Screenshot via: “This Was Never Poetry”
Yes it was.
So much so that I despaired the first time you vanished taking all your words with you. So very much so, I made myself afraid, after a time, to visit your site fearing it would once again be gone.
So much did you inspire and ignite my imagination.
…seemed to go off without a hitch. My final step this evening has been to remove all the post from “reflections.” I did have to modify a few elements. Some menu items were duplicated, as were all three blogs made to look similar. It appears that I could very well merge all three into one. The same effect as before could well be accomplished with one blog and three distinct categories. I believe I more fully understand the issue of “tags” vs. “categories” and would now have little trouble using both to accomplish this.
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My love has wings–slender, feathered things–
With grace in upswept curve and tapered tip,
My love would soar–swiftly to adore–
So twisting ever toward, and graceful skip.
So dances she–round and round to be–
Enrapt to bring us care, to bind us kept,
My love should know–you, my love, bestow–
Your Own, as did He dance and graceful stepped.
For now as wed… They–Our Love has said–
Would bear us swiftly hence as spectral ships;
So lovely They–So lighted, Their display–
That would illuminate our Earthly trips.
And lovely see–you and I–as We…
Take flight, as when I tasted first your lips.
Upon a time, my love, a diary
Of paper, stained with words set down in ink;
Revealing all a boy might feel, and think,
And strive, and pray, and wonder what might be;
That, would he, worthy of thy love, decree?
On paper, yes; but also on the brink–
Withholding nothing more–profess; and think,
If then not worthy, tears he shed for thee
Would blur his ink; such tears as fell like rain
To paper; ran his words, as ran his heart,
Cascading down, as rivers, all his pain;
So mixt with joy, and hope we would not part.
Yet now, his tears, upon a keyboard, fall,
Not mixt with joy, nor pain, nor seen at all.
This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all:
I so love the rain
Especially the monsoons
Which we don’t have here
D—– dear, you’re lucky to be dead!
To have escaped the parody you name,
Is Mercy’s gracious gift; and yet you came
Back, so ungrateful for her gift, instead
Of resting–came to save these two, misled,
And taught us much, as much you did disclaim,
Of worth and duty, honour, deed, and shame.
Thus in death, you lessons bled as said:
“You must surely love, if love you must:
And loving still, through irony or kind,
Uplifting thoughts, you would, inspired above
All evil, rise.” If ever I could find
The prise of justice now, I’d not so mind
That you are gone–that left us more, our Love.
Once I wished you knew
Then I feared that never would you know
Never would you see
Once I knew that you knew
Then I realised that you had always known
Always did you see
This is why you smiled
And we always saw you smiling
Smiled when we saw you
Smiled when you saw us.
Always had your smile told us
That you knew.
Then you were gone
And instead of crying, we laughed.
Because you had known.
And then…
David Emeron: Sonnets 