When first I grasp my pen I think of you;
You are the golden image of my eye,
For yet at night your visage can shine through
The midnight of a moonless blackened sky.
You are, as now, and ever on my mind;
As if with you all happiness does dwell.
You must be sure a gift from heaven kind;
Were you to leave, this heav’n would be my hell.
So here your servant sits compelled to write,
And in so doing tries but hold you near,
And writing so is such a pleasured plight
To think mere words might keep a prize so dear.
Yet should you ask, what does this wordsmith mean?
Look in your glass, you are a poet’s dream.

©Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Perhaps but richer words should guide my pen,
Fair lofty lines that seem from heaven sent;
Enraptured with the brilliance of the sun
Yet tempered with a moonbeam’s sentiment.
Some iridescent phrase that can command
And turn at once as yet a thousand ears,
And with their stately power here commend
A glorious gift that lasts a thousand years.
This golden pen should scrive this for my love,
Yet knowing ink could ne’er describe her worth,
I meekly call to gods that dwell above-
And thank them for this angel set on earth.
Still, humblest words that spring forth from the heart,
Gift more than guilded pens could e’er impart.

©Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

This morning finds me mute and so I write;
My spirit sult and sullen as the day.
Yet with just bounty, sadly still I gripe
Of futures dreamt that wretched time way laid.
Did I but choose or was my course fair given?
Did fate or chance scratch lines upon my chart?
Will fortunes rise or yet remain unleavened?
Upon whose stage do I now rant my part?
No gods or kings have given me behest-
If traveler such, my course remains unknown.
If actor, no drab lines have I rehearsed.
If fortunes fool, the die that’s cast seems done.
Should to this journey fate remain unkind,
The greater sadness leaves my love behind.

©Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

If slandered be thy name than be it so.
Rude jealousy takes aim at higher mark.
All men of worth that know you will fair know
That knaves and fools such drivel do impart.
Black words so said or writ are easy paid,
And only suspect minds provide them worth,
And promulgating such works to whose aid?
And in whose craft does profit there gain berth?
That men of sense do know this be assured.
That truth trumps falsehood ever is the case.
In voice and action, lies will be demurred,
For truth, in time, can never be defaced.
And men of lies will ever meet defeat;
And men of virtue ever will be great.

©Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

It was not love that struck me at first sight,
Not Cupid’s dart that did arrest me there;
But something in an instant did ignite
A flame of passion that did surely flare.
And glim to conflagration grew anon
Consuming thusly reason, wit and sense.
Outshining logic which did soon abscond
And left this purblind swain in recompense.
This swain did swoon and sightless ventured forth,
Proclaimed such visions of celestial state
That sober listener not yet weighing worth,
Felt sure he must fair gaze through heaven’s gate.
That love is blind ’tis but no wonder so –
For purblind love sees not but beauty’s show.

©Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

No stronger power on earth is your dear love,
And I, its vassal, sworn to service be.
Yet not for land, nor gold, nor gifts above
Do I submit to this sweet fealty.
Still, in these lines my homage is as clear
As any oath that ever was so sworn;
And never was a pledge held yet so dear
That gods and kings all judgement may adjourn.
This love is as a passion pure and right
And in its’ service I am proud to stand.
Unto this duty I commend my life-
This vow to live until my life shall end.
By power of love I therefore crown you queen;
As in loves’ labor, ever have I been.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.