Sonnet 327

A nascent lily breaches frozen ground,
The resurrection of another year;
While dregs of winter’s plague yet here abound
A joyful pleasing chorus fills the air.
Fond hope arises earlier each day
To warm the hearts of denizens who sing
The blessing of sweet life in buoyant praise,
Quite certain of the bounty bliss shall bring.
This is the time when all thought turns to love
And so of nature, my thoughts turn to you,
Much like the minstrels in the skies above
Who pour their souls out to the ones they woo.
But I who lack their skill if not their song,
Trill out in ink a zeal, if proved, as strong.
© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 326

She was the greatest love that never was
Though often times I held her in my dreams,
And I, too shamed to plead my lonely cause,
Watched from afar, devising many schemes;
Might I one day accost her in the park
My ready gamp to shield her from the rain,
An underground where she might yet embark
Where I, the gallant, help her board a train;
Each meeting so contrived yet none thereof
While everyday my heart fair set to burst,
I never found the strength to press my love
Though in my timid mind, did what I durst.
As time begat more time, she slipped away,
Yet where she went to, none could ever say.
©Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.


The cousin of wasn’t is won’t
The sister of can’t is shan’t
The brother of couldn’t
Is clearly I wouldn’t
Though shouldn’t I’m sure is his aunt.
If you thought this silly it ‘tisn’t
If you thought this true well it ‘tain’t
That queer cousin of wasn’t
Is uncle to ‘twasn’t
And bettern’t say that he ain’t.
Now some maybe think I’ve been drinking
While others still think I’m a saint
So for those who have thunk
That I’m just a drunk
The answer lies t’wixt t’were and t’waint.
©Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 325

Her beauty was too great for words to bear,
Celestial vision bright without a peer;
What thought the common who would stop to stare
At that fair raptured blessing floating near;
Porcelain visage from shining clouds above,
Arresting eyes of pure cerulean blue,
A voice as gentle as a lulling dove –
From paradise, an angel’s billet-doux.
What prompted gods to give her robes divine
While others are but clad in common tweed?
Why is one floret blessed in blooms sublime
While others share drab blush of common weed?
What place be ours to question heaven’s grace …
When stopped to scan the wonders of that face.
© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 324

What are the best ones you’ve written, said she;
Why of course the verses mirroring you,
Prized precious runes applauding your beauty
And kind gentle sweetness that runs through and through.
You’ve flattered others in similar rhyme
Extolling their virtues, this I do know,
A lady in waiting, a knave with a line…
Is but a story that oft has been told.
Truth is a virtue that all bards know well —
By license of pen I have gilded a gaze
To ferret out graces that sight may not tell,
But never advancing nefarious ways;
Now rest assured, as words are my bond,
Come lay beside me and hear my sweet song.
© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 323

Am I so shackled here in dated rhyme,
Fair bound and trussed, by stately custom ruled,
Envying those who are tradition blind,
Pure pleasure bound and by crass chaos schooled?
Oh but the freedom of a pen unbound,
Crafting imagery in aimless cursive stream,
Painting bright scenes which in collage confound
Like baffling oddments of a drug fueled dream.
Yet what is thought unguided by a plan
If not the musings of some arcane soul,
Where mindless metaphors in endless span
Depict daft emperors bereft of clothes?
I follow proud convention but to prove
Fidelity to all I know and love.
© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 322

What of this curse that haunts the common man
Eliciting false hopes of carefree days,
Has he not through the ages endless span
Lived niggardly, bereft of pious praise?
Compelled to strive and drag life’s heavy wain,
Firm in the faith that he is more than beast
Yet humbled quite in his quotidian pain;
Meted existence naught but held in lease.
One hungered day he found some bright red fruit
Within a bowl where on was so inscribed
That he should eat as to what need would suit;
To fill it’s void, the prosperous would be plied.
Each day the void was filled with less afore
‘Til rufous hands all scrounged that earthly floor.
© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 321

There is no greater challenge than black ink
Which I now twist in lines that image you;
A simple pen in hand can make one think
And thought leads on to thoughts, as thought will do.
What portraits here to paint in cursive stroke;
What passions put to page can capture worth?
What force confined in two dimensioned yoke
Can convey grandeur that transcends all words?
Yet, humbled by your beauty I still write,
Debased by peerless virtue I transcribe,
Compelled by timeless merit I yet smite
That blank papyrus with this paltry rhyme;
Still, men of sapience that may read this praise,
Betwixt these twinings see what script decays.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 320

Those quiet moments when I hold your hand,
That gentle peace where words dare not intrude;
No human moment ever stood so grand
As in that simple lovers’ interlude;
For what to say when hearts are joined as one,
Strong, confident and ever blessed by time,
A faith as constant as the day borne sun
True knowing I am yours and you are mine.
What greater tribute to the steadfast soul
That such commitment can live life beyond,
So even when the earth reclaims her brood
The thud of dirt can never end the song;
I am so blessed, your touch alone gives proof —
Love’s simple gestures can a world so move.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 319

I saw you dancing at the Grand Rose ball
As ‘round that polished floor you swayed and swooned
Like a nascent blossom on a wind borne fall
You floated softly, blown about the room.
Never had I seen such loveliness—
Such artful motion plighted to a song,
Yet in a moment when my gaze digressed,
The music ended and the bloom was gone.
I could not find you, yes I searched in vain
Among the rouge and pink the hall adorned;
Each florets’ stem bore symbols of my pain,
Sweet haunting perfume left my soul forlorn.
Perhaps my eyes betrayed, thus so it seems…
Yet slumber closed, I dance with you in dreams.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.