Sonnet 427

On December 27, 2020January 22, 2021 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 fields there edged and trimmed by groves

To reminisce of regal mantle trains.

It folded o’er the shoulders of the hills

Where streams ran down like gilded ribbons bright

And like a brooch, a distant water mill

Did bind together all that raiment right.

So with that blazoned cloak did Winter stride

To mark his rule upon the vanquished land,

Gelid vassals in quietude decried

The cruel purpose of his cold command.

Yet serfs stayed silent, bearing yet his sting—

Fair knowing what the equinox would bring.

Sonnet 426

On December 27, 2020October 10, 2022 By Loubert S SuddabyIn PoemsLeave a comment

Here in fond hope this rhyme shall bring you fame:

No beauty from the past can rival you;

Only this hand that strives might bring you shame

Through ragged lines that he did here roughhew;

Yet whosoever writes does matter not

Save that his pen stay true to virtue named,

Nor shall a lovely gain when overwrought

For then, of question, lies all worth proclaimed.

Thus in pure truth no woman stands more blessed

By female grace in all its mortal forms,

Of this perfection, here I so address

That you not bide unto poetic norms.

Beauties of the past by gilded words be known,

But scrived in forthright lines, you stand alone.

Sonnet 425

On December 27, 2020December 30, 2020 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—

Reproach that damns sodality to shame?

What of those bonds 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 the 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.

Sonnet 424

On December 24, 2020April 20, 2021 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 quite shy of fifty rounds.

My mother, still of prime took it quite hard

Though knowing he, of 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 stayed her guiding star…

Of love and hope that would not bend or fade,

Gave every measure to outflank the bar.

No truer brace of love have I yet known —

Those gentle hands that wrung sweet life from stone.

Sonnet 423

On December 20, 2020October 10, 2022 By Loubert S SuddabyIn PoemsLeave a comment

Centuries from now bright eyes may stare amazed

At cryptic words they cannot comprehend

As Napoleon’s grenadiers once stood bemused

By Coptic etchings strafed by Nubian winds;

Perhaps of curiosity alone

They do decipher markings now unbound

And raise from dark obscurity to known

Strange writings that did every eye confound.

So from the past, a lyric lost in time,

A yearning deep that they may understand,

An earnest proffer locked in passioned rhyme,

Keen human ardor, stirred from slumbering sand.

If love still thrives, they might there muse and guess,

Of troth so bold, what could she say but yes.

Sonnet 422

On December 20, 2020October 10, 2022 By Loubert S SuddabyIn PoemsLeave a comment

What homage lies in graven granite stone,

Rough hewn with polished words to hail a life,

Where creeping vines shall cover yet anon,

Obscuring barren peace with verdant strife?

The grit of time will every marker grind

Into that sand whereof all life is made;

And vandals may there topple yet in time,

Thus so abetting brashness to abrade.

What monument may mark a mortal’s end

Extolling there all touted tribute named,

In hieroglyphs such mortal worth commend

With reach beyond this given world proclaimed?

Despite proud yearnings, every being must

Consign to fate, and so concede to dust.

Sonnet 421

On December 19, 2020February 6, 2021 By Loubert S SuddabyIn PoemsLeave a comment

That gentle love might rise from savage lust:

Confounded action ever rife with blame;

Illicit passion, rare to ever trust

For when endeavored, often leads to shame.

There of abandon when that beast is fed

And souls in quiet contemplation lie

To craft whereof that sated beast be led;

For soon grey dawn will break the blackened sky.
Though fervent flames will end in ridden ash,
Of rare therein a lonely coal may glow
And draw upon some unseen hidden cache
Of buried fuel pure fondness may bestow;
Still like a flamelet can appear true love,
Redemption bright from trespassed ruin thereof.

Sonnet 420

On December 19, 2020December 24, 2020 By Loubert S SuddabyIn PoemsLeave a comment

We are not blind yet seldom do we see

The true exquisite beauty of the rose

Self made from humble soil yet grown to be

The sweetest of the sweets a garden knows.

How can that flower from earthen dust distill

The darling perfume of a nose so rare

That it be borne by hand to love instill

As if a scent infused with heaven’s air?

So apt thereto a symbol thus of love

Where though it may enthrall us at first sight

Can long be borne by heaven’s grace above

As any token blessed by living light.

So of these thoughts, fortuity be known,

With eyes unschooled, I picked you for my own.

Sonnet 419

On December 19, 2020February 6, 2021 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,

Long ravaged by club smoke and cheap Bordeaux.

Cosmetic primers there of lines disguise

What surgeons’ steel could never quite defeat;

Those battle scars that erst did age belie,

Once scrived in blood, now plied with rouge complete.

What truth remains in that mendacious mirror

Where dreams of triumphs past lay glazed by time;

You raise your brow to make that sculpture lear

And sadly so now mock your out worn prime.

What of those many swains your mien did rule…

That Queen of Hearts, now but a jester’s fool.

I Held Her Hand

On December 19, 2020 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

With tear brimmed eyes she answered yes

No happier man

Stood 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

And all felt grand

For soon we meet again above

I held her hand.

	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: December 2020

Sonnet 427

Sonnet 426

Sonnet 425

Sonnet 424

Sonnet 423

Sonnet 422

Sonnet 421

Sonnet 420

Sonnet 419

I Held Her Hand