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Tag Archives: Musing
Sonnet: Perfection
When hast thou seen, as meant for only thee,
Such eyes as widen gaily at thy sight?
And at thy voice a face that ever bright
Hath lit as though thy soul hath set it free.
And hast thou heard a voice so peacefully
Conformed, as though it found a place to light
As warmly and as permanently might
A thing as claimed its perfect place so be?
Or hast thou not this wonder ever seen?
And hast thou not this perfect moment felt?
Nor felt thine own eyes widen, as for thee
Delighted by thine own, that face hath been?
Hast not thou love, as hath my love for mee?
Hast not thine heart within perfection dwelt?
Intro: When I Write About Love
I’d write about love
I could write all day and night
The words would pour out
But I think it would
because of my own true love
be all too easy
I think I could write
Thrice as I have written once
Time would almost stop
Sonnet: The Evolution Of…
Things in life evolve. I, now uncaught on
Detail, resolve that haiku, when planned more
Strictly, will not break a single thought on
Separate lines. On the other hand, for
Sonnets, great shrines more strict, more pursuing
Sound; the stricture of both could recombine
With pressure when mixed together. Doing
Round numbers of haiku, would misalign
Within a sonnet. It makes me sigh, too;
For, on my honour, I’d cry if that myth
Were true. Instead, there must be eight haiku
To see it through; and then I combat with
Four pale sounds. And its sextet, for a
Tail, sports “etcetera, etcetera.”
Intro: Evolution
Things in life evolve
I, now uncaught on detail,
resolve that haiku,
when planned more strictly,
will not break a single thought
on separate lines.
On the other hand,
for sonnets, great shrines more strict,
more pursuing sound;
the stricture of both
could recombine with pressure
when mixed together.
Doing round numbers
of haiku, would misalign
within a sonnet.
It makes me sigh, too;
for, on my honour, I’d cry
if that myth were true.
Instead, there must be
eight haiku to see it through;
and then I combat
with four pale sounds.
And its sextet, for a tail,
sports “etcetera,
“etcetera.”
Sonnet III: A call
No albatross is this around my neck,
This talisman to set my soul afire,
A host of angels, heavenly; a choir
Who, singing endless blessings, at my beck
And call, continue to adorn, bedeck,
Enthral, enslave the muses they acquire.
And, subject to my will, they must inspire
My pen to greater heights; until no speck
Of life remains within my body; or
My soul is, from its heart still beating, ripped;
Or locked in shadow, knowing only breath.
For, nothing less will end the oath I swore;
Until I have, this mortal coil slipped;
Or when the shadow takes me unto death.
This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all:
Intro 3: I Won’t Be Cryptic
It’s interesting how, in setting oneself a task, even a burdensome one, one ends up with more time to pursue ones endeavours, rather than less.
David Emeron: Sonnets 