Sonnet 342

On April 17, 2020May 1, 2020 By Loubert S SuddabyIn PoemsLeave a comment

Within fond dreams of immortality

There spates of reason may yet interject

Brief scenes of such abject finality

To shake the very cause of that quaint quest.

Now stands before us fearsome mighty Time,

His rusted sword still dripping with fresh blood;

Defiant, dark, delighting in foul crime,

Bellicose, bleak, belligerent and proud.

What power do we hold against such force?

What heart of flesh can here yet make a stand?

Must we now bow as slave to forgone course?

What action such could stay his cruel hand?

Of leveled sand whereto his joy may thrive,

Look on this ruin, yet truth and love survive.

Sonnet 341

On April 14, 2020May 1, 2020 By Loubert S SuddabyIn PoemsLeave a comment

I pour my passion into muted ink,

This love for you which prose cannot confine

And of this shorthand I may yet so link

Ethereal essence to sweet thoughts in time;

May worth thus captured ever live in verse

That times from now I might then choose to read

And in so doing memory there return

Unto sweet gardens that my soul does feed.

If not transcribed what ledger may I keep?

Recollection alone stands sure to fail,

Into remembrance faulty scenes may creep,

Pure recall such by time’s corruption paled.

This ardor here so marked by loving hand

Bests grander words inscribed upon the sand.

Sonnet 340

On April 13, 2020May 1, 2020 By Loubert S SuddabyIn PoemsLeave a comment

The curtain rises at the break of day,

Sweet feathered chorus rousing to the call,

An April morning, sullen cold and grey

And yet an air of spring does life enthrall;

Another scented summer lies in wait

That springtide don her peignoir pink and blue

To sleep again until drab winter’s prate

Awakens her when his ice reign is through.

Thespians of the solstice romp and go,

Soliloquies commissioned by the sun

Who orchestrates the tempo and the flow

Of every act until each set is done.

Here I, proud patron of this living art

Behold with eyes scenes best beheld by heart.

Sonnet 339

On April 13, 2020May 1, 2020 By Loubert S SuddabyIn PoemsLeave a comment

What is the worst of this vile vexing plague

That I fair choked with spittle cease to be?

Far worse that it might here yet so assail

My love that foulest fate wrest her from me;

That every virtue that I prize be lost,

That sweetest day succumb to tyrant storm,

That precious jewel into the main be tossed

And death devour the finest flower earth bore.

These are the heavy thoughts my soul to bear,

This loss far greater than the world shall know

That such a worth of every measure fair

Take leave of light and to black shadows go.

Here so I state through might of living breath;

There lurks a fate that is far worse than death.

Sonnet 338

On April 13, 2020May 1, 2020 By Loubert S SuddabyIn PoemsLeave a comment

Touch me not though my heart be inflamed-

I want you close yet ask you stay afar

For now I know our love you have defamed,

Rank foul fog now veils guiding star;

Where do I go, where do I go from here?

A course once clear now hid in darkest night,

For of a love which I once held so dear

Now stands corrupted by a loathsome blight.

How to forgive what cannot be forgot?

How might I pull this arrow from my heart

And not bleed dry in fountain of pure blood

There fading so to black as soul departs?

So quickly has this bolt turned love to hate

That I would now choose hell o’er heaven’s gate.

Sonnet 337

On April 10, 2020May 1, 2020 By Loubert S SuddabyIn PoemsLeave a comment

I did not write to win here love or like

But to in words proud passion yet implore

That you might see me in a poet’s light

And in sweet verse my soul to you out pour;

There I of meager worth beyond cavil,

Judged so by sight that gauged my lacking form,

I reached to touch you with my tattered quill

In hope that feathered vane of truth inform;

Where eyes lack wonder, what to seek in praise

That might ignite some semblance of desire,

And in such musings might such eyes there gaze

On proof in wit, faint longing to inspire?

I am not worthy, this I understand,

Yet simply state, I write therefore I am.

Killing Time

On April 10, 2020May 1, 2020 By Loubert S SuddabyIn PoemsLeave a comment

I have always been running from time

From before I was born —

After I die it won’t change

I hide from him but he always finds me

Melting my face

Weakening my bones

Painting my sable mustache grey

I wish he would leave me alone

There are greater men to haunt than me.

When I do nothing

They say I am killing time

But he does not die

I do nothing all the time

And still he thrives

Rusting the wheelbarrow

Peeling the paint off the gate

Wilting the lilies

Turning babies into old men

Pure mischief.

He should find something else to do

Like turn the sun purple

Or erase the pock marks from the moon

Make Betelgeuse a supernova

Convert the ocean into soda pop

And Antarctica to ice cream

Maybe just give us a break for a while

Say a hundred years or so

Where things might stay the same.

Do it in summer time

Or in the fall when all the leaves are golden

Nothing ages

All things chilling

No one’s time runs out

No deadlines

No time sensitive obligations

Each day the sun rises and sets

And it only rains at night

We would have the time of our lives

This time is killing me.

Sonnet 336

On April 10, 2020May 8, 2022 By Loubert S SuddabyIn PoemsLeave a comment

That you could not control me was my fault

For female wiles oft thrive on this consent

To lock up male passion in a vault

And so contrive to hide all ill intent;

Incarcerate fond love and throw the key

That love might serenade from gilded cage,

But love’s a bird that only sings when free

Languishing quite when trilling but to cadge.

It raised your ire that I not play this game,

What prize to win when you make all the rules?

For living thus does make all love a sham

And matches such are but the sport of fools.

True love is played out best in equal part,

What zeal to gain when chains restrain one heart?

Sonnet 335

On April 8, 2020May 8, 2022 By Loubert S SuddabyIn PoemsLeave a comment

All covet beauty for its lustrous power

For glamour is the monarch most men serve,

And be such reign not longer than an hour

Small fortunes paid in gold for that sweet myrrh;

Emblazoned so, the weak sex tastes of might

That has cleaved coeurs of kings no sword could slay

And even sovereigns with their glass may fight

To find reflections they would have portrayed.

A lovely face can be a regal crown

Whose sovereign shine shall yet time’s tarnish fear,

Of birthright pure, or paint, still held on loan

Wherein default may try in less a year.

Such is the paradox vanity imparts,

Where jester may yet rule as queen of hearts.

Sonnet 334

On April 7, 2020May 1, 2020 By Loubert S SuddabyIn PoemsLeave a comment

What if you were to meet Wordsworth my dear,

How would you possibly know it was he?

Perhaps you might think that his speech was quite queer

Or find his manner a quaint novelty.

Speaking of Tintern, might that be a clue,

Or his travels in France after Bastille,

His friendship with Coleridge and things they did do

To alter the landscape of odes lyrical?

The point of this rune is that we don’t know

What talent excels in the souls that we meet,

But by bending an ear we may at least show

A knowledge that worth may be hidden complete;

Yet though every heart a floret may thrill,

Clear not every bloom’s a damn daffodil!

	Steven on Sonnet 556
	julesbikepoems on Sonnet 404
	Meramolin B. on Sonnet 414
	Thalena on In Black and White
	pairunoyd on A Thought

	Steven on Sonnet 556
	julesbikepoems on Sonnet 404
	Meramolin B. on Sonnet 414
	Thalena on In Black and White
	pairunoyd on A Thought

Loubert S Suddaby poems

Month: April 2020

Sonnet 342

Sonnet 341

Sonnet 340

Sonnet 339

Sonnet 338

Sonnet 337

Killing Time

Sonnet 336

Sonnet 335

Sonnet 334