Sonnet 441

The raven rides on wings of ebony
His blackened soul to tarnish heaven’s air,
That ragged blight that skyward eyes oft see,
Called by foul fate to feed on death’s despair.
So then this symbol dour of dark macabre
Brings thus unto the world a visage grim,
Stark images of ruin and corpses gnawed,
Tableaux of Hell in living light now limned.
A devil’s angel so beset on earth
As clever yet as any that gained flight,
Swoops down on hearts where blessed hope is dearth
And where no flower of joy may e’re see light.
Oh bird of doom leave now that graven shrine
Wherein but lies the dearest heart divine.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 440

What can we say of love, but it sustains
In shrouding darkness and in hailing light;
Where all else fails, it as a truth remains
To stay a beacon in the blackest night.
Love is the hope that guides man on his way
And gives sound purpose to his passage there;
Of love’s grand scope, no words can truly say
Though strive we must in prose, in poems and prayer.
No life more proudly served than lived in love,
No greater blessing yet has God bestowed;
Pure light eternal cast from heaven above,
To warm the mortal heart when blood runs cold.
Though happiness seems tied to earthly things;
No greater Bliss than that which true love brings.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 439

So when benevolence shall pride a king
To shun the edicts of a lordly crown,
In guilted supplication so to bring
Some wise salvation he does craft alone;
A proud belief that hectored serfs upraised
Might now rejoice, his moral worth confirmed,
Where he of shameful power now erased,
Is then with Gods of heaven set assured.
A sovereign blessed, by charity undone,
Vanquished sure as in a battle lost
As many a righteous purpose set in stone
Shall proffer bliss where Hell is but the cost.
Yes once the king of guilt, now but pride’s fool,
Held there in chains by those he once did rule.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 438

What of proud reason where we see ourselves
Not as we are but as we feign to be;
There not unto true character to delve
Where truth discerned might drop one to the knees.
While in the harshest light of morning’s glass
We primp and preen the image we behold,
But of our inward self cannot, alas
Have any vision of that truly told.
Here then awareness reft of simple truth,
Save of sopped flattery or jaundiced claim
Assumes the bastard forms that we so choose
And in blind arrogance, our virtue name.
Blessed by a mirror, outward truth appraised,
But of the soul, what insight to dispraise?

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Seasons of You

 

The winter lives in blacks and whites
The spring in pinks and blues,
The summer in warm green delight
The autumn, golden hues;
In you I see all rays of bright
And yet soft shadows too,
You wear proud colors day and night 
And every season through!

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Kaleidoscope Dreams

I kissed you in slumber my love
When you in sweet dreams did roam
With stars all a twinkling above
You made a tremulous moan
 
I stroked your dark hair and you smiled
The smile of a siren at sea
Your visage as soft as a child’s
I pondered on where you might be
 
Where do you sojourn my dearest
When moonlight swaddles your bed
There so shines your innocence clearest
As somewhere in dreamland you tread
 
Oh wish upon hope I could join you
In castles floating in air
A shining gold carriage for two
Would jauntily carry us there
 
Alone in a magical garden
In joy I would break into song
And praising in poetry ardent
Soft seranade until dawn
 
At sunrise when you awaken
Sure no one knows where you’ve been
A wink will make your heart quicken
As there of fond memories you glean
 
And so in moonlight when sleeping
May I gently hold your slight hand
To join you in reveries fleeting
And dance in kaleidoscopes grand!

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 437

The tears of winter fall upon my sill
From frozen eaves the risen sun now chides,
Retreating snow is herded into rills
Conceding ground from which the fresh blooms rise.
So sweet the perfume in the zephyrs’ arms,
So soft the blush of nascent forest leaves,
Delightful more, idyllic woodland charms
Of vernal songsters revering on the breeze.
‘Tis now as ever thoughts will turn to love
And so of you this primrose promise brings
The chorused songs of angels from above
Whose vestal  strains give all life’s spirits wings.
I see you here in each form hope commends,
A world bestirred; a love that never ends.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 436

Your eyes burn with the fire that Caesar saw,
Your lips the sweetness Paris strove to claim,
Your truth locked in the charm Napoleon wore,
Your ardor’s might Potemkin sought to tame;
No storied torch of ages holds your light
Which shines more bright than Layla’s kindled cause,
So striking Pyramus blind upon the sight
Of Thisbe’s veil draped in the lion’s jaws.
No love more real, no fervor as profound,
No moment of desire could be more grand,
No truer heart by fate did love confound,
No knight more proud has ever make this stand.
I pledge my life to you forever more,
Where proved untrue, there put me to the sword.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 435

At times I write and poetry absconds
As if bound verse were longing to be free,
And yet my pen commands that it belong
Unto some stilted hackneyed harmony.
While any scribe it seems can dash out prose
As children often crayon outside lines,
But to so yet a cogent ode compose
While keeping it within the realm of rhyme
Is still the truest challenge of the bard
To have his rune perform as pure romance;
Where every stroke like orchestrated fard
Through maquillage, drab features so enhanced;
But let me state, a thought is still a thought,
Though writ by fools, and when it rhymeth not.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.