Month: August 2021

Sonnet 494

On By Loubert S SuddabyIn PoemsLeave a comment
If I could light a star to mark your name
It would shine brighter than all stars before
And your pure essence boast celestial fame—
A beacon bright to herald Heaven’s door.
There you would gleam more proud than Vega’s fire,
So will Arcturus pale by rayed compare;
Sirius with Capella soon conspire
While Canopus and Rigil blaze in despair.
So will your aura shame the nacreous Moon,
That her pocked countenance seek veiling cloud
While astral beings in their wonder swoon;
Telluric princess by Astraeus crowned—
There you shall reign in luminous delight,
Your peerless beauty e’er to grace the night.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 493

On By Loubert S SuddabyIn PoemsLeave a comment
Where are they now, the ones that did forebear?
Did they embrace in love?—It matters not.
What force of fate caused them to leave you there
And do they think of him that chance begot?
What hands once rocked the helpless newborn cradle?
Whose breast or bottle mollified the cries?
Who left you on the stoop beneath that steeple,
Alone and cold beneath blank heaven’s eyes?
Yet you survived against bleak biased odds
There so to thrive despite that mark of shame,
To lead the course of every bastard’s cause
And carve in stone—the wonders of your name.
On hope alone sometimes the die are cast—
Sweet life’s a gift with never why to ask.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 492

On By Loubert S SuddabyIn PoemsLeave a comment
A jeweled light upon dear beauty’s breast
Bright tears of joy from loving eyes hope-stained
Pure pride achieving honor’s greatest quest—
Sweet song of life to sing true heart’s refrain.
So beaming now she dries the drowning orbs
And with a smile that might outshine the sun
Embraces him with earnest arms out poured—
Her swelling heart full-pledged to him alone.
There he stoops down, ascending to the knee
And clasps that hand he’ll hold forever more,
Through brimming eyes eternity he sees…
As quavering voices trill at heaven’s door.
‘Will you accept this troth and be my bride?’
‘I will my love, whatever fate betide.’

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 491

On By Loubert S SuddabyIn PoemsLeave a comment
The wings of night now bring sweet Sylvia fair,
Her form pearl haloed by the silver moon,
Soft shadowed warmth assuaging every care,
Above her head—all heaven, star festooned.
God gave her beauty more than men can stand
And of that essence which I now behold,
No rapture yet imagined here as grand
As this bright angel that my arms dare hold.
No greater awe could living sense bestow,
Not heaven itself to raise such wonders high,
No glory given to enraptured souls
Could with this vision here before me vie;
So blazoned on my mind ‘til final breath—
By beauty pinioned ‘til I yield in death.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 490

On By Loubert S SuddabyIn PoemsLeave a comment
Oh how you squander beauty’s currency
Upon those lowbrow parties steeped in rum;
Where cigarettes and turbid rot-gut whiskey
Serve to glaze dull eyes and render riffraff numb.
There you, a butterfly among drab moths
That flail about fell sordid driftwood flames—
Chaotic dancers round a witches’ broth
That harkens back the stench upon the Thames.
Those riches that you bear be better spent
In flowered gardens gilded by the moon,
Where blossoms buoyed by crinoline ostent
While violins and oboes softly croon.
I pray these words may you your wealth apprise,
And of God’s gifts, a nobler plan devise.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 489

On By Loubert S SuddabyIn PoemsLeave a comment
There blown ashore, blue eyed and yellow haired—
Enchanted temptress steeped in beauty’s charms;
No wild soubrette was ever yet so fair
And I to find her now, soft in my arms.
I weep to think of that which I did take
Upon that lust limned lee kissed by the sun,
Afloat in clover by a flowered lake,
What man could yet say no? Not ever one—
Sun-sifted gold spilled out on mottled green
As raiments fell like jetsam on the sea;
There on that main, two barques, rigged rapture bound
To ever grace spiced seas of memory…
Fair winds at dawn, fate signed to drift apart,
Yet still she stays…sweet Siren of my heart.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 488

On By Loubert S SuddabyIn PoemsLeave a comment
Why labor still in this archaic art
And push by might this caber heavy pen
To etch in ink sweet musings of the heart
That they rage ever proud of words therein?
So, duty pressed to wax in flattery—
Each premised worth upon which love is bound,
Yet waning quite in fool’s idolatry
At any thought that might sweet truth confound.
Still, what of love suggests truth in a smile
Where painted countenance and lace do ply
Their weary trade to hearts and hopes beguile,
That love may soon upon the altar die?
This stylograph I wield at heavy cost,
Which, given grace, I should with candor toss.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 487

On By Loubert S SuddabyIn PoemsLeave a comment
My eyes sprang open at the thunderclap—
I reached beside and found that you were gone;
The linen cold betrayed that time had passed,
My mind yet numb—recalled no other sound.
Another flash then lit the vacant room,
The chaise lounge where you laid your clothes, now bare;
A rumbling dread soon echoed through the gloom—
I lit the candle—hoping you were there.
In haste I rose and searched with trembling light
Beneath the raging din of pelting rain,
My heart beats matched the drops in panicked plight
As ragged streaks etched anguish in my brain.
There on the table lay a shadowed note—
That cleft more keenly than a lightning bolt.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 486

On By Loubert S SuddabyIn PoemsLeave a comment
When you receive this letter I’ll be gone—
But know the blood I gave was of free will;
The battle nears its end, yet truth fair known,
Few hearts remain with boiling blood to spill.
There is no food, the water gone for days,
Proud uniforms the gauze that carnage binds;
The trenches are a muddy vermin’s maze
And young men’s whimpers haunt them like the winds:
Yet what is life if not some valiant cause,
Some distant triumph that we strive to claim?
Sound challenge that would give the mighty pause—
Where true hearts brave to bleed in freedom’s name?
Please do not shed a tear for me, don’t cry;
From first breath drawn, we are but born to die.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.