For I have roamed into the naked woods
Leaving stark city lights and sounds behind,
In reverent silence Nature by me stood
And gently there did take me by the hand.
I walked with her in green cathedrals great,
Then soon along sun dappled crystal springs,
Heard rocks and twigs and leaves beneath me speak,
And denizens from hallowed grottos sing.
Though urban-sullied, she no malice bore
To this marauder from a caustic age;
With verdant kindness yet she did implore,
That I seek truth, and righteous deeds engage.
From Eden blessed to shrinking sanctum shrines,
May God forgive the nescience of mankind.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

The rising sun spills gold upon my page,
Gilding the hand and pen of which does write
These words of love replete with passion’s rage,
As your celestial vision sears my sight;
Yes, blind I am with love, yet not so blind,
As not to see this fleeting, golden time,
For if we couple not, what stays behind,
What princes then remain to reign sublime?
Then come, my sweet, and drink from love’s fine cup,
Embrace my form that we two meld as one,
Proclaim our promise to the gods above,
And in short measure, here our ardor burn;
Before tomorrow’s sun shall climb on high,
So consummate mid shudder and sweet sigh!

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

With passing time, as beauty’s sun shall set,
No longer shining on admiring eyes;
When voices in their dying praise forget,
How will your beauty’s precious worth survive?
Though paintings, portraits and cool marble hold
Reflections of what outward worth once was,
They are but matte, where paltry truth is told,
And show oft less than could a hand-held glass.
May words here writ forever set the tone,
Affirming that a paragon once breathed
Whose timeless beauty never yet was shown
In man-made image or in bold decree.
So say I more, or say I more in less;
No woman lived that beauty more did bless.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

That evening I sent you a jet black rose,
Though knowing well you always favored red;
Perhaps covert unkindness bade it so
For some things seem more keen when left unsaid.
I had it delivered up to his room,
My hired sleuth assured that you’d be there;
For reasons vague I watched out in the gloom,
Gray moon a smudge, my face a moveless stare.
Two silhouettes embraced, then lights went out;
My eyes burned deep into that blackened pane—
All life, all love, all hope I cared about
Seemed in an instant gone, fair promise slain.
A street, a fool, a rose, a broken heart;
A night, a moon, a pane…a shameless tart.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Then by what measure do you weigh my art,

You, dear, whose essence lives in every line?
But even as you read this, judge me not
By style, by depth, by wit, or by my rhyme.
Though many sing proud praises, false or true,
Their gifts of gilded glamour you surround,
They do but flatter here to misconstrue
That sterling truth here in my song is found.
So I, though poor in purse, yet rich in ink
Strive just to etch my name on your heart sweet,
Presumptuous it be, perhaps, to think
That I, ‘gainst all admirers might compete;
Yet, if a heart was ever won by pen,
These words with all your suitors will contend.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sweet heaven! I beseech you, hear my vow,
That I would suffer death to right the wrongs
Which caused her head to hang in shameful bow,
Ere all my wretched sins I could amend.
Oh does it pain me that her heart should grieve,
Or that her mind should dwell on my deceit;
For what am I if she should choose to leave,
Naught but an empty vessel, drained complete.
Then hear my pleas and give me thus the strength
To beg forgiveness with so sure a tone,
That I may mount a broad and blessed defense,
Win back her love, and for black rot atone.
Divine benevolence, please grant this stay,
While I repair my heart and soul’s decay.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

What noble honor does your beauty dress,
That loveliness which dazzles all men’s eyes?
Yet of your blessings, virtue tops the rest,
For smiles are oft but superficial guise.
Still few, if any, truly see your heart,
Ensconced behind the charms your mirror shows;
And though you see them, set them all apart,
As if they were imaginary clothes.
True elegance is that which lies within,
And is the essence of all human worth;
For those that prize prinked opalescent skin,
Their measure of true merit seems perverse.
While nature’s garment often dulls with wear,
True virtue’s vestment shines forever fair.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

You could not twist the vine to your liking,
That vine that climbed the wall beside your window;
Those mottled green leaves, ever so striking,
Bearing sparse blossoms of pale gaunt yellow.
How it clung to your glass always amazed you,
Yet, never allowed it to block out your sun,
You mangled its verdance so that it grew
At the edge of the pane, where it blocked none.
Time after time as you gazed on the world
A sprig or a spray seemed to pop in your way,
A green leafy flag so brazen, unfurled,
Not long to blemish—or darken your day…
Stands now a lone gravestone, weathered with time,
Grey faded etchings, now covered in vine.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

,girl silly, backwards is poem This
said daughter my to I
;again look just, not it’s no, Dad
!read it’s how on Depends

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

I like to write by candle light,
When Luna’s ripe and round;
There visions dance before my sight,
And fancies fair abound.

When shadows wrap my shoulders bare,
And all the world’s asleep,
I see with view beyond compare,
Despite the shadows deep.

It is such pleasant irony,
Bright scenes here drawn from dark;
But when the sun sinks in the sea,
I see with vision stark.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.