I decree,
May e’er become. And so shall I, replete,
Then worship from thine altar, at thy feet,
And pray that I shall ‘ever drink of thee.

So grant thou me, my sweetest love, this prayer,
And thenceforth shall I worship at thy shrine,
And never for thy succour shall despair
Within that safety, as our hearts entwine.
I’ll thenceforth drink of thee and then declare
That never shall, again, I want for wine.

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

Sonnet V: Crystal

Posted by David Emeron on

But here, my sweetest love, and now, I pray
That shouldst thou know, as sure as once thou knew,
That shouldst thou neither worry, nor construe
Of me, nor any kind of doubt, display,

That shan’t I, once I have returned, convey,
Though lost, as found, or never I withdrew
From out the safety of thine arms.   I do
Believe that thou shalt, ‘ever charmed this way,

Remain my fragrant, soul refreshing, wine,
Most perfect, thou, and  infinitely sweet;
And shalt thou be the crystal–and I think,
A vessel that, so finished and complete,
That Holiest of Holies,  made divine,
Thy beauty and thy grace–Wherewith I drink.

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

Sonnet IV: Liquid Sorrow

Posted by David Emeron on

Too well, he knew; did Baudelaire, my twin
Of spirit, forebear of my soul; and knew,
As only he, my dearest poet, grew
To know; this drink was fine, as knew he sin.

So I thereof  proclaim to thee, who’s been
My sweetest love, as my devoted, who
For all thy sorrow; as my servant, do
Afore the morrow; as my slave:  Begin;

Goe; bring thou me that nectar of my soul,
That finest thing of sweetest Xerex grape,
And wilt thou see, I shall become returned
As he, who thou admirest, the whole
Of me, thy bliss desirest, as burned
Thine heart; and nary, snared as this, escape.

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

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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: