Tag Archives: Romantic Realism

Sonnet IV: Liquid Sorrow

Posted by David Emeron on

Too well, he knew; did Baudelaire, my twin
Of spirit, forebear of my soul; and knew,
As only he, my dearest poet, grew
To know; this drink was fine, as knew he sin.

So I thereof  proclaim to thee, who’s been
My sweetest love, as my devoted, who
For all thy sorrow; as my servant, do
Afore the morrow; as my slave:  Begin;

Goe; bring thou me that nectar of my soul,
That finest thing of sweetest Xerex grape,
And wilt thou see, I shall become returned
As he, who thou admirest, the whole
Of me, thy bliss desirest, as burned
Thine heart; and nary, snared as this, escape.

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

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Sonnet: Truth Unquantifiable

Posted by David Emeron on

When life has given all Her many gifts;
Whenever can the measure of these things;
Those gifts alike to paupers and to kings;
The very blessings, all, that spirit lifts;

Be counted up among the many rifts
And twists, and turns; and bold accounting springs
Forth only optimistic numbers? Brings
The news in harmonies and umbers. Shifts

The essence of attention to the day
For which this great accounting brings its news;
And which a man, forgetting not to pray,
Will promise Her he never shall abuse,
In truth unquantifiable, the way
He finds himself inspired by Her muse.

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Sonnet: Eternity

Posted by David Emeron on

Through all eternity, through each farewell,
I call to thee; as I–as we endure
As much as do the fates our world compel–
Divine this hidden answer; this foretell:

Thy true, thy bidden answer, when away
My call to thee, past all, who as one, ban,
Decry, forbid, constrict with venom, they–
Impeach with venom anything we say.

Yet each untasted word of thine will fall
Upon my  ear–will call to me; sublime
Mellifluence will sweet me to thy call,
Will taste me through such venom, one and all.

Such ardour hidden, heard I all the more–
That none would quell since first our life began–
Would call thee to my side through space and time.

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Intro: Through Eternity I Hear

Posted by David Emeron on

Through eternity I hear your call now
Clearly

As I could not when I was a young girl;
When weather stations, and ice-lollies,
Hot summer side-walks, forts and spaceships
Consumed our imaginations.

Through eternity I hear your call now
Clearly

Having listened always to its faint echo
When on the road or on the stage,
The needs of the family, tears and solitude,
Consumed my imagination.

Through eternity I hear your call now
Clearly

Since you brought me home to you
To lay down my tired heart and rest
In this household made out of friends of our youth
Which now consumes my imagination.

Through eternity I hear your call now
Clearly.

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Sonnet I: To the Approaching Dawn

Posted by David Emeron on

I fear not that my words will never grace….
And yet I dread this fast approaching dawn;
I see the minutes and the hours pass;
For dawn is yet the only constant thing
That rips me so unkindly from my pace.

Though never is my reason thus forgone;
This Lighted Spectre haunts me–this Impasse–
This Waking Nightmare from beneath will spring.
Beneath the Earth this Pale Rider waits,
His Fiery Horses chafing; will have drawn

His Chariot’s Searing Livery–unsurpassed
In glory, any but Hyperion:
Shall stream His Burning Light; and gaining fast,
Will into Hypnos’ Waiting Arms, me cast.

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

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Sonnet: The Hand of my Beloved

Posted by David Emeron on

Thy hand hath stopped my fall and lifted me
To quell my tears, and cool my fervid cheeks;
Withal thy power hast thou known its plea:
To grant my heart this respite that it seeks.

Tomorrow, shall I write for thee, although
The Gods are neither fooled nor do they sleep,
But smile upon thee; surely do They know
I sing with joy their deeds an ne’er I weep.

But sweetly given me hast thou my voice,
And moved my spirit; for my hand is thine
To take thy gifted rest; though fear my choice:
That rest will fall to apathy’s decline.

Yet might for me despair make worse my plight;
Tomorrow, with thy gifts, for thee I write.

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