Author: Loubert S Suddaby

Sonnet 590

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Born of pure love is every mother’s child;
No cradling arms were yet more soft and warm;
No greater hope than in her gentle smile—
To see her tears, no feelings more forlorn.
Of mortal essence stands no stronger bond,
No greater sacrifice of heart and soul
That one life yield until her breath be gone
So her dear brood might flourish in this world.
In all our triumphs, there we see her face;
In all our sadness, still she comforts there;
Quintessential caring, infinite grace
To guide us through both gladness and despair.
By Mother’s love, we walk no path alone—
And where she bides is ever our sweet home.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 589

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Yes you desire a child—well this I know
And wish him all the things you see in me;
But out of wedlock, should we dare to sow
A precious life yet fatherless to be…
What will you tell him when he comes of age
And asks, “Where is he now? What is he like?
Does he not love me? What’s his Christian name?
Were we not worthy he should share our life?”
Such thoughts strike like an arrow to my heart,
And yours as well, if you but think a while;
Our selfish wants need here be set apart
Serving but ill where love must bless a child.
Hope writhes in pain sometimes on better choice;
What does love gain where reason has no voice?

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 588

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The precious joys of a new found love
Can lift the spirit and delight the heart
As though a gift bestowed by heav’n above,
On opening, did ecstasy impart.
Such radiance of eye now smites the sight!
All earthly colors rich beyond compare!
All future promise, darkness dare not blight—
Wondrous gladness rising on the air!
But many prizes wear not well with time;
Fair baubles treasured soon may common grow
As every pleasure here once deemed sublime,
With daily measure, loses luster’s glow.
Gifts of gilt and glitter dull with time’s decay—
While those of merit shine more bright each day.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 587

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The human pleasures that the gods devised
Seem manifold—but when examined, few.
Borne of five senses where all minds surmise
Some grand gestalt that we imagine, true.
Here misperceptions grow in common thought
Or yet, perhaps, percipience is gamed,
For one man’s nectar is another rot—
Yet why the difference oft cannot be named.
While all can quickly find the sweet or sour,
The sharp, the dull, light, dark, a fragrant drift;
Ask then what is the one most beauteous flower
And there begins the most contentious rift.
How vast the difference that two men may see,
Of senses five … and one reality.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 586

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The female heart oft veils a bold deceit—
Yet rolls bright eyes at all who choose to vet her.
While true, both sexes will prevaricate,
Of that dark art, the gentler proves the better.
Bemoaning value based on looks alone
She nonetheless will paint and primp to flatter;
Of future beaus—character’s deemed touchstone
Yet station, berth and purse by size full matters.
Perhaps here lies why men do oft enhance
All things that bend to rank or scale or measure,
Half knowing that her under-stated stance
Is largely based on status, sway and treasure.
Of lies, by lies and for sweet lies we live—
For truth in love oft stands a paltry sieve.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 585

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Love is a promise written in thin air
Not scribed in ink nor stamped on steadfast stone,
Sweet slender lines of strength beyond compare
Outlasting vellum, slate and burnished bronze.
It is a tenet pledged on hope and time
By words dream-born in proud and earnest verse
To stay a maxim locked within the mind,
Devotion rendered, heart and soul immured.
Still what I write  for you here matters not,
Your essence shuns the reach of mortal hand
And though I strive, I ever grasp but naught—
These paltry words, as though soft writ in sand.
Love is a covenant graved in Heaven’s blue
That I here breathe—and by each breath hold true.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 584

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For I have searched the corridors of love,
Empty and cold, drab flowers on the wall;
Far still by heart, fair little left to move
And yet, more less, my soul to so enthrall.
Were I a beast of burden—or a bird…
By instinct set to prance and procreate,
Happiest in the act, not in the word
Where love lurks as but lust to satiate.
Am I a puppet drawn upon thin strings
Of acid base—Oh what an irony!
Perhaps such contradiction might yet bring
Some sane solution to my anomie—
I fear for God, by sin I here atone,
For where is she that’s meant for me alone?

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 583

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Do not apologize for the wrath of Time
For every countenance his blade shall score;
Each visage born of flesh, though once sublime,
By siege of life shall feel that ruthless sword.
What battle grand does not bestow its scars
Where staunchest ardor did by heart propel,
What greater proof of undiminished wars
Than marks recalling Caesar’s glorious hell?
For of such passage where’s the sign of strife
If cherub faces counted struggles waged,
Yet bore no badge of unforgiving fight
And how they triumphed nobly o’er that rage.
Unblemished faces here shall court despise—
True warriors seldom sport a flawless guise.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 582

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You cannot force a fancy on my mind;
Truth is the glass that shows reality,
Though critics parse the logic they may find,
There still remains one actuality.
All human fancy is subject to gloss
That’s oft by will or happenstance contrived,
Through wit alone are misperceptions tossed
For sole by reason is a proof derived.
Where once man did believe the world was flat
And that the earth was center for the sun,
Such misconceptions here now make us laugh,
While Galileo’s chains spoke truth alone—
Reason be damned, embrace the common thought;
Heretics burn that flout the orthodox!

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved

Sonnet 581

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What wealth by trade could your sweet love dispose,
Or yet, what belle usurp you as my lover?
The bond we share outshines all sovereign gold;
And finest lusts are but a paltry bother.
No earthly arms can hold the gifts we share;
No wonders of the world boast nobler cause;
No plunder of the heart could top the wares
That seem as gifts bestowed by doting gods.
Our love alone transcends all mortal worth
And by its’ truest form bests earthborn prize—
For all the fashioned bounties of this earth
Can’t dim the truth and beauty, love provides.
Though chattