I remember one summer morning
Not long ago
When I awoke with a start
And rushed to my bedroom window
And stood and looked out at the countryside
As if I were standing
At the very shores of my life.

And time itself had transfixed
Every image of my work and days,
Toil and torment, love and laughter…
More perfect than any memory,
And then floated them in sequence
On a pale, misty blue sea.
And there, as far as the eye could tell
The images stretched out to indistinct horizons
Where pale blue sea met azure sky.

And so that morning they lay equally and sequentially arrayed;
From the rich gay colors of my youth,
To the pastels of middle age,
Even the golden still life,
Under the purple twilight;
Up to where times brush had begun…
To paint them grey.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

My fire crackles by the shore
And casts an eirie flickering glow.
Like many fires have before;
The woods now murmur ancient lore.

The river whispers soft and low
And sentinel trees beside me stand.
The dry leaves rustle tales untold
While waters ever onward flow.

Perhaps forgotten indian bands
Held frenzied chants beneath these trees;
Joined brethren in convulsive dance,
Or worshiped gods with open hands.

Perhaps explorers wild and free,
Shared shelter on the forest floor.
Or priest brought christianity
To pagan aboriginee.

Or even hunter trailing spoor
On this spot his quarry found;
And with his muskets’ thundrous roar
Stilled beating heart forever more.

Or when the snow lay all around,
The trapper passed with winter furs
Rolled up into a heaping mound
For sale or trade in nearest town.

Perhaps the currents quiet swirl
Carried raft or birch canoe.
While in the depths swift fishes stir
To rise and leap at barbed lure.

Perchance young lovers came here too
For picnics in the summer shade.
A lad his lady love to woo,
Or waning passion to renew.

And in my mind this cavalcade
Of history goes marching by;
While in a silent trance I’ve stayed
To watch the figures pass and fade.

I sit transfixed ‘neath starry sky
By the fire’s magic light.
Then will or fear averts my eyes
And lets the fading phantoms die.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

The evening sun sank red with rage
And languor lay upon my lap,
And darkness swallowed yellow haze,
Then tautened nerves the day had frayed.

The city serfs were set to snap
And swilled warm beer and sucked the air,
In undershirts or summer trap–
The tedium of dripping tap.

The street lamps twinkled blue and bare
Like beads of sweat upon the night,
And frenzied moths danced in their glare;
The painted lady flaunts her ware.

They sweltered in the August blight
And watched the street with desparate eyes
That echoed thoughts of prey in plight:
The clocks on wrists were wound drum tight.

Nights’ shadows serve what days’ despise
And change the fauna of the street,
And lend to all a dark disguise;
A distant lonely siren cries.

While twilight soothes the hot concrete
Parched lips are licked in prayer for rain,
And angry tires on pavement screech.
A thousand hearts then skip a beat.

She rises with her id restrained,
Then slowly dons the evenings’ face.
A painted smile conceals the pain,
The instincts stir inside her brain.

She turns and gowns with feline grace,
Then clouds the air with thick perfume.
And cloaks herself with webs of lace,
Then vanishes without a trace.

He stands and walks across the room.
Tall, naked, lean and tanned nut brown.
A single lamp fends off the gloom.
The silent shadows lurk and loom.

He bends and pulls his trousers on,
Admired by the full length mirror.
Taut, tapered, tight from toe to crown.
Anticipating pulses bound.

The waiting street twines joy with fear
And promises of ecstacy.
While flashing neons taunt and jeer
And lend the night garish veneer.

She stalks along a seedy strip
And stops to pull a stocking up.
A grinding motion to her hip;
The furtive glance and bitten lip.

She halts her course with pause abrupt,
Then swings the door and steps inside.
Accustomed to the light enough
She moves across the smoke filled pub.

He tenses now his quarry spied;
With fingers tight around his glass.
Then through the crowd with ease he glides
Conspicuously by her side.

Her senses tingle as they pass
And catch an inkling of design.
The shadows hide what eyes confess,
Anticipating sweet duress.

Accosted with a simple line
She turns about with feigned surprise.
An offer then to share white wine;
Unspoken promise more sublime.

Escorted to a table thus
They sit and trade false pleasantry.
Engender superficial trust;
Concealing their unbridled lust.

Nights’ fauna sense the dawn’s delay
And mix their madness with delight.
The darkened street oft blends to grey
The silent stalker and its prey.

They rise and leave into the night;
Arm and arm linked each to each…
Stark street lamps burning blue and bright,
The bitten moon a ghostly white.

Swallowed by the shadowed street
While tension mounts the eastern sky,
The aging boardwalk soon deletes
The memory of their passing feet.

The dawning finds the street awry,
Obscenely gestured and arrayed.
While twilight fingers probe and pry,
The darkest shadows fade and die.

The sunlight thunders through the shades
And beats on minds and reddened eyes;
Unmasks the nights shameless charades,
Of timeless endless masquerades.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Warm chinook come kiss the land,
Release the grip of winter’s hand.
With sweet scented breath of spring,
Warm fine fur and feathered wing;
Let surrounding forests sing.

Come to me soft winter breeze,
Rustling skirt amidst tall trees.
Pastel blue the winter sky,
Warm the eaves until they cry–
Frozen lakes and rivers sigh.

