Sonnet 259

Here beauty lies beneath a slab of stone
To rest in dreams and in sweet memory
And though I know her spirit has now flown,
I kneel and feel her presence next to me;
Within my mind she’ll stay forever young
And as so planned, live always by my side;
Together we will stay a precious one
And she will ever in my heart abide.
Scrived rock stays blank as tears spill down like rain,
Fond thoughts do warm, yet earth remains so cold;
I bow my head, I cannot stand the pain;
If but dear god would take me to his fold.
How can I face the world without her love?
Where lies the mercy of the one above?

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 258

You said you must go to him; I said go
For he professed some hour of dire need
And leave you did, to save his mortal soul,
Some curious bond to him you did not cede;
An empty moment later you were gone
Yet from that silence came a deafening roar,
No need to ponder how, why or whereupon,
Whatever love there was, was there no more.
You love not me, yet how we came to be
Is so unclear; you left his bed and board
For arms sincere, some words as such, your plea
To a wounded heart that now believes no words.
Not but pity, you quipped upon return;
Goodbye I said, compassion I must learn.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 257

I flipped a silver coin into the air
Deciding thus upon which road to take,
That shining disc to mitigate the dare
Of walking past your house and garden gate;
For many months our hearts had been estranged
But your place lay en route to village pier
And my desire not more than to arrange
Swift passage to a land away from here.
Perhaps I might accost to say goodbye,
Perhaps I might a deafened ear so feign,
Perhaps a sullen tear in your sweet eye
Might lead you there into my arms again;
The coin flies up, I catch and hold in dread
That in my palm shall lie a tail or head.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 256

What does she see in me with those sweet eyes
For I’m not more than but a beggar born;
What favored calculations could comprise
Her musings on my worth, thoughts not forlorn?
Perhaps not more than she should pity me-
A mongrel mutt left on the street to fend,
And of her kindness, here my bounty be
Thus I her interest but for guilt contend.
No! High compassion would not give her heart
To some sad wretch in need of charity,
Nor does her deep affection here comport
With action based in broad philanthropy.
I am quite sure she loves but me alone
And I a pauper now upon a throne!

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 255

Apart from breathing, how gain you respect
Above that which low life forms should possess?
Unto your passage here, what laurels bedeck
Triumphs composed of honest wit and sweat?
All wealth accrued through ill begotten gain,
All merit worn so weaved from black deceit,
All pleasure buoyed by other people’s pain,
All efforts glazed with greasy greed replete.
Scurvy dung beetle metering out it’s time
Each day that ball of refuse larger grows;
Living off earth’s dirt and filth and grime,
Prisoner of the only life it knows.
If there be gods, one day a gracious step
Shall crush that bug so it no more beget.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 254

The mortal soul must pass, yes this I know
But none have yet returned to truly tell
What vehicle of transit took them so
Or if their final stop was heaven or hell.
Yes many claim of voices heard in dreams,
Fantastic phantoms seen in seance rooms,
Strange visitations witnessed ‘neath moon beams
Or apparitions wandering in the gloom;
The only thing that’s sure is here and now,
That in my arms your blessed truth I hold,
That we have lived a life in total love
And etched our history in a book of gold.
Of what’s to come, I’ll say I have no fear;
Where love shall lead, I’m sure we’ll both be there.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 253

How cruel is love to lovers far apart
Though they recline beneath the self same moon?
Sad tears now staid from whence they did depart,
Soft aching in their hearts remains a moan;
Love knows not time or distance yet restrains
The greatest joy unto propinquity;
Though metered not in miles, such miles contain
Abject measures of a suitor’s misery.
True love can nullify both space and time
Where lesser love may find a bridge too far,
And for some lovers, absence is a crime
Yet to the staunch dims not that steadfast star.
From clouds appears the moon and she does smile,
There salving pained partition for a while.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 252

Her looks did kill me, and I was so slain
Though love not hatred was the arrow there,
I clutched my virtual breast, as if to feign
A mortal wound had spilled blood with a stare;
Perhaps she saw the pallor in my face
Heme drained, in pain, beneath the victor’s gaze,
I bowed my head as though in sad disgrace
Though truth be known, my spirit was upraised;
But die I did, and I surrendered sweet,
Both heart and soul into her loving arms;
Her mouth upon my mouth restored life’s beat
And I recovered full, quite free from harm.
From time to time, afflictions do return,
Her lips touch mine, and frailty does adjourn.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 251

She was at once, my literary Rose,
A blossom bright on that scholastic Moore,
Blank upland plain where only weeds might grow
If unattended by staunch guidance sure;
A clod on that grey heath selected thus
Enriched with seeds of knowledge to inspire,
Watered there with drops of purposed trust
That from hard clay a mighty arbre aspire.
As gardens may outlast the gardener,
As seeds fair sown may grace perennial time,
So may the gift of knowledge there confer
A vision of the world that reigns sublime;
In reverent ink, a tribute to a flower
That blessed the earth, if only for an hour.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 250

What part of beauty may the common shame
There with a tongue not soured by jealousy?
What part of her sweet form should bear the blame
Of striking sight with matchless harmony?
No rose as known did choose her blessed scent
Or yet the richness of her love splashed red;
The countenance of blooms is heaven lent
And on ethereal mist such charms dispread.
Yet lesser blossoms oft resent the sight
Of flawless florets that attract all eyes,
Eschewing praise, they may quite damn with blight
And in so doing spoil all beauty’s cause.
Rare beauty is a gift that god’s bestow,
And spite a canker that most flowers know.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.