Sonnet 556

As morning sun shall rise, so shall it set
To mete again a sweet or bitter day
And so once surely gone, it rises yet
To mark of time in single candled ways.
So measured life in darkness and in light 
Plays out in puppet shadows on a wall
As if by some mischievous manus sleight
Designed to there amuse or yet to gall.
Forever from that sconce sweet hope is shone 
So life is bourn amidst quotidian dreams,
Penumbra shadows that do wax and wane;
A trite ombromanie upon a screen.
There still we dance beneath that rising sun
As shadows prance ‘til dark of night shall come.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 555

Where rests sweet love when we impassioned are
By petty piques that dearest hearts defame
As nimbus hulks block lights of shining stars
And conjures up a dank cold chilling rain;
Soon angry waves upraised by distant fetch
Do raze their rancor on the stone cragged shore
As if dumb rocks were but a hapless wretch,
By site alone to bear that fearsome scorn.
So where hides hope when darkness damns the sun
While gales lay siege to twist and tear the trees?
There salty spume white fingers rake the strand
To mark in flotsam, scars of vain debris—
There withered hope survives to yet cling on
The stoutest stones that love lies based upon.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 554

I brought you true a bouquet of the sun
Fresh plucked from fields and ripe with heaven’s praise;
You placed them in a jar and hummed a song,
Arranging blooms beneath a happy gaze…
Then turned to me and beamed a radiant smile
That took me back to sun drenched meadows fine
Where from I’d walked that jaunty joyous mile
‘Midst orchid scents and sassy pink orpines.
I had no gifts to bring save but those flowers
But you received them as a treasure pure
And on your porch we sat and talked an hour,
Rapt poppycock and nuanced airs demure.
Of chances lost, this memory still out stands—
That I had not the strength to hold your hand.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.