Tag Archives: Romantic Realism

Sonnet: Again

Posted by David Emeron on

To sit with thee and talk with thee again,
Delight in thy reflections sweetly then,
To kiss thine understanding lips once more…
And every moment’s poetry explore;

To dwell once more and wander so in love,
To hold thy hand and prize all price above,
That sweetest and that wisest I adore…
And stay with mee forever would implore.

O sweetest and my brightest and my dearest
I, would spend one fleeting day a year,
So gladly this but touch thy fingertips…
And will thy hand to mine, that nary slips.

And should I pray that soon will come the day…?
What could eclipse the heaven of thy lips?

Permalink

Sonnet VI: Invocation

Posted by David Emeron on

Pray now, defilers; pray there is no Hell;
For as you dredge all Greatness through the mire,
Yet fear your acts deserving of Its Fire,
Pray now, to quell this dread you cannot quell.

Pray now; then jeer and mock the Great to sell
Your squalid lie; equate your filth; conspire;
And crave Them all to die.  With shrill desire,
Pray now; deny this Pit that may untell
Your lie–exact Its Payment for your crime.

And I… will pray Its Fires to be true,
That you, the unredeemable, will rue
Its searing brand–unyielding–as you plead,
Demand discarded Grace to intercede,
And beg… and shriek… and burn… for all of time.

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

Permalink

Sonnet: Taken

Posted by David Emeron on

Anticipation shaketh down below
Wherefore I shan’t release thee shouldst thou call
Or even beg, as seem thou to prefer.
I feel thee, languid, try my binding crawl

With tense delight enveloping thee slow;
So push and crawl and twist thyself away.
That every moment my delight would stir;
And ripping, take my kill.  And thou:  my prey,

Imagine, over all our blood doth flow,
When deep within thy flesh my talons rake;
And to thy plaintive cry shall not defer
‘Til take my fill of all that I may take.

This predator… no… nary turn around:
Thou knew’st, though he prefer his prey face down!

Permalink

Sonnet VI: How do I Touch Thee

Posted by David Emeron on

To thou, but when I see thee standing there;
My feelings, would I wish thee, hear me shout;
But when the fortunes of my heart despair,
May I thee touch, when can I not reach out?

So many times with thee my tongue were still,
And lay so quietly within its doubt;
Yet words would circle ’round my soul until
Thee sonnets write, when can I not reach out.

Yet words may leave my soul and heart as well;
And leave my hands as mute, my pen without;
How, soul and thought and heart, may I thee tell?
I play for thee when can I not reach out.

For, all my days I worship thee throughout;
In many ways, do I to thee reach out.

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

Permalink

Sonnet V: The Wraith who Played

Posted by David Emeron on

Long thence I, of thy miracle, so learned:
This, seeming to perfection, thou didst play;
Such beauty rare, I heard of this, thy bow,
That thou, such Earthly-wrought, couldst make Divine.

Such beauty, then too beautiful, were spurned;
For seeming not of Earth, thy beauty lay;
So rarely this, some Earthly ear should know,
This Heaven-wrought Divinity of thine.

To hear these rise from Earth to skies I’ve yearned;
Thy notes of such beatitude convey;
That soar and lift mee ’round where next they goe;
And to the stars that make, to thee, their shrine.

To paradise returned, I beg thee stay;
This music overflow; thy soul, to mine.

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

Permalink

Sonnet IV: The Wraith who Danced

Posted by David Emeron on

I close mine eyes–tight, to thee reprise–
Where vision’s current, swift; thy vision swept…
Away to take–fearing so to wake–
And quell thy current’s vision, tender slept:

For Love, I chance–came to thee, thy dance–
To beauty’s gracing thrill, my thrill to weep.
Thou leapt to fall–held me fast, thy thrall–
So lovely flight to last my thrilling sleep.

Too sweet thou shone–beguile unbeknown–
So dreamt I, never wake, thou wouldst mee tempt;
For sweet thou shine–gaspingly divine–
As moved me all to dream wherein I dreamt.

For, Love, I die… than–to vision’s eye–
Unlid thy current’s dream; my thrill, condemnt.

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

Permalink