Sonnet 210

For I have roamed into the naked woods
Leaving stark city lights and sounds behind,
In reverent silence Nature by me stood
And lovingly there took 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 tainted, she no malice bore
To this marauder from a caustic age;
With verdant kindness yet she did implore,
That I seek truth, and action there engage.
A grim grey edifice rose in my mind;
May God forgive the nescience of mankind.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 209

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

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 208

With passing time, as beauty’s sun shall set,
No more to shine upon admiring eyes;
When voices in their dying praise forget,
How will your beauty’s precious worth survive?
Though paintings, portraits and the like may hold
Reflections of what outward worth once was,
They are but matte, where paltry truth is told,
And show no more than could a hand held glass.
These word shall therefore ever set the tone,
Affirming that a paragon once breathed
Whose timeless beauty never true 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.

Sonnet 207

That evening I sent you a white pure rose,
Well knowing that you always favored red;
Perhaps in forgiveness, I wanted 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 cause unknown 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 fool, a street, a rose, a broken heart,
A night, a moon, a pane, a shameless tart.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 206

Then by what measure do you weigh my art,
Sweet you, whose essence lives in every line?
But even as you read this, judge me not
By style, by depth, by wit, or yet by rhyme.
Though many sing proud praises, false or true,
And gifts of gilted glamour you surround,
They do but flatter here to misconstrue
That sterling truth that in my song is found.
So I, though poor in purse, yet rich in ink
Strive but to etch my name on your heart sweet,
Knowing it’s presumptuous here to think
That I, ‘gainst all your suitors might compete;
Yet, if a heart was ever won by pen,
These words with all your courters will contend.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 205

Sweet heaven! I beseech you, hear my vow,
That I shall suffer death to right the wrongs
Which caused her head to bend in shameful bow,
Before all wretched fouls 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,
Not 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 my sins atone.
Divine benevolence, please grant this stay,
While I repair my heart and souls decay.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 204

What sure sweet honor does your beauty dress,
That loveliness which captures all men’s eyes?
Yet of your value, virtue trumps the rest,
For smiles are oft but superficial guise.
Still few, if any, truly see your heart,
Ensconced within those charms your glass does show;
And though you view them, set you them 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 is perverse.
While nature’s garment often dulls with wear,
True virtue’s vestment shines forever fair.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 203

You could not twist the vine to your liking,
That vine that grew up the wall by your window;
Those glossy green leaves, ever so striking,
As were rare blossoms of pale yellow.
How it clung to the glass always amazed you,
Yet, never allowing to block out your sun,
You mangled its verdance so that it grew
At the edge of the glass, where it blocked none.
Time after time as you gazed on the world
A sprig or a sprag 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.

Dark Sight

I like to write by candle light,
When moon is 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 senses stark.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.