Walk on white and beckon green,
Radiant maiden seldom seen.
Gone as quickly as you come;
Golden greeting from the sun–
Ever, ever on the run.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

He walked the common way
And found endless color amidst rustic hues.
This was his youth
Which time wrestled from him
With little difficulty,
His heart in his hands.
His heedless songs rang mellodic but hollow
Through the corridors
With the dead dried ivy
Clinging to the bricks.
Then the coldness crept up his spine
And froze his blood.
His eyes narrowed to slits
And naked sweat gleamed on ivory skin,
And on dark evenings
He would hold council with the devil,
And drink his wine,
But the pen was never dipped in blood
And he never so much as fondled
The devil’s gold.

Yet time was cruel and gentle
And barren paths led to many gardens
And in golden autumn there was ripe fruit.
And one day he found an apple
Without a worm in it
And placed it on a shelf in the sun.
His mouth watered when he looked at it
Or thought of its ripe, red sweetness,
And when the sun had wizzened it
He tore it apart
And extracted the seeds from its soul
And then planted them in the desert.
And in his dreams the trees grew
And an oasis was formed,
But in the morning he awoke anew
To the tedium of coffee smells
And built his tomb
Stone by stone.

And he laughed at time for he saw
That it was merely death in disguise.
And he laughed at death for he was young
And time was on his side–
Though he always knew
That time might betray him.
And he sought the answer in his own brain
And then in the brains of others,
But whenever he looked inside
The soul would leave,
Or so it seemed,
The hollow vacant eyes
The smiles of similitude–
The minions of the mundane.
And on some afternoons or evenings
He would join the minions
And purge himself of reality
And reduce his feelings
To the depth of skin–
But the morning sun always found
A crack in the shades
And cast accusing shadows
That probed the depths of his soul.

And once he waded forth
In shallow waters
Until he had lost all sight of land
And he screamed at the heavens
As grey clouds rolled in
And hid the stars.
And amidst that shallow ocean
He drowned in loneliness.

But when he awoke he found himself
On a white pebbled beach
That appeared to be endless,
And as he walked toward the setting sun
The pulse of the surf
Slowly and surely
Eroded his every footprint,
And the memory of his passing there
Seemed a lie.
And in the rage of the evening sun
He saw the shadow of his youth
Cast behind him on the sand,
And as the purple twilight
Crept up upon the shore
The shadow was lost in the gloom of night,
And he was alone.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

In the forest deep and green
On a bed of velvet fern,
Let us lay in peace serene
Whisper not a single word.

Not a sound shall cross your lips
Or transgress the quiet there,
We will talk with fingertips
Cloistered in our emerald lair.

In the soothing silent shade
Of our hollow in the leaves,
There will be no masquerade
Just the spell that nature weaves.

You will lie there in my arms,
Dream the dreams that lovers dream,
Lost within each others charms,
Golden silence softly gleams.

And in passion pure and right
Time transcends reality,
In this haven of delight
Ours is but eternity.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

The morning sun spilled blood across the sky
And slid his golden daggers twixt the gloom,
Transfixed the purple dawn with bloodshot eye
And strode across the hills in cloak maroon.

He ran his midas fingers through the trees
And turned to diamond every drop of dew.
Strew silver from his purse in bold decree,
And drowned the moon amidst an ocean blue.

He drank the morning mist from forest glens
And feasted on the shadows of the night.
His laughter soon awoke the sleeping land
And struck it blind amidst rude splendor bright.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

You the carefree lover play
And wile away our love’s long day
As if each action were to prove
Your stolid heart immune to love,
But the day will come you’ll see
When you’ll love no one but me.

Your suitors number full a score
And who am I that could compare,
Yet with my patient love I’ll wait
And leave our future much to fate,
For the day will come you’ll see
When you’ll love no one but me.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

The mist hung on the hills like a wet silk cloak
And you and I for want of a walk set out
Along the railroad tracks, step in step, hand in hand
And listened to the crunch of wet gravel and sand
Saying few words for there was understanding,
While in the distance the river meandering
Beckoned us to follow to some sheltered spot
To leave the dreariness that the rain had brought.

And those soft sad eyes made grayer by the sleet
Looked up with wet curls pressed tight against your cheek
Asking questions that I could not answer then,
So, ignorance to their probing I did pretend
And carried on though with a heavier load,
Together in this silent shrouds we strode
And I thought how strange it was that this cold wet rain
Could not quench the fire in my heart, nor ease its pain.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Do you remember one August afternoon,
Yellow and gold; the sky a turquoise bowl,
The sun with Midas fingers caressing
The room and lending it a wondrous glow?
And you and I much like children at play
While carefree smiles and laughter filled the room.
As we exchanged fond words and friendly ways
I felt immeasurably at peace with you,
And probed the depths of those dark eyes that danced
With vitality, and yet served to soothe
That inner fire that burns at the entrance
To my soul. And I thought if I should lose
Your friendship for some petty little cause
That I could not understand, or even
If grand misprison were to bring this loss,
What tragedy my heart and soul would feel.
To think that we who’ve shared so much of life
And love; had lived and loved, felt joy and fear,
And all lifes’ peace, serenity, and strife,
Could end all this amidst a flood of tears
And say good-bye; and say good-bye; good-bye?

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.