Sonnet 414

On November 30, 2020April 20, 2021 By Loubert S SuddabyIn Poems1 Comment

A flash of pink, and green, now gold, then white:

All these perennial colors earth bestows,

Here spinning ever swiftly in our sight,

Thus so each season’s guidon gleams and goes.

Why does the hand of Time, this color wheel

Turn ever faster in a painted whirl

‘Til every hue on this great rounded reel

Must run together in a passioned blur?

Still truth does tell, the turning of this world

Slows every year an infinitesimal part,

But to our eyes this seems a lie fair bold

When every meted day grows ever short.

So changes then our world by sleight of hand,

Yet thus deceived, most find the circuit grand.

Sonnet 413

On November 28, 2020November 30, 2020 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 redress claim the marriage stead;

Affected tears do more than stain that breast

That has borne pleasure to a rake or two,

So why has not the former been your quest

Where female virtue hails but once to lose?

Is it perchance the others had no means,

No well-fixed 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.

Sonnet 412

On November 22, 2020December 13, 2020 By Loubert S SuddabyIn PoemsLeave a comment

And shall they laud the wonders of your name?

Only when by praising they accrue

Self-aggrandizing kinship with your fame

Where they might of your essence self imbue.

Yes, hear it now my friend, I knew him once,

I met him then, yea many years ago

And he was (this or that) I can pronounce:

Thus so the swindled tattle now may go.

Yet truth fair known, they would as surely tell

A story that would so denounce you there,

That you be sworn to truly hail from hell

And of your evil, there be no compare.

To resurrect or murder yet in kind,

So tongues oft see where every eye is blind.

Sonnet 411

On November 22, 2020December 8, 2020 By Loubert S SuddabyIn PoemsLeave a comment

Every atom of my being here has changed,

And yet my love for you remains the same;

On the four corners of this world I’ve ranged,

Yet no love for another, you defames.

What corpuscle then holds this lasting light

When all the dust that made me alters so?

Each day that remake differs ever slight,

As cracks and weathered edges here do show.

Each year this sentient soil is so replaced

And I am not the man of yesterday,

Here still my heart may 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.

Sonnet 410

On November 22, 2020August 26, 2022 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;

And of lost mother’s love, what part is shriven,

Who weighs the worth of your maternal charms?

Each day you toil, that child, bereft of breast

Is shaped in purpose by another’s mind;

His rote routines now formed of her behest

So he may follow all her proofs in mime.

His changing face and smile, yea his first words

Each day do but reward dull eye and ear,

While late in evenings you return from work

Too tired to play, and mock him with a tear.

What pompous virtue, love in wooden staves,

Where hands that once rocked cradles now dig graves.

Sonnet 409

On November 15, 2020August 26, 2022 By Loubert S SuddabyIn PoemsLeave a comment

Thinking now of you again in happy pride,

That you and I in love were once conjoined

And of that union now, I shan’t deride

Or yet that heart, another has purloined.

What ever was now seems not meant to be,

More like a tarnished trinket lost of shine,

One I should never hence be want 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 there on

That gilt can so be lost on simple rub

And that deemed gold, debased while barely worn.

So when considering this, I say forsooth!

The thinnest gloss can hide the darkest truth.

In Black and White

On November 15, 2020December 10, 2022 By Loubert S SuddabyIn Poems1 Comment

I left it all on paper,

All that’s ink that is;

The rest is purely vapor,

Surely no one’s biz.‘Twasn’t from the heart at all,

Seldom ever is,

But somewhere in that neural sprawl,

Gleams a proof that lives.

Sonnet 408

On November 15, 2020October 10, 2022 By Loubert S SuddabyIn PoemsLeave a comment

Although you call it thus, it cannot be

And of sound truth, perhaps your eyes deceive,

For there is but just one reality

Regardless of what figments thoughts conceive.

Belief alone has never made things so,

Although a heart may wish and thus acclaim,

But facts are facts and ever will be, though,

Others may of falsehood wrongly blame.

The brighter light can so illuminate

Pure elements that shadow may obscure,

So may we say of sound intelligence

That it perceives as clear what other blur.

There to discover by sound thought steered helm

Pellucid worlds beyond the dullard’s realm.

Sonnet 407

On November 15, 2020November 30, 2020 By Loubert S SuddabyIn PoemsLeave a comment

Much like the sapling oak, so has love grown,

More mighty with the march of menaced time,

And from those branches, other acorns sown

As living tributes to that arbre sublime.

With limbs upraised unto grand heaven, blessed

By golden rays of that celestial light,

Nourished by dear Earthen mother’s breast

And sky borne tears of joy or sadness quite.

But when I see such glory fallen down,

Now dry of sap, compounding into clay,

Wherein this vestige is sweet love now found

Or does that verdant light but fade away?

My gaze now rests on seedlings that portend;

True love yet lives and shall but rise again.

Sonnet 406

On November 1, 2020August 26, 2022 By Loubert S SuddabyIn PoemsLeave a comment

Now sixty years to heaven, plus a few,

Awash in bounty of those given there,

Hoping yet that many more accrue,

Quite knowing that four score is oft deemed fair.

Now thinking of those many morning suns

That blessed the passage of my journey’s course,

Of battles lost and triumphs that I’d won

And of scars earned for better or for worse;

Not shirking duty, I did bear the cost

Of iron will determined to succeed

And though the prize be won or sorely lost,

I proudly grasped my sword and took the lead.

I weathered every blow, bore every scorn…

And never rued the day that I was born.

	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: November 2020