Tag Archives: Longing

Sonnet I: Waiting Is

Posted by David Emeron on

And I…  have lost all life, all breath, all heart,
All sound, all sight; all sense hath left me blind.
For all I run to thee while sleep, apart…
I dare not hope but glimpse thee so confined;
But crystaled tears, this vision, showeth art;
And only then should know thy tears as mine.

I know thy lidded eyes press forth my tears;
And beg thee ope’ these jewels; see me there
Entreat thee, from this blindness, end my fears;
Wake thee, and wake thou me, from out this sleep,
This phantasm, this darkness, this nightmare;
And dare I thee to wake, wherefore I weep.

For thou, thy faith, thy dream, as pure whereby–
Waiting…  hoping… ever for mee… as I….

  • To my love;
    who hath for me
    ever waited.

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

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Intro 1: Sometime Last Century…

Posted by David Emeron on

I am still
hushed
poised
waiting for you
not daring
to brush the tears
away
from my closed eyes
fearful
of jarring myself
from this sleep–
I wait…

Sonnet II: His Passion

Posted by David Emeron on

I hear it in his song, as I perform;
With expectation, I anticipate
What challenge wrought that worthy hands conflate.
What fingers, nimble, delicate, and warm,

What mastery was he seeking to transform?
I hear him call, with each I recreate,
And call again with Phrygian passion.  Great,
I hear him call, as doth a raging storm.

I hear it in the sadness and the joy,
As in capriciousness, or wayward games;
I hear it gravely serious, then coy;
In every moment, hear how it proclaims.

The instant when the Andaluz appears,
I hear it, sweet as sin, across the years.

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

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Intro 2: Fairytale Couple

Posted by David Emeron on

It May Not Be So
But then, from whence does it come?
Where, if not from this?

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Sonnet I: When He Fell

Posted by David Emeron on

Might he have fallen when he saw her face,
If so enchanting was her smile–too young
Must she have been–and tyrian among
Oviedo’s great; or when she danced, so graceful

Were her palmas and her whirling lace,
She gave him tantalizing baile–flung
Careening adoration; when she sung,
As Andalusian cantos did embrace

Regarding not her reach; or did the sound,
Laughing delicate from out a learner’s
Able hand–nimble, did her fingers bound,
Tripping lightly over octaves–earn her

Triumph; with–crossing leagues of royal blue–
Iokean lips, though never history knew?

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

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Intro 1: Quite A Challenge

Posted by David Emeron on

If I have my way,
you’ll all know why
I wrote this.
And then,
you’ll also know why
I said it was
quite an intriguing challenge,
if you look closely.

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Sonnet I: Empty

Posted by David Emeron on

I wish, O poetess, had not thou gone,
‘Least in thy stead thy words so wish remained.
Where hast thou hence thy beauty borne away?
And whence hath run thy passion unconstrained?

For thee, in early morn I searched; the dawn
Had not yet broke, nor made the rain to slake;
But now, forever falling rain might stay,
And dawn, I fear, or joy, might never break.

To whence were hid thy words I goe anon,
Or thence wherein my heart thy words might tend.
So ever seek the light shall I of day;
Thy dawn to chase, this rain in hopes might end;

Await the dawn until return again
Thy words, and fondly beg thou wilt remain.

  • To Lady Day,
    With so fond regard
    I scarce can say

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

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