Month: November 2020

Sonnet 414

On By Loubert S SuddabyIn Poems1 Comment
A flash of pink, and green, now gold, then white:
All bright eternal colors earth bestows,
Here spinning ever swiftly in our sight,
Thus so each season’s guidon gleams and goes.
Why must Time’s hand this spiral color wheel
Turn ever faster in a painted swirl
‘Til every hue on this great rounded reel
Must run together in a fleeting blur?
Still truth proclaims, the turning of this world
Slows every year an infinitesimal part,
But to our eyes this stands a lie fair bold
When each day meted out seems ever short.
So shifts our world by Nature’s sleight of hand,
Yet thus deceived, most find the circuit grand.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 413

On By Loubert S SuddabyIn PoemsLeave a comment
Here unabashed by deeds that bring you shame,
When all believe you lured him to your bed;
You rail aloud that he defiled your name,
Demanding that your honor rests on being wed;
Affected tears do more than stain that breast
That yielded rapture to a rake or two,
Why was not marriage then your truer quest
Where female virtue blooms but once to lose?
Is it perchance the others had no means,
No fatted purse on which pure love might grow,
No shekels sweet to further nuptial dreams
Or rank of note proud status might bestow?
You gave away your honor for a song—
And now demand a kingdom for a wrong.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 412

On By Loubert S SuddabyIn PoemsLeave a comment
And shall they laud the wonders of your name?
Only when by praising they accrue
A self-aggrandized kinship with your fame
To claim your light and gild their shadows too.
“Yes, hear it now my friend, I knew him once,
I met him, yes—met him, years ago
And he was such, or that, I can pronounce…”
Thus so the swindled tattle now may go.
Yet truth be known—they would as surely tell
A tale designed to damn you, then and there,
That you be sworn to hail as out of hell
And in your evil lives none to compare—
To resurrect or murder yet in kind,
So tongues oft see where every eye is blind.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 411

On By Loubert S SuddabyIn PoemsLeave a comment
Every atom of my being here has changed,
And yet my love for you has stayed the same;
On the four corners of this world I’ve ranged,
Yet of true heart forever, I remain.
What corpuscle then holds this lasting light
When all the dust that made me alters so?
Each day remakes me, differing ever slight,
As cracks and weathered edges here do show.
Each year this sentient soil is replaced
And I am not the man of yesterday,
Here still my heart does tremble in your grace
And love remains unchanged despite time’s sway.
Love as a truth endures, forever grand,
And being true, transcends the mortal sand.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 410

On By Loubert S SuddabyIn PoemsLeave a comment
In the scheme of life, what have you proven—
Your babe lies swaddled in a stranger’s arms;
What portion of your love is he now given;
Who weighs the worth of your maternal charms?
Each day you toil, that child, bereft of breast
Is bent in purpose by another’s mind;
His rote routines now formed of her behest
So that he follows all her codes in mime.
His changing face, his smiles, yea his first words
Do now attend indifferent eyes and ears—
While late in evenings you return from work
Too tired to play yet mock him with mute tears.
Unquestioned virtue, now vile Mammon’s slave;
And hands that rocked sweet cradles now dig graves.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 409

On By Loubert S SuddabyIn PoemsLeave a comment
Thinking again of you in haughty pride,
That you and I in love were once entwined—
Yet of that bond now severed, I deride
The faithless heart another has purloined.
Whatever was seems better not to be,
More like a tarnished trinket stripped of shine,
A tawdry trifle I shan’t care to see
Adorn in pleasure, any cloak of mine.
Yet of that bauble that was once our love,
From time to time I shall reflect thereon—
That gilt may dull upon the lightest rub
And gold proved false, ere it was even worn.
So when considering this, I say forsooth:
The thinnest gloss can hide the darkest truth.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 408

On By Loubert S SuddabyIn PoemsLeave a comment
Though you may name it so, it cannot be
For truth is firm, and eyes may yet deceive;
There shall exist but one reality—
Regardless of wild figments hope conceives.
Belief alone can never make it so,
Though hearts may wish and boldly so proclaim,
Yet facts are truths, unyielding, firm, and bold,
While others still with falsehood wrongly frame.
The brighter light shall yet illuminate
Prime tenets that dark shadow may obscure,
By reason’s lens, through lucid intellect,
We see clear proofs that ignorance may blur.
So shall we see with insight at the helm—
Pellucid worlds beyond the dullard’s realm.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 407

On By Loubert S SuddabyIn PoemsLeave a comment
Much like the sapling oak, so love has grown,
More mighty with the march of passing time,
And from those branches, other acorns sown
Give living tribute to that tree sublime.
Broad limbs upraised now thank the heaven blessed,
And bask within the warmth of heaven’s light;
Nourished by sweet Earth’s eternal breast
And sky-borne tears in joy or sorrow’s rite.
Yet when I see that glory fallen down,
Now dry of sap, compounded into clay,
Where may love’s dearest vestige still be found,
Or does that verdant light just fade away?
My gaze now rests on seedlings that portend—
That love endures and shall not ever end.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 406

On By Loubert S SuddabyIn PoemsLeave a comment
Now sixty years to heaven, plus a few,
Awash in blessings time has rendered fair,
Hoping yet that many more accrue—
Though knowing four score years is counted fair.
I muse upon full many a morning sun
That graced the passage of my winding course,
Of battles lost and hard-fought victories won
The scars well-earned for better or for worse.
Not shirking duty, I did bear the cost
Of iron will, determined to succeed
And whether triumph crowned me—or was lost,
I drew my sword with pride and took the lead.
I weathered every blow, bore every scorn—
And never rued the day that I was born.

©Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.