Tag Archives: Muse

Sonnet II: Custodians

Posted by David Emeron on

But they managed their deeds without casting
Down… as you wretched will usually try.

They have made exaltation their duty;
Men… they shall cleanse of your odious taint.
They have filled our museums with beauty,
Then… they discarded your splatters of paint.

They have tossed out your volumes of garble,
Not… fit for lining the cage of a skunk.
They’ve exalted our beauty in marble
Wrought… when they crushed all your piles of junk.

And your music and verse is forgotten
Guff… with its horrible discordant clash.
They’ve divested the Earth of that rotten
Stuff… when they threw out the rest of the trash.

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

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Sonnet I: Warriors

Posted by David Emeron on

Have the Gods of the Copybook Headings,
Tall… by you wretched deceivers controlled;
By the Knights of the Copybook spreading,
All… of the truths of your lies will be told.

They have burned all the books you have written;
When… all your books were rewritten with lies;
They’ve uncovered the books you have hidden,
Then… they have ripped from your face its disguise.

They have cast you to fall from the towers,
How… they, you ‘surpers, they’ve torn from their thrones.
Though you’ve cast your aspersions by hours,
Now… you’ll be lucky to pick though the bones.

Not a gauntlet was raised nor contrasting
Frown… for they did it by lifting us high.

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

Intro 1: The Knights of the Copybook Headings

Posted by David Emeron on

To Rudyard Kipling:
I have seen what thou hast seen;
And praise its return!

Romanticism
Hath breathed, for thee, new breath.
Through electricity.

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Sonnet: Brief Candles

Posted by David Emeron on

These two sweet lights so lovely, do I bear
To watch them fade? Each to each as fair,
Such rapt attention weighed. So adored,
But see the other dim, must each prepare?

Must I accept their fate without despair
As once I disobeyed? Lit so rare,
Have black and auburn greyed?  What reward,
If these and all Thy countless lights repair?

I’m not my mind nor body? Tell this lie
When you are old; and you will not believe.
Behold, within the mirror: Is it I?
Or this, within my portrait? Should I grieve
That I, decay within the mirror, see;
When bright, within my portrait light, is me?

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Sonnet: A.D. 1984

Posted by David Emeron on

Why are all the Orwell jokes forsworn?
I think forgetting these is quite a sin.
I thought I’d see Big Brother T-Shirts worn;
And parties serving casks of Vict’ry Gin.

So, why is there not one Big Brother sign;
Nor pundits blath’ring on in TV Spots;
Comparing economical design;
Nor tales told of recent commie plots?

Perhaps the joke is just too cheap a shot;
That no-one of importance really heads.
Or maybe it’s that everyone forgot;
Er maybe’ts them what hardly never reads.

Whatever’s causing all (or none) of this.
I’m thinking what a wild time we’ll miss.

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Sonnet: To the Muse

Posted by David Emeron on

O Thou my Muse, reflecteth much Thy flame
That maketh words within me flow like fire,
Abating not, as torrents deadly spill;
Upending doth within me all transpire.

O Thou my Muse, as once I did disclaim–
And though I run a thousand miles away
And lock up all my pen and ink, and still
Without consent, so choose to disobey–

Yet never could I wrest myself, reclaim
My very life, for all was lost… in Thee.
And only once again Thy captive, will
I find such words as once had set me free.

Then with Thy fire tame me, O my Muse.
My quill and my desire are Thine to use.

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