Month: December 2020

Sonnet 427

On By Loubert S SuddabyIn PoemsLeave a comment
Rich diamonds glittered on that blank white robe
Where coppice spots like ermine tails did stain,
So draped on field’s edge, hemmed by sable groves
That echoed all past regal mantle trains.
It folded o’er the shoulders of the hills
Where streams flowed forth like silver ribbons bright;
A blood red brooch—a distant water mill—
Did bind together all that raiment right.
So with that blazoned cloak did Winter stride
Proclaiming rule upon the vanquished land,
Cold vassals, hushed, endured his gelid pride,
And bore the burden of his stern command.
Yet serfs stayed silent, suffering his sting—
Prayer locked in hope that Springtide soon would sing.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 426

On By Loubert S SuddabyIn PoemsLeave a comment
By scrivened hope this rhyme would bring you fame:
No beauty now or past can rival you;
Yet this poor hand that strives might cause you shame
With ragged lines my pen has here rough-hewn.
But whosoever writes here matters not,
Save that his will stay true to virtue named,
Though highest praise by mortal men be sought
Grand words fall short where peerless worth is framed.
For in pure truth, no woman stands more blessed
By female grace in all its mortal forms,
Of this perfection, I must here attest:
You far exceed what bards have ever sworn.
Beauties of the past, by pen or paint be known—
But cast in honest strokes, you stand alone.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 425

On By Loubert S SuddabyIn PoemsLeave a comment
Where are they now, my ever present friends,
Now that my measured fortune sadly wanes;
Is this how bonhomie shall make amends—
To damn old bonds and brand them now in shame?
What of those oaths once lauded in proud praise,
By gloating guild so honored for all time,
Disparaged now by eyes that fail to raise
Where loss of lucre rivals heinous crime?
To be renamed some ‘brotherhood of purse’
Might yet reclaim some honor in rebuff
And so proclaimed, could never thus do worse
With dubious virtue salvaged from rank chuff.
Twice crushed—both chum and chattel gone—
God willing, I shall buy them back anon.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 424

On By Loubert S SuddabyIn PoemsLeave a comment
There was sadness when he passed, and too, relief:
That tortured soul set free from earthly bounds;
His visit to this world, by all counts, brief,
His exit there just shy of fifty rounds.
My mother, still in prime, took matters hard—
Full knowing he by choice was was doomed to be;
With mouths to feed, few means and little lard,
Fate cast her hapless on a savage sea.
She drew her bairn to breast and made her way;
I never knew what fixed her guiding star—
Of love and hope that would not bend or sway,
Gave every measure to outflank the bar.
No truer brace of love have I yet known—
Fair gentle hands that wrung pure life from stone.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 423

On By Loubert S SuddabyIn PoemsLeave a comment
Centuries from now shocked eyes may stare amazed
On cryptic words they cannot comprehend,
As Napoleon’s grenadiers once stood bemused
By Coptic etchings scarred by Nubian winds;
Perhaps of curiosity alone
They would decipher letters, now unbound
And raise from dark obscurity to known—
Strange writings that might probing minds astound.
So from the past, dear lyrics locked in time,
Proud yearnings deep that they might understand,
My earnest verses cast in passioned rhyme—
Sweet billet-doux soft stirred from slumbering sand…
Should love still thrive, they might there muse and say,
—His heart stayed true, but somehow lost its way.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 422

On By Loubert S SuddabyIn PoemsLeave a comment
What homage lies in graven granite stone
Smooth-etched in polished words to hail a life
Till creeping vines shall cover it anon,
Obscuring hallowed shrine in verdant strife?
The grit of age will yet such markers grind
Into the sand from which all life is made;
And vandals rude may topple them in time—
Abetting  fate’s harsh purpose to abrade.
All monuments erected meet their end
Erasing every vaunted tribute claimed;
What icons raised to mortal worth commend
Will stand to beckon heaven’s light proclaimed?
Despite proud yearnings, every being must
Consign to fate, and so concede to dust.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 421

On By Loubert S SuddabyIn PoemsLeave a comment
That gentle love might rise from savage lust—
From reckless acts here ever rife with blame;
Illicit passion, rarely blessed by trust,
When kindled thus, burns bright but ends  in shame.
Rank guilt still lingers when that beast is fed,
As souls in silent contemplation lie,
Charting the place that sated lust be led
When slate grey-dawn breaks through the blackened sky.
Such fervent flames may gutter into ash,
Still there, at times, a lonely coal may glow
And stir from depths, a long-concealed cache
Of hidden warmth that fondness may bestow;
Then from cold ash, a flame may yet appear—
As dark desire now yields to truth sincere.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 420

On By Loubert S SuddabyIn PoemsLeave a comment
So oft we gaze and seldom truly see
The sovereign beauty of a perfect rose—
Born out of humble soil, yet grown to be
The sweetest sight a cherished garden knows.
How can that flower from dust alone distill
A fragrance that no bloom can yet compare;
That emblem borne by hand, to love instill—
As though its scent were blessed with heaven’s air?
So apt a symbol is the rose for love,
Which oft enthralls the heart at just one sight
To glow as bright as paradise above,
Outshining every blossom graced by light.
No connoisseur of flowers—truth be known,
With eyes unschooled, I picked you for my own.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 419

On By Loubert S SuddabyIn PoemsLeave a comment
Like a painted madam clutching trickling sand
So does your beauty’s desperation show—
That grimaced gargoyle of a face once grand,
Ravaged by club smoke and cheap Bordeaux.
Cosmetic powders now deep lines disguise
What surgeons’ steel could never quite defeat;
Bleak battle scars of age that still defy,
The years now masked in macquillage complete.
What truth still lies in that mendacious mirror
Where dreams of glories past lay crazed by time;
An upraised brow fair makes that sculpture leer
Piteously mocking your now out worn prime.
What of those many swains your mien did rule…
Vain Queen of Hearts, now but a jester’s fool.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

I Held Her Hand

On By Loubert S SuddabyIn PoemsLeave a comment
I held her hand
She turned and kissed my cheek
And all felt grand
My heart did leap and knees felt weak
I held her hand
I held her hand
With tear brimmed eyes she answered yes
No happier man
Knelt on this earth I must confess.
I held her hand
Her eyes did open and she smiled
Her fingers fanned
Then squeezed mine tight, sweet newborn child.
I held her hand
And walked her down the aisle so proud
Another stands
To love her always there so vowed.
I held her hand
Another babe with eyes so bright
In joy commands
Her grandsire’s gaze to glow with light.
I held her hand
And said goodbye to my pure love
Yet all felt grand
For soon we meet again above
I held her hand.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.