Strange symmetry, drawn from revolution,
Nameless might, ever carving us to be
Pinnacled sculptures of evolution,
Some, shaped of arid sand, some, icy sea;
Some, mountains grand, some, jungled leafy shrines,
Yet others, temperate fields and rolling hills,
Or rocky shores that marry earth and brine;
What force dictates the charters we fulfill?
Dull minions, raised from earth, to earth return,
Yet what sage pestle grates upon our form,
And for what mortar do our hearts still yearn;
What plan does Mother Earth have for her spawn?
Born but to live, and yet born but to die;
Perhaps it’s wisest never to bid why.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

When I fell to the earth,
No clouds did break my fall,
I landed on soft dirt,
And broke no bones at all.

A crowd soon gathered there,
Amazed that I survived,
A helpless child lay bare,
On that stone cold hillside.

But from whence had I come,
And who had dropped me here?
Angel or devil’s son,
Not of this earth was clear.

Yet as a child I cried,
And someone took me in;
As to my source, she lied
And raised me as her kin.

So way led onto way,
And I grew straight and strong;
She never once did say,
What I knew all along.

Yes play the part I did,
That of a human child;
To man I grew from kid,
And all I met, beguiled.

My powers I held in check,
And played the common tune,
So no one there would guess,
My mother was the moon.

But who was yet my sire?
Before this story’s done,
The heavens did conspire;
My father was the sun!

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

She had a human voice and angel eyes,
The devil’s smile her cherub face besmeared;
Drawn eyebrows arched, perpetual surprise,
Skin dun, yet smooth, much like fine linen sheer.
She lived her life but for all pleasure sweet,
No thoughts of then, or yet of ever after;
Uncorseted her breasts were lust replete,
Her warm embrace fair promised joy and laughter;
I sojourned happy once amidst her charms
And burned all promise pure beneath her gaze;
Lay rapture wracked within her silken arms,
No tenets true her whimsy could not raze;
Yet when the candied clouds above were gone,
‘Twas not but salted earth I tread upon.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

How do my words make you feel
When they run down your cheeks
Onto the page you read,
Or light up your eyes and turn
The corners of your mouth into a smile,
Tasting like hot cocoa on your tongue,
Passionate and bittersweet,
Or like a cup of jasmine that warms the heart?

How do my words make you feel,
When the nape of your neck tingles
As from bubbles in a bath
Enveloping your body and restoring your soul,
Melting the very core of your being?
Words that reverberate in your mind
Reassuring you with the sound of my voice
Telling you how beautiful you are,
And that as long as my words live,
You will never be alone.

How do my words make you feel
When they trigger sweet memories
And take you home, like the smell of slow cooked stew
On a stovetop, or cookies in the oven;
Spices in the cupboard,
The musty smells of attics crammed with ancient treasure;
Musical perfumes echoing in the drawing room,
Or scented candles burning
On a moonless night when only the stars
Are singing.

How do my words make you feel
When they wake you gently in the morning,
A distant familiar melody; a soft rain on the roof top;
Doves fluttering at the window;
Or lulling you off to sleep in a dream filled whisper
Knowing that I am next to you, that you are safe and warm,
And I remain, devoted, until death shall dim my voice;
But still these words survive
Giving you the strength to carry on without me.

How do my words make you feel
Uplifting hope like a butterfly in your heart;
My old flannel shirt warming your shoulders on a cold morning;
Words tinkling like the sound of coffee spoons
Or distant laughter in a park;
Children’s songs in play school,
Happy bells ringing with falling rice and ribbons;
Staccato words, like notes of a piano’s keys
Tapping down your spine.

How do my words make you feel
When in your heart you know they are the essence
Of my soul;
The earthly sum of all I had to give you
Wrapped up in love stained memories;
All of my promises here and beyond,
Bound up like posies given on our first date,
Held together by the pure pink bow of the first kiss;
The shy first clasp of hope filled hands,
Those soft mingling breaths sworn to be together,
Forever;
How do my words make you feel?

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Should history not be kind to words I write,
Though they be steeped in but your deepest praise,
Then I should feel that I have failed you quite,
That I lack wit, your argument to raise;
But if true beauty is a blest gestalt,
The married worth of grace with heart and soul,
What virtues then would forums here exalt,
What need for flowered words to minds cajole?
Yet write I must of your sweet measured sum,
Of your warm gaze which melts the sternest hearts,
Of smile, unbridled, which outshines the sun,
Where love and bliss, a simple touch imparts;
Thus in these words of ink I here bequeath,
That once a beauty such did live and breathe.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Go with grace dear mother,
Go with grace;
Your children all remember
That loving face.
Now is the time for slumber,
No need to strive and fight,
Go with grace dear mother,
Slip softly into night.

You gave your all dear mother,
Much more than some can say,
You showed us grace, you gave us space
And loved us every day;
But now the toil is over,
And through the world we roam,
Wherever your sweet heart is
Is where we shall call home.

Go with grace dear mother,
Go with grace;
Your children all remember
That warm embrace;
Now is the time for dreaming
About the life you lived,
And though our tears are steaming,
We wish you heavens bliss.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.