Sonnet 316

My silver mirror marks the scores of time,
Alabaster and gold corroded grey;
Yet in the eyes remains a light refined
The last proud vestige of youth’s brighter days.
Still in that glass a story retold there,
In lines of love and laughter, joy and strife
That chronicles a passage rich and rare,
One not to be recast though faults be rife.
Once long ago a boy did make a sword
From sticks he found upon a forest floor,
He raised it high and in soft solemn words
Pledged there to vanquish dragons, this he swore;
And demons fell each day throughout his reign,
Though darkness ever loomed, the light remained.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 315

No sonnet read or written frames your grace,
No tribute yet enshrined by mortal means
Could yet do justice to that peerless face,
Proud work of God, which paltry praise demeans;
Here I praise not, His work speaks to rare birth,
Yet still I write and so myself amaze
At poor attempt to chronicle a worth
That stands beyond the grasp of earthly ways.
Humbled quite, yet still compelled to scribe
So some soul hence might share in awed delight
And in this verse there reading, so divine
That essence that exists beyond pure sight.
What simple man so blessed would hold his sum
On seeing timeless beauty, nary one.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 314

The weight of pen in hand, that mighty sword
Whose deft sure strokes can carve a message grand,
Fair forge a country’s very will with words
Then sign a writ whereby a wretch be hanged;
A nation’s history loftily consigned,
A proclamation that can set men free,
A drafted law to have a race confined
And now a note to come have toast and tea.
To scribe the word of God in iron gall
And etch a statement to rest on the moon,
To challenge in meek words a tyrant tall
Or craft sweet rhyme to make a lover swoon.
What power immured in but a simple pen,
Here yet entrusted to the hands of men.
© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 313

What conscience lives within a woman’s breast
That she forsake a helpless human child,
And so disdain the fruit of her own flesh,
Vain action such, love’s strongest bond defiled;
A mother’s love, once pure in deed, assured,
Now doubted quite, fair whim of wicked queen,
This love once true, in tenets dark immured
For love of self alone, all else demeaned.
Hearth stones  not held by mortar lie askew
And without fire, colder yet they grow;
The heath without the sun drowns in cold dew;
Lone hearts bereft of love shall suckle woe.
An ape with babe in arms was once set free,
Climbed to great heights, then dropped it from a tree.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 312

The world is awash in poetry
Where words in seeming rhythm make their stand,
As bootless wreckage jouncing on the sea
Too few do seem of worth when they make land;
Like flotsam of the tide they lie in rune
And hinder such sweet passage on the shore,
Daft jumbled voices singing out of tune
More truth is heard in sea shells held to ear.
Yet human echoes strewn upon the beach
Do mark the musings of the common soul
And to the nomad, searching each to each,
Find relics there of happiness and woe.
In ink, therefore, I craft another dross,
And to the waves of time, this jetsam toss.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 311

What of sweet love here not by beauty borne
For still it moves those souls that cannot see,
And does not sight too oft bring beauty scorn
When vision such is tinged with jealousy?
We often hear as truth that love is blind
Or yet here too, it strikes us at first sight,
Yet words as such confound, since we may find
‘Tis truth that lends all beauty purest light.
Love visits not by beauty’s wain alone
And when she come, she steps into the heart;
Her grace, as such, by every sense bestowed,
Those seen and yet unseen, do love impart.
How love arrives is often never clear,
Yet when ensconced in hearts, is ever dear. 

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

 

Sonnet 310

I took your beauty, wove it into song,
Bejeweled it with stars of heaven above;
Exquisite so my sweetly formed sarong,
I lined it with the purest silken love.
Soft moonbeam threads around the edges sewn
Dusk’s twilight shadows dyed into the weave,
A splash of sunshine like a sash there thrown
To dapple down like golden autumn leaves;
A dove soft fabric, ethereal, feather light,
Diaphanous, much like an angel’s wing,
A chiffon cloud there shimmering in delight
With all the wonders pleasured hope may bring;
Fair raiment right, a robe beyond compare—
I see it best when you do nothing wear.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Hearts of hearts

What of these sweetest ties that bind
My heart to yours dear valentine
That our love grow and fate entwine
In tendrils true a hope divine.

While love may wax or wane in time
My love for you remains sublime
And shall not wither on the vine
For truer love you shall not find.

To waste this gift seems such a crime
So pledge your troth and here be mine
And to love’s bower we resign
In warm embrace there to recline.

As long as waters flow the Tyne
And lovers raise a glass of wine
My heart to you I shall consign
And in these words my love enshrine.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 309

Dear valentine, my sweetest valentine
The baby breaths of spring are wafting near
And I must melt that winter heart of thine
Before relentless time inters us here;
I have courted love with sweets and posies
Proffering them as gestures of romance;
When I gave tulips, you wanted roses,
Not deigning to give love but half a chance.
Still, life goes on and so is never daunted,
I know in time that you will come to see
That in my world, your grace is ever vaunted
And you’ll accept this heart I give to thee;
I love you so, each day, with every breath —
This heart consigned to you, in life and death.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 308

What is life? To feel the sun on your face
At dawn, or the softest rain on your tongue,
A lover’s embrace or your mother’s dear grace,
A walk in the woods that goes on and on;
Twinkling stars so bright on a moonless night
That fair dance with excitement and parlay
The hopes and dreams of sweet lover’s delight
To the fondness of shared wills and ways;
The warmth of the hearth, the smiles of the loved,
Precious tears for those lost souls long sailed;
Ardent prayers that have stirred the Father above
That our terrestrial passage not fail.
The truth is that life is a wondrous song
Sung by heart and soul, be it brief or long.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.