Sonnet 367

Born of false rib is woman, spiteful,
Mean, where often scornful jealousy abounds;
Mawkish and manipulative, guileful,
Assured success in victim hood is found;
Triumph denied — why by the world oppressed!
Piqued to be judged by beauty’s breath alone,
Yet then to don hypocrisy’s finest dress
And paint a face that mocks the saddest clown.
Duplicity of heart to weave wild schemes
Where poison, lies and bitchery oft dwells,
Then to drift off in princess coddled dreams…
Where regal frown can conjure living hell;
And as you read, you roll your eyes again,
As I in cursive scrive your living name.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 366

The colors of your youth will one day fade
And mark the abdication of your power;
That scepter smile that once your man slaves bade
To tend upon your ever waking hour—
All this shall pass, fumata on the wind,
A minute here, another minute gone
With musings mixed, no providence to bring
Save hollow conquests etched on crumbling throne.
How many consort princes have bowed down
And found their wanton wishes rubbled quite?
Ignominious passage climaxed by a frown,
A day of splendor lost in blackest night.
And when the final light of beauty dies,
What might remains, sans supplicating eyes?

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 365

There is a pleasure in the naked woods
Within whose depths no equal can be found,
Senses assailed by everything that’s good,
A place where peace and harmony abound.
Confined amidst the rawest smells of earth
There spawned to draw the sweetest of sweet breaths;
Hallowed cathedrals where confirmed at birth
Heavens’ sustenance first drawn by living breasts.
Dear Mother Earth, forgive me, I have sinned
And shed upon you tears of acid rain,
Pillaged with pride, prejudice and vile greed
And sold my soul for stolen wealth profaned;
Woe that my fall from promise was so great
Or that fervent redemption be too late.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 364

It is a fact of beauty men perceive 
Unto each eye where awed perfection’s found
A vision changed so smitten heart receives 
A sight that may another soul confound.
In this resides a mystery of love
Where truth and beauty may at once be played
That every yearning heart may find its’ dove
And so beguiled, rejoice, all doubt waylaid.
Such is the judgement of two souls besot
That in each other’s arms no fault to find
Or if acknowledged, ever quick forgot
As if hypnotic forces made them blind.
I look at you and you do look at me
Surfeit of folly, charmed by what we see.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 363

Blood, sweat and bronze and hooves on grinding stone,
So of this strife were ancient empires born-
Yet of such quested might, where have they gone?
Rubbled  to lines in some forgotten poem.
From fearsome king to foot note leather bound,
A weathered chronicle now locked in lines
Whose song did once fair boast a thousand years
Here shelves in dust, dry parchment now confined.
Is this the fate the mighty to befall
Yes once upon a time, once long ago
A ruler deft of sword did govern all,
His story scribed in righteous blood there strown.
A crumbled monument marks his command,
Raised fist askew, half buried in the sand.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Devil to Pay

Get me through the day, O Lord
The seas have gone awry,
Three men have vanished overboard
And waves are two masts high.
The sky now scowls an angry black
And lightening scars his face,
The wind does vary his attack
But blows a fearsome pace.
Frenetic sea fanged mountain crests
Rise up upon each side,
Then yawning so to heart arrest
Dark gorges open wide.
One minute seems we go straight up,
Another we face down,
An extra push then we breakup
And we shall surely drown.
My stomach spent its’ heaving job
And brine stings red each eye,
I hug the stay and pray to god
For we seem set to die.
Where does the grace of heaven go
When ocean furies rage,
Of plank and pitch each sailor knows
Is paid the devils’ wage.
There strafed by wind and flogged by wave
I raise my weary head
And see the tall masts’ royal yard
Against wroth sky of dread.
It was a sign I’d yearned to see,
That cross from out the storm,
I saw tomorrow where I’d be,
I knew that I’d be home.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.