Sonnet 546

There is no greater gift than but we share

 

That magic bond that often is called love,
Life’s grand elation yet beyond compare
Whose impudent portray does little prove.
Love as a sentiment needs no display
For why to strive or pledge what simply is
And truth is not made true by what we say,
Bold proof of love more how we think and live.
Thus rarely do I say I love you so
And seldom do you say you love but me,
Love’s strength is not a pompous outward show
But is an essence that we live and breathe.
No boastful show can ever love apprise;
It dwells in hearts and speaks through silent eyes.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 545

What line of mine did waken to the mind
Some gentle thought where fondness might yet dwell
To so ignite a placid heart in rhyme
That it persuade flushed lips of love to tell?
Perhaps a simple chord sparked thoughts of me,
A murmured lay that fanned a gentle flame
That then gave light where so your soul might see
A common face now blazed by flare of fame.
I do confess my words were of design
To fletch of Cupid’s shaft unerring flight
To strike in fire a golden heart sublime
That it might ever glow in ardor’s light.
Yes true, in sweetest hope I did conspire
To guide in verse that bolt of pure desire.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 544

So deemed a tawdry object there of lust
As to caress her form with hungry eyes,
The thought, the tongue, each phalanx soon to thrust
By all the wonts that pleasure may devise.
Reluctant dress hooks here the lover’s bane
Now wrenched asunder falling to the floor,
Pert pouting lips that drive the mind insane,
Lace bodice rived that loveliness outpour;
A breathless rush full crazed by passion pure,
All civil reason savaged by desire,
Base beast of ages raging to procure
It’s fill of flesh from out that carnal mire.
The brute now sated, sapience reborn—
Bloodguilt rude stained upon that frock lain torn.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 543

What force should move that e’er I seek you so —
What piqued in me that sudden strong desire
That should broad rivers bar yet still I go,
Or trek a hundred miles and barely tire?
No obstacle could block that chosen route
Straight to your heart where sings the golden bird
Ensconcing beauty and her speechless truth,
Attainment thus, the conquest of a world!
But if by some black chance you love not me
And your sweet heart is to another given,
By blade alone I would so steel the need
To leave this life and seek a separate heaven.
Without your smile there is no morning sun,
There hope lies slain and my sad song is sung.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

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
Puff 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
Foul 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 quill 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 poise, nor yet no song
Sung here by angels heralding second days
Might 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 is 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.