Sonnet 405

As darkness settled slowly on the land
A ghostly moon arose in sallowed white
And blackness deep no light could countermand
Encircled flames that flickered in the night.
‘Round crackling fires did purple umbras creep
There chilling spines of those around the blaze,
So haunting souls awakened by their keep
As tongues of orange and red lapped up their gaze;
The druids bowed and bade the wicker man
Be trussed and thrown upon the raging pyre
Though none were ever certain of his crime,
Their chants rose up as human screams expired,
And shadows danced convulsing on the ground
‘Til burning coals released that spirit bound.

©Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 404

I spilled a cup of words on paper down
And watched them creep across from line to line,
I marveled how they made no single sound
Until my pen did stir them into rhyme;
And there at once they did begin to sing
Creating so the sweetest imaged tunes
And to my fancied vision thus did bring
A cabaret of song, my soul to swoon;
There pleasured musings in my mind did play,
While heart now joined the chorus of their song,
My eyes by dancing phrases were amazed,
Enthralled by wonder, my spirit danced along.
From time to time I grasp a lonely pen,
There splash some words and make them sing again.

©Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 403

As a great metaphor through prismed minds
So often are the rays of truth portrayed;
Where each to each has visions of one kind
Dispersion of life’s verities arrayed.
The visioned content of veracity
Is well dependent on which eyes there view,
Oft bolstered more by voiced tenacity
Of tenets held, that they not be impugned.
For what of hope where one sees black, one white;
The presence of all hues or none the same,
Or complicating matters, yet the blight
Of sight clear seen but knowledge quite disclaimed.
Where fact perceived is but a visioned tone,
There, as opinion, each shall clutch his own.

©Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 402

A poem, too beautiful for minds to hold;
I would not fix it thus to memory—
For then the essence of first wonder bold
Be damned unto familiarity.
What shame to so debase a beauty rare,
To simply have it hence at beck and call
And drag it forth from rote in stale compare,
To court dull ears that gods could not enthrall.
Let those sweet words remain on parchment brown
Perchance to catch an eye yet knowledge blind,
Or for my sight to simply scan anon
And raise in poignancy, dear thoughts to mind.
From time to time as not to wear the rhyme,
Enjoy the wonder of a song sublime.

©Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 401

One glorious night of heaven did entreat
My fancy to a walk beneath the stars,
Full rising moon of silver beams replete
Whose magic essence mesmerized the moors;
I looked up to that dome of diamonds bright
Where constellations twinkled tales of yore
And traced imagined etchings, light to light,
All named menageries my memory bore.
There faces of the gods looked down on me
‘Midst creatures of the past now locked in time,
But in one corner, east, above a tree
I saw your face marked out in points sublime;
Apt asterism of the one I love,
Celestial worth the gods’ by tribute prove.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 400

Come dance with me, Selena dance with me
And we will all our love the world here prove,
With heartfelt sighs and foot light liberty
As with our spirits may our bodies move.
So let me swing you high and dip you low
Then draw you close to whisper in your ear
And whirl you ‘round as arm in arm we go
Now spire you up to show we have no fear.
Let’s spin away the night and moon and stars,
Cicada songs with tunes of nightingales
Shall be our simple homespun orchestras
Until the eastern skies begin to pale;
And love soft ever as the velvet night,
So fade as one into the morning light.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 399

Were I but yet the pitch-dark crow that files
Or yet a plain drab beetle on the ground,
A golden eagle that ascends on high
Or Yeti crab upon an ocean mound;
Here still the blood of life would course my veins
Imbuing so an essence old as time
Thus where on high or yet below the main
I share a bond that no soul can decry.
A life is still a life though great or small
And though our bonds be knit by narrow strands;
Whether we run, fly, slither, swim or crawl,
All grace born of four letters in the sand.
So if these brethren vanish, n’er to see —
How ever lonely would our planet be.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 398

Blaze autumn leaves illumine things I know
But none more poignant than of passing time;
That every thing the living earth bestows
Enjoys at best a closely measured prime.
The peak of man, a many seasoned reign
Much longer than the span of scented flower
But still his pleasured essence sure to wane
And with the dregs of time so rests his hour.
What can one do but yet enjoy the bloom
That is here granted by that unseen hand;
For none it seems rejoice within the tomb
Save worms which scriptured augurs countermand.
Thus what rings true of that beyond the grave,
Does here and now fair best a promise staid?

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 397

You search your glass for shadowed yesterday
But now, of sadness, nothing can you find;
Who is that woman in the mirror you say,
Of looks so wan, pale colors worn by time?
Lackluster eyes now stare as hope bereft
On that aged rose whose petals, lost and lorn
Once graced the gardens of the fashioned best
As many gilded arms they vain adorned.
Where is that precious fragrance, where the bloom
That lured the many like drab wings to flame?
Where lies the essence that could light a room,
That tigress presence taunting to be tamed?
So stands no greater force to humble pride
Than anguished musings of when beauty died.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 396

We shared a pen as though a common voice,
For many miles did bar the touch of hand;
On sight of letter so did heart rejoice
As sure as gaining gifts from foreign lands.
I checked the post on nearly every morn
There all sweet joy presumed on paper white
And read aloud in tones to words adorn,
Your sprightly visage dancing in my sight;
As ways led to new ways and ardor waned,
The sun arose each day and birds did sing,
Thin bonds of ink that distance fairly strained
Seemed faded as wan visions they would bring.
It isn’t that I had no more to say…
But simply that my life got in the way.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.