The human body
Is not an object of shame,
But one of beauty.
Still, so intimate,
That I tend to hesitate,
When I write of it.
Tag Archives: Mystery
Sonnet I: Mirror
To feel my hand upon a shape, a form
I find familiar in its drape: though known,
It overwhelms my hand by touch alone,
Though sight and sound and scent and savour warm
Me to its thrill, its pleasurable norm,
And call me to its side. And I alone
May know I should confide in that I own,
And hence am owned by that which I transform.
I feel it know at once, as once I know
The day such stark perfection will arrive.
I know reflexively, almost as though
The figure in the mirror comes alive
And reaches out with anything but this:
A touch of any kind, except a kiss.
This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all:
Intro 1: A Wish
Most definitely
Take care, for what you don’t wish,
You might not receive;
And take special care,
For when you make no wishes,
None will be granted.
Sonnet VII: Helpless
So dark within this place, what is this grey
Like velvet fire that would my hand subdue?
Can this–such sweetest pliancy as may
Command my strength to helplessness–be true?
What should I from this helplessness construe
That further took my senses night from day?
Though ne’er would I this mastery through
Any means demand, excepting I obey.
I take what is demanded and delay,
As valiantly I must, what is my due;
And all this tempest, bid me on its way,
Is great in all it promiseth anew.
Much more thou knew’st than wouldst thou ever say;
Thy sweetness grew that burned my will away.
This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all:
Sonnet VI: Landscape
When I have seen this place–this loveliness
That sweeps with valley as with rolling hill.
With meadowland and velvet can it bless
My hand, unfettered form, or lips but still.
Yet each would know that restless, is this place,
As Earth; as sweet, as wanton, and as cruel;
For what it gives it also takes, its face
With joyfulness, intense with warm or cooling
Passion is this vexing earth, not restful
Knowing never what it feels nor wants
And seldom what would serve its beauty best.
Not once can it be stilled; see how it daunts:
Yet even if I willed myself as much
To seek another clime, I would thee touch.
This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all:
Intro 6: Phenomenon
How interesting
That this place is not a place;
But a state of mind.
Sonnet V: Whatever Thy Perfection Doth Require
I close my longing eyes; envisage thee;
Reflection manifesting not my hands;
Imprisoned lightning, countenanced with fire;
Shot through, withal, mine every wish commands’.
Extremity, thy tapered waist’s degree;
Impossible perhaps, if not sublime;
And yet, sublime, thy perfect form–admire
This hourglass that so-confoundeth time.
Nor could reflected shadowing foresee
Such helplessness within, as now I feel;
Restrained, regarding mine embraced desire
Ensnaring; captor, caught without appeal;
This weal of metaphor thy warder barred;
Imprisonment inspired such a guard.
This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all:
David Emeron: Sonnets 