Tag Archives: Musing

Sonnet III: Sublime

Posted by David Emeron on

Express, shall I, what nature, perfect, is?
Thine every fibre, doth it answer me;
And giveth, every answer, what thou wilt;
But shalt thou, my reflection, never be.

So shall my sweet surround, make perfect bliss;
Thine answer’s twist doth make mine arms surround;
And maketh gather up, and without guilt,
Again, to make this circle thus abound.

I promise then, that wheresoever this,
Our passion, taketh thee beyond the world;
Thine answer, sweetest, never to be spilt,
No matter, gathered up, where art thou hurled.

Wherever then, I pledge, that dost thou sway;
So fast, mine hold, wilt not thou twist away.

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

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Intro 3: Instinct

Posted by David Emeron on

Every twist and turn
Makes me hold you more tightly.
You can’t get away.

You know you are safe.
No matter where you may go.
I have to hold on.

Twist and slide, knowing
That I can always find you.
You can not get lost.

We are made this way.
Like hand and glove we are made.
That’s how well we fit.

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Sonnet II: Inspired

Posted by David Emeron on

So hot within, and burning of its own;
Can this exist?  Such mystery!  So much
Doth this incalesence my hand alight.
Do this I feel?  Or this I thrill to touch?

Such taste!  Once cool, luxuriantly grown!
Now serous, thawed, deliciously beset;
And dripping wild implore, and sweet delight,
This form doth crave me, sybaritic, wet:

As poised, and shook, reverberating! Prone
Beneath my fingers: arch, and push, and curve;
And sparkling like crystal with excite,
So shot with lightning’s fire, every nerve…

Then cool… this down of twilight, quiet shone;
Where she is mine this night, and mine alone.

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

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Intro 2: A Thing of Beauty

Posted by David Emeron on

incalescent touch
serously thawed, dripping, wet
~sparkling like crystal~
in the cool down of twilight
where I am just yours, alone

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Sonnet: Shrug

Posted by David Emeron on

If Atlas’ Eyes were burning from our stain
Of  festering foul collectivization;
Shrieking of our dehumanization,
Bloody streamt His Ears with piercing pain;

His Arms, and Knees, and Shoulders, bled with strain
With the weight of our dying population;
Retching! from the stench of our starvation;
Weakening Resolve! at our disdain

For men who build; who might, His Burden, ease.
So, would ye dare to task Him; “Hold Thou, Muse!
One moment more, ’til we depose these smug,

“Self-righteous beasts!  No more! shall we appease
Esurience’s philanthropic ruse!”?
Or fear our thousand-years, and bid Him “Shrug!”?