Sonnet 688

I shall never be free, no never free
For on that broad horizon I still see you;
Full purpose bound, obsessed, yea hopelessly,
All sails unfurled upon that white-capped blue;
Lashed to the bowsprit, prisoner of your eyes,
Your silken hair, your smile, your lips—those hips.
The best the female form could e’er comprise,
Your voice alone, the death of mighty ships…
Brave sailors driven mad by songs so sweet
That into anfractuous froth they soar
To find fair sea girls hidden in the deep,
Still bearing smiles when they wash up on shore.
I should join them, before I run aground—
Screaming that I love you; and then drown.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 687

Ah, the friend; comrade of the lucky few
Who stays the steady, hardship to contend
And shares of hopes and dreams—a drink or two;
Companion at the ready to attend…
All forms of feasts and festivals at hand,
A sidekick in the pleasured acts of play,
To echo every boast that you might land,
And cheer each jest with laughter, lightly staid.
How rare the depths of thought assess such bonds
Or asks what ropes or threads so strongly bind?
The heart that bides in weather when its calm—
Yet in a storm, seems nowhere there to find.
Yea, though my mates will oft abscond in rain;
When sun arrives, I buy them back again.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 686

So much of life is serendipity
That field where wayward deities still play,
Meting out their strange felicity
In fanciful and unexpected ways.
An apple falling from a laden branch;
A bath beset by water overflowed;
The scars of cowpox on a milkmaid’s hands;
Blue streaks of mold on Petri dishes old;
Fortuity is more than whims of gods—
In chance alone, few miracles are seen,
Sagacious minds perceive the seeming odd
As truths once veiled, now lit in sudden gleam.
Where one may see a stick of little worth—
Another sees a pry to move an earth.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.