Sonnet 394

Thus we embraced as intimates of mind,
In cursive lines each traced the other’s face;
Through paper prisms viewed our hearts in kind
While never having basked beneath shared gaze.
I fell in love through romanced sight of soul
That grew hand graven from sweet styled ink,
With words alone you did my love cajole
And of your kindness, often I did think
That two of separate peace might be so one
And of imagined voice could speak in tune
Where everything there written seemed a poem
That caused my pride and purpose so to swoon.
Each week a scented letter bore your name,
Until one final message, hope disclaimed.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 393

The forward view of life from youth is long
Bright sanguine sally assured of ample years;
From aged stance such stretch seems but a song
That lingers on the lips of those held dear.
How can the passing time our brains beguile
That years confound to weeks and weeks to days?
Would but the suffered length of lover’s miles
Contract to measured inches in these ways.
Time’s hand serves but his stingy purposed own
And rare he grants beyond four score and ten,
Bequeathing here at best on shackled loan
A bounty that will not be spent again.
I smile and gaze upon my child’s face
Where love and hope eternal, Time disgrace.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 392

Where is Sylvia? Mystic maid of time
That for a moment reigned in passion pure,
Her shining praise full eyes once deemed sublime
Yet few did see that heart of love so sure;
The last I saw her, naked ‘neath the moon…
Her silken skin bathed in a lustrous light,
Slim arms askew as in a gentle swoon,
Strawberry lips soft parted in delight….
I faded from her chamber duty bound
Not knowing when I closed that shadowed door,
That I would there my sweetest hope impound
And strive in search of truth forever more.
Though silver light may bathe all sylphs in kind—
No peace of heart until I Sylvia find.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 391

How would it bless you more if these dear words
Might linger in the misty thoughts of time,
Where those who ever do so read this verse
Shall feel your essence in each written line;
Would that they dwell not on the pen held hand
That writ this proof, save for the passion framed,
For sweet in truth, a dullard could command
Some fervent favored utterance beauty named.
In simplest sense they might my ardor note
Perhaps remarking, ‘who so drives this soul
To strive in wanting cursive and so dote
Upon some mythic maiden words can’t show’?
But even in doubt I find my saving grace
‘Mongst likened souls who’ve gazed upon that face.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 390

Rest now your eyes upon sweet Chanticleer,
That rugged shore where winds and waters greet
Intrepid souls that bear life’s pompous jeers,
Proud dauntless hearts downtrodden in defeat;
‘Tis here you’ll find light balms to wounds assuage
And ever still, sound refuge from the storm,
Though out beyond the lea, fierce battles rage,
This port of heart and hearth shall keep you warm.
Here then lift up a dram to spirits raise,
And hearten so spent voices into song
That in sound verse we bless in righteous praise
This rampart of the soul that I call home.
As long as wind and wave shall kiss this shore
So bides my essence here — forevermore.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 389

Ah Sylvia, dear nymph of gardens green
Too soon we squander all the sweets of night;
Now in the east a rim of gold is seen,
That scimitar which is a lover’s blight;
What pain to have you rise from ‘twixt my arms
To stretch and yawn and shake your sleepy head,
There so to fair awaken all your charms
But in so doing heighten partings dread.
A brief respite with you beneath the stars
Seems but a gift that is from heaven sent,
No slight of day will yet this image mar
Though memory such may seem but yearnings dreamt.
Daylong I tread as though upon the air,
For fain at dusk, I’ll hold sweet Sylvia fair.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 388

The golden light of summer’s torch succumbs
Each day retreating more to southern shore;
In marched progression, lessening the sum
Of gilded promise that the springtime bore.
Now leaving darkness longer time to play
And bold Orion stalking through the night
With club upheld in endless search for prey
And sweet Merope ever in his sight.
So Ursus Major yields to hibernate
As winter’s grip lays siege upon the land
And too does autumn’s burgeoned bounty wait
To fill the cornucopias least and grand.
Thus is it now, and ever may it be;
The sun, the earth, the stars…and you and me.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.