Tag Archives: Poem

Sonnet I: To S. T. C.

Posted by David Emeron on

He sung of Sisters close and sweet; and taught
Of sea and wealth; he droned a mournful view
Of Death as fine as Death himself. He brought
A smile to my lips when all they knew

Was fear; and to a barren cheek he drew
The first and only tear. A place, he claimed,
Of no return, that no man ever knew;
A quickly fleeting image, And he named

It “Xanadu;” he dreamt a man beyond
A man within that Sunny Dome; An he
Should Drink of Paradise that dream had spawned
His home. I know he must have lived to see

Those Crystal Caves of Ice; For I, enticed
By Honey Dew, have drunk of Paradise.

Intro 1: To Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Posted by David Emeron on

Of Sisters he sung
And of Ancient Mariners;
And wrote of such death

As made death seem fine.
He brought joy and even tears
When he penned such depth.

And when he sung of
Xanadu and Kubla Kahn,
And his caves of Ice,

I dreamt along with
Him about his honey dew
And his paradise.

Sonnet: Forgetting Time

Posted by David Emeron on

Alas, though I have searched throughout the nation,
Finding none alive as fair as she;
I thought, most certainly, that some would be
As they, who might approximate her station.

But, there lived not one in all creation;
Not withstanding that, already, we
Have formed a bond unbreakable. To thee
I’m joined, yet none awakened one temptation

That could steal my heart, from thee, away.
Such hurt do now I feel–when I renew
My certainty–for other men, who yet
May never know the firmament to sway
Upon the merest trace of she; forgetting
Time, while they, as mee, their hearts, pursue.

Sonnet: Unspent

Posted by David Emeron on

Her silent feet would pace the night away,
(This feline, onyx, crost my path apace;)
From thwarting silence, thoughts of lost love stray,
(Though padding softly, sporting lost love’s face.)

Appeared she, lofty, when I saw her then.
(Though not sincerely real, an I lament)
I felt her smile, soft; I feel, as when…
(We dwelt in hours, not of ours, spent.)

Love of my heart, O whither hast thou gone!
(Doth silent now and withered step thy wake;)
How empty hath thy pedestal, thereon,
(Condemnt our path–recalleth our mistake.)

But no! lamenting love were wrong; but O!
Unspent, thy steps have left me, long ago.

Sonnet XI: I Promise

Posted by David Emeron on

For Thou art she from whom my Manna flows
And Thou art she for whom I do exist
For Thee I have become a hedonist
For Thee Mine own Desire always grows

For Thou art She from whom my Love arose
And Thou art She with whom I do entwist
For Thee I live with Joy from tryst to tryst
For Thee I Write all Poetry and Prose

For Thee I undertake the mundane world
For Thee I go about my daily deeds
For Thee I show my inner self unfurled
For Thee I set aside all other needs

For Thee I Undertake the Pain to Learn
And Thee To Whom I Someday Will Return

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