Sonnet 478

An anemone ensconced beneath the sea
Was lonely so he split himself in two,
Beside his mate the twain did wave in glee
Yet twixt the each the distance slowly grew.
While happy arms still waved in sweet delight
The touching hands now gently slipped apart
And what was one now seemed but two in plight
As each from each obeyed a separate heart.
Yet as they moved they flailed in happy dance
Gesticulating love or sad farewell
And whether theirs remained a strained romance
Or briny hate, no one could ever tell.
One question so did linger on the seas;
We’re they still friends, or rank anemones?

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 477

For what is love if not the sight of you,
Bright almond eyes, fair skin of lustrous dawn,
Broad gentle smile that warms hearts through and through,
Sweet voice in which all pleasing notes are found.
Lithe movements that sport female liberty
And yet a presence firm with soft command,
Proud virtue that archangels blush to see,
Compassion true that knows no finer hand.
I thank the gods that made the female form,
Then saved the best and blest it once again
Placing her by my side to take my arm,
To sing to me each day in glad refrain.
As gods permit, your beauty will live on,
A vision quite, enshrined here in my song.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 476

Ah life! The beating heart, the musing mind
And all the chaos of confusing thought
There rendered through synaptic webs entwined
That we may yet perceive what God has wrought.
Yes what we see, waved corpuscles of light
Are but reflections of reality,
As gazing in a pool where zephyrs blight
The compilation of that which we see.
All conscience locked within a cryptic brain
Of jellied porridge set sapience serene,
Whose silent machinations yet arraign
The whole summation of what senses glean.
Though what exists be rarely what we think,
We ponder on, or into darkness sink.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 475

Neither have I inclination or yet time
To screen my words for vain propriety;
Nor fear my speech be judged a heinous crime
When placed at odds with your feigned decency.
You draw yourself up at the vaguest slight
Perceived by what you deem offends your ear
And round your eyes in counterfeited fright
When jesting jabs your dignity besmears.
The world shows not you centered at the point
Where it revolves in timeless tenured turn,
Nor do its patrons wish to so anoint
Your ego, save with oils quite quick to burn.
Yea damn to hock all varlets that you see—
Spare me the trial, I’ll throw away the key.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 474

My child, do not succumb to that dark web
Where minds are tempted and true souls beguiled;
Where bits and bites gnaw promise into dread
And human decency is oft reviled.
The better part of man is lowered such
That rancor reigns upon aborning creeds,
Bright lives diminished at a simple touch
To foment angst and purse rot tyrant’s greed.
Power debases most who wield it’s mace
And few of good will their proud course maintain,
Dominion can corrupt the noblest grace
And vices’ dungeons soon all good detain.
Though thought now travels at the speed of light,
Sage judgement yet disperses wrong from right.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Friendship

Friendliness is godliness
Or so the story wends;
Where friends may raise
Their voice in praise
All hardship to contend.
When friendships sail
Still hopes prevail
That rifts may make amends,
But many see
In irony
That friend does end in end.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 473

In guilt she told him of our meetings there
Beneath the trees down by the ancient mill;
Long afternoons of summer gave no care
Nor did we heed the keen of whippoorwills.
All love is grand and stolen apples sweet;
To what is blind there add yet deaf and dumb.
No greater joy to rage in lust complete
And in soft arms exalt the rising moon.
Soon we would be together evermore,
So read the note the page boy gave to me;
I dropped that paper softly to the floor
Then swiftly packed the things that I would need.
I did not hear him knock the fatal dart —
Nor did I feel the iron pierce my heart.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 472

Time eats away the body as a blight,
Sapping man’s strength and corporal legacy;
Clouding his truths and making day his night
Til’ he repose unto eternity.
What then to say but he was flesh and blood,
Mere mortal clay unto the earth returned;
Here heaven blessed, he did but what he could
And of that reach, his gloried quest lay spurned;
Damned to that cavernous cave as feast for grubs,
Corporeal worth saponified to slime,
Vanquished by vermin, ah, now there’s the rub,
All proffered prayers quite mired well in grime.
Yet of my span though it be short or long,
You are my hope and your sweet love my song.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 471

When gods do give the choice of blade or pen
Some choose keen edge for glint of gloried steel,
Where hubris hails the vice of haughty men
To take with force what merit will not yield.
There some use ink o’er blood to stanch their rage
And fight to raise the flag they choose to bear,
In tenets sure inequity assuage
Abetting cause in murky logic clear.
Of swords and stylos good and evil sway
And who stands right or wrong mere points of view,
Where gritted time abrades and wears away
The sheen that purposed credence once imbued.
Though despots scheme believing might is right,
They best not men who know that right is might.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 470

Now madness, madness, madness rules the land,
The sun burns hotter than it has before;
Mighty glaciers weep at their last stand
As evil tempests eat away the shore.
Entire species fade into the night,
What erst was green lays razed beyond repair,
The brightest stars concede to urban blight,
And yellow skies now rule once sovereign air.
A devil that can best the plague of plagues
Holds now the world wide within his grasp
And clenching with a zealot tyrants’s rage
Seems set to have the earth breathe out its last.
At dusk the twilight rages red with sin,
As Nero’s strains hang heavy in the wind.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.