Ode to Humor

Yes, she was quite skeptical,
I saw through my spectacle,
Yet still I wrote,
To get her goat,
And pen words respectable.

I tried antithetical,
And verged on polemical,
But still she frowned,
To bring me down,
And claimed it expectable.

So then I tried notable,
Though aimed for collectible,
That made her laugh
And take a bath;
I strove for correctable.

My ego susceptible,
To barbs so adjectival,
I took my pen,
Once more began,
An ode dialectical.

Approval undetectable,
Or praise non selectable,
She seemed to sink,
My words of ink…
Raised eyebrow conjectural.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 218

Am I now married to your willful praise,
That in each word I seek some paltry gain?
I supplicate for eyebrows not to raise,
Averting shadowed frowns that might cause pain.
My heart, served on a platter, unrequited;
Assiduous mind, attuned to your desire,
My adulation for you, ever slighted;
My hands, slave to your labors, never tire.
What fate awaits this prisoner of love,
That in your service, seems forever bound,
Unto your stolid heart what must I prove,
When in your hallowed crypt my love is found?
To love so much is not to seek a cause;
For you my love, I bear this solemn cross.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 217

Wicked, in the dead of night, I saw your smile,
Yawning wide, breathing poison on my soul,
And I, frozen in fear, like a frightened child,
Transfixed by demon eyes of burning coal.
Yes, still you haunt me on these moonless nights
When I’m alone, afloat on tranquil dreams;
When not a ray of stars does there belight
These steadfast windows, etched by silent screams.
Oh, darkness deeper than the pits of hell,
Those Stygian shadows which ensconce your heart,
What evil form does your rank will compel
To stalk me still, though we lay long apart.
Yes once this fool embraced a heart of stone;
Black blunder brief……forever to atone.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Spring Joy

It is spring time,
Time to sing time,
Let’s have a fling in May.

It’s time for love,
The sky above,
Will lift our hearts in play.

It is spring time,
Lovely spring time,
Let laughter ring each day.

Sweet blossoms grow,
Adieu to snow,
Be happy and be gay!

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 216

Sweet robin red breast, harbinger of spring,
Raise up your voice and to the heavens call,
That your dear mate may hear the love you bring
And music such, stark dormant earth enthrall.
Your voice awakes the slumb’ring sprigs of May,
Imbues a blush of envy to buff hills,
As if each note your precious throat may say
Adds dabs of color to drab winter’s twill.
So is it now as it was times gone by,
A joyous lover paints the world in song,
As if his brush of love could gloss the sky
And his blithe trill could right each earthly wrong.
Sweet robin sing, and here your heart outpour!
That every brumal heart might spring adore.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.