Sonnet 327

A nascent lily rises from the ground,
Soft hailing thus the springtide of the year
While ruins of winter’s blight yet still abound,
Here now a pleasing chorus fills the air.
Fond hopes arising earlier each day
To warm the hearts of denizens who sing
The blessings of sweet life in buoyant praise,
Quite certain of the bounty song shall bring.
This is the time when all thought turns to love
And by such music, my mind turns to you,
Much like the minstrels borne on skies above
Who pour their souls out to the ones they woo.
But I who lack their skill if not their song,
Plead out in ink a love, if proved, more strong.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 326

She was the greatest love that never was
Though oft I held her closely in my dreams;
There too, quite shamed to plead my lonely cause,
I idled still, enmeshed in 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
And I, the gallant, help her board a train?
Each meeting so contrived yet none thereof
Could reassure that 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 of you 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,
For of that vision never stood a peer;
What thought the common who would stop to stare
At that sweet raptured spirit floating near;
Porcelain visage hued of clouds above,
Arresting eyes of pure cerulean blue,
A voice as gentle as a lulling dove –
By scribed compare, an angel’s billet-doux.
What prompted gods to give her robes divine
While others oft are clad in common tweed?
Why is one floret blessed by bloom sublime
While others share the cast of common weed?
What place be ours to question heaven’s grace …
While 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, all the proud poesies mirroring you,
Prized precious runes written with glee
Applauding your beauty as dear poems should do.
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 phrase
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 common custom ruled,
Envying those who are tradition blind,
Pure pleasure bound and by crass chaos schooled?
Oh but the freedom of a pen unbound,
To craft quaint images in cursive stream,
Concocting scenes which by collage confound
Like baffling oddments of a drug fueled dream.
Yet what stands thought unguided by a plan
If not the musings of some arcane soul,
Where mindless metaphors unending span
Depict but 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 divine praise?
Compelled to strive and drag life’s heavy wain,
Dogma assured 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
Truth etched in lines that softly 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 strokes?

What passion put to page could capture worth?
What force confined in two dimensioned yoke
Might yet convey a grandeur blessed in words?
Still, humbled by your beauty I still write,
Debased by peerless virtue I transcribe,
Compelled by timeless merit I here smite
That plain papyrus with this paltry rhyme;
A fool in love determined to court praise,
In ardor bold, but clear, bereft of ways.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 320

Those quiet moments when I hold your hand,
That darling 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 soft meld as one,
Strong, confident and ever blessed by time,
A proof as constant as the day borne sun
Full knowing I am yours and you are mine.
What greater tribute to the steadfast soul,
That proud commitment can live life beyond;
So even when the earth reclaims her brood,
The thud of dirt can never dull the song;
I am so blessed, your touch alone gives proof —
Love’s simple graces 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,
So like a nascent blossom’s buoyant fall
You floated gently,  blown about the room.
Never had I seen such loveliness—
Such artful motion melded to a song,
Yet in that 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 roses that did walls adorn;
Each florets’ smile 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.