Sonnet 327

A nascent lily breaches frozen ground,
Soft resurrecting yet another year
While dregs of winter’s plague still 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 borne by 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
And oft I held her lonely in my dreams;
There I, too shamed to plead my lonely cause,
Watched from afar, full idled by my 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.

Don’t

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
The 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 born of 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 garb 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 written with glee
Applauding your beauty as sweet poems 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 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,
To craft quaint images in cursive stream,
Concocting scenes which by 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 unending span
Depicting 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
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 stroke;
What passions put to page can capture worth?
What force confined in two dimensioned yoke
Can yet convey a grandeur blessed in words?
Yet, humbled by your beauty I still write,
Debased by peerless virtue I transcribe,
Compelled by timeless merit I yet smite
That plain papyrus with this paltry rhyme;
A fool in love determined to amaze,
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 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
So like a nascent blossom’s buoyant 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 soft rouge and pinks 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.