What is my life worth?
Is it worth more than I think?
Or is it worth less?
Or is that even,
If I were to add it up,
The proper question?
Tag Archives: Sonnet
Sonnet VI: | David Emeron: Sonnets
Of late, I thought to revisit this one which is so framed, now more, in the tradition of such things. Very “chaffy” of me to mix mythologies as do I here:
In aire dost, poise thou in His image, fly
Perfection! bronzed against Hyperion’s blaze;
Exalted! at thy nadir by His rays;
With mastery! dost thou hold thy piece of sky.In aire, for thee, hath stoppt all time; on high,
At perfect flexion, as His Son displayed:
Retract, and tense, ’til once thou deign obey
His gravity, that deign thou not defy.Down! by His unseen force, to Earth art thrown;
Descend thou! as I gasp–thy devotee.
Thou! slicing air! perfection still outshone!
And twist! and roll! and turn! to all degree!
As fly thou through devoted hands alone
With thee, who hast so Godly kist the sea.
Sonnet II: Challenge
How may a challenge take so many names:
The first, a journey struck with spirit bright;
The next, a stolid, firm, determined, fight;
And then, a simple, tired tread–a game
Although the dream were dead–and next, it came
Relentless, as it yet were sanctified;
Without surrender, lest be dignified
Thus; that the game were lost? The very blame
Was hidden in the cost of keeping on
Within a blackened dream. How challenging
This fourfold path must seem, when what is gone
Is purity, which such a dream may bring.
But fivefold is the path of righteous grief,
When challenge is pursued without belief.
This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all:
Sonnet I: Grades of Paper
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:
Sonnet: Be the Change
I read; and then I write; and am refined.
I comment, then I like, and then agree–
Devoutly follow everything I see
And proudly let it wander through my mind.
The order which such actions are combined,
Could offer up a great variety.
Yet still, this order is, to some degree,
The one my heart prefers, and is inclined
To offer up my strength that I enrich
Each author, and his talent; and decree,
Though safe within my digital redoubt,
I’ll be the very transformation which
Into the world, I’ll bring, and wish to see;
And by my very actions bring about.
- To: Asolemn Punch
Sonnet V: The Peace Prayer | David Emeron: Sonnets
I have recently titled this one “The Peace Prayer” which is a reference to Samuel Clemens’ (Mark Twain) “The War Prayer”
These two are none too opposite, in that they both reflect something quite true, and point out, among other things, unintended consequences; Mr Clemens work, the untended consequences of war and praying for victory in war; and mine, the same for peace. This dichotomy underscores for me the nature of peace and how peace and freedom are related. Freedom, even here in the US, creeps away by inches. I think it must not matter the form of governance attempting to watch over it, except to say that the US has been remarkably resistant to this, particularly when one realises that we are much more a target for such sedition than perhaps any other civilised nation.
I have come to realise that there is only one price with which such freedom can be purchased back once it has crept away to a greater or lesser degree. That price is paid in blood. I believe our founders knew this and took amazing steps, given their circumstances, to preserve this hard won freedom for as long as possible.
She sang her hymn before her eyes had seen
The glory of the coming of the Lord;
The blood, and death, of mortar, gun, and sword;
And brother killing brother, long had been.Then callow, sang of peace, with freedom won,
To eager faces, white, and brown… and black;
Whose liberty had just been handed back
Still soaked with blood by mortar, sword, and gun.Imagine men had heard that hymn, four score
And seven years of blood and death before;
Heard next her callow, pacifists decree;
Laid down their arms to study war no more.With shackled peace, from sea to shining sea,
What hue would, now, such eager faces be?
Sonnet II: Once More for Sam
He sung of Sisters close and sweet, and taught;
Of sea, and wealth, he droned a mournful view.
Of Death himself, as fine as Death, he brought
A smile to my lips when fear they knew.
And lovely, to a barren cheek he drew,
The very first and only tear, he claimed.
Of no return, that no man ever knew;
So quick and fleet an image, thus he named:
“In Xanadu…” he dreamt a man beyond;
A man, within that Sunny Dome, was he.
Who dwelt in Paradise that dream had spawned;
I know, his home, he must have lived to see.
For I, enticed by Crystal Caves of Ice;
By Honey Dew, have drunk of Paradise.
David Emeron: Sonnets 