Sonnet 215

In truth, you would beseech me endlessly,
And evermore heap guilt upon my breast.
A child of love you wished to thus conceive,
A secret trust that no one here might guess.
No obligation, none, you staunch did swear-
No ties, no times or labors to confound;
Just you, your child, and hope to here forbear,
And I a memory lost, my life unbound.
No simple matter to unyoke a heart,
And so to leave a shackled soul to roam;
Though I, in pleasured moment play my part,
Yet there condemn my conscience to a tomb.
A life so precious must spring forth from love,
Or I the dastard left, with naught to prove.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

The Empress’s Clothes

A woman’s geography
Is considered pornography
So everywhere that she goes.

She’s constrained unto modesty
So many times all that we see
Is face, fingers, hands, arms and toes.

A blatant indignity
At least at the beach where might be-
A veritable lacking of robes.

Where once that ‘don’t look at me’
Embraces hypocrisy-
Most everything hidden now shows.

It would seem then inequity
Or at least rank false piety…
For the empress sometimes has clothes.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 214

What is true love? Perhaps not ever after;
Does it survive beyond the beating heart?
When souls dissolve into thin vapored matter
Does love so tarry or with souls depart?
What essence yet lives on in memory
To tempt sweet tears or smiles thought may bring,
And when dear voices into darkness flee,
What forces raise their echoes on the wind?
Does love then fade like music in a room
Or yet like perfume on a bridal gown,
Evanesce as light trapped in a tomb
Or wane like haunting bagpipe dirges blown?
In hope love lingers ever and beyond,
So says my prayers here captured in this song.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 213

I remember us speaking when you returned,
Yet we spoke not of your most rank deceit,
Preferring platitudes as if we’d learned
That biting rancour thrives on harsh critique.
Deft words did probe my heart as if to find
Perhaps an ember left in ashes grey,
A little spark or glow love left behind,
Sweet breaths unto a flame might there parlay.
Puffery was wasted, the hearth stayed cold;
Stone cold, without a glim of hope afore,
And where once smarm could rattle dying coals
Into a raging pyre; now here no more.
This love, black cinders where no Phoenix lives:
Five hundred years or more could not forgive.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 212

These pleasures of the flesh, my soul decry,
Yet powerless am I to thwart their throes;
And of us two, which one shall here decide
To honor promise and make lust our foe?
All wrongs seem right when you are in my arms;
What truthful vows can we not thus amend?
Proud passion brief, wherein does lie the harm
If on the morrow we to truth commend?
My hunger for your body grates my soul;
Your lips inflame me with a madness sweet;
Your warm caresses all my heart cajole,
All mortal reason vanquished here complete.
No gods or demons could this fervor quell;
As we assail the very gates of hell.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 211

Most mortal prayers will lose their way to heaven
But not the one that brought you here to me,
Those silent moments to which thoughts be given
Were filled with orisons of love to be.
You by my side, at vespers, most requested,
In earnest hope if not in plenitude;
Each evensong my faith in God so tested,
That aching heart soon fill with gratitude.
Now still I pray but with a muted ardor,
More oft in thanks for all I have received;
This prize so great, what more could one man garner,
You in my arms, no bounty could exceed.
Matins now find me thankful for each day,
Though God decides, may this forever stay.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.