April Adjunct

The birds now build a nest
And milk comes to the breast
The world moves on and I
Bemoan the by and by
The bees buzz on the air
The fox prepares his lair
The proud hawk floats on high
As tears rise to the eye
The buds sway on the trees
Sweet songs waft on the breeze
The whippoorwills apprise
Of some soul near demise
The clouds move gently on
And soon the spring is gone
No good to wonder why
I look at you and sigh

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 542

There is no scalpel edge, no well honed word
That cuts more deeply than incisive hate
So parting flesh unto it’s beating core
And marking scars to bear to heaven’s gate.
There is no venom that could poison so
Where but a single drop could legions raze;
No piercing eyes to run the very soul
As found within that vicious rapier gaze.
What demon now does your gaunt form possess
Where here I see the skull conform the skin,
Those bony fingers that the mace now grasps
So set to bludgeon with a fang gaped grin.
Would I have yet been blessed to see that curse,
Or more to heed, ‘for better or for worse’.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 541

So was he venerated there in death
By jealous lips that now defied all bounds,
Where by extolling merit bright in breath
Paid homage to their own gilt lofty sounds.
Speaking loudly as if the pledge so read
Bombastically ascribed proud pious praise
Yet still upon some granite to be set
To crown the hallowed plots of further graves.
They did not care for him in his brief life
Save for his lauded portion of the sun
That so eclipsed their light in darkened strife,
Or dulled the music of smug songs they’d sung.
Here still to claim some virtue of the man
Where words of him yet to themselves commend.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 540

I held the world ransom with my pen
Daring that I would soon reveal it’s sins
And bring rank faults unto the scathing scan
Of every eye that deftly truth defends.
The world laughed and said “you silly boy,
You are of lowly birth, what can you prove
And from the throng, who hears a lonely voice
That ever could dark hearts of stone so move?”
You are correct suggesting I am one —
But every line begins with just one word
And words unto more words beget a song
So sung by lips of truth ‘til all is heard.
There is no greater lever held by man,
So heed my ink and ‘give me where to stand’.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 539

What few dimensioned art could herald you,
You whose sovereign grace yet knows no bounds?
Whether plumbed by sight or weighed by virtue true,
No bottom there or scale of worth be found.
No sculpture, portrait or fine script borne praise
Could ever mark your wealth, nor yet no song
Sung here by angels heralding second days
Could more swell  breasts of hearts where you belong.
No hand of man, or still…what hand of God,
Save that which blessed your pilgrimage to earth—
Could frame a work not deemed a grand facade,
All acts so planned full mortified in mirth?
Ethereal in scope, what skill dare read;
Where every eye that stares stays so agreed.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 538

The world’s now too full of self it seems,
Material ethos worshiped like the sun;
Pride subject to false virtue there to deem
The rights of many slave but to the one.
No point of view may counter that which is
And that which is now but a point of view
Designed to close all doors where freedom lives
There to the wicked, power to accrue.
What once was right now ever seeming wrong,
What once was white now fifty shades of grey,
All words of truth full censored by the throng
With fear to throttle what the wise may say.
A Tower of Babel reaching to the skies;
Assured to court disaster and demise.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.


Sonnet 537

There is no proclaimed flower nor yet no
Ascribed weed immured by fate within it’s
Hour, adjudged by outward grace alone;
But in her scented glory yet she sits
Assessed of worth there sole by sight and smell,
Rude soiled, shamed by vermin that do crawl
Between the petals of her blossom’s shell—
To ravish, plunder or to heartless gall.
Where is the story that she proudly holds
The clods of earth protecting them from rain
Or of the nectar that sustains the fold;
Her simple essence that assuages pain,
The quiet labors which afford each breath,
Or of that form to nourish yet in death.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 536

I brusquely thrust my words into her mind
Pounding her thoughts as yet again, again,
That there her pleasured soul in wanton kind
Might give herself and to my heart remain.
That vox of primal verse beat as a drum
Long echoing base rituals of the past,
Coarse lines that public company would so deem
Licentious, lewd, lubricious, even crass.
But soft she did embrace the libertine,
And dewey-eyed she seeming understood
The discourse there that flirted nigh obscene
And so debauched, did intimate she would;
That conversation carried on past dawn
‘Til silence blessed the stains we laid upon.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 535

Should I then base love on a simple smile,
Or yet upon a twinkle of the eye;
Some artful quirk that can the heart beguile,
A testing moue upon the soul to try?
A spate of laughter floating on the air,
A graceful dally spun about the room,
A single curl of sun blessed raven hair
Or wafting scent as from a summer bloom?
Perhaps it’s all of these, or none at all;
A grand gestalt or yet some locus prime,
A fancied web there to sound wit enthrall
As so to hobble, trussed by one’s own mind?
It is but pleasured bonds that bind me so
Yet of what essence, I may never know.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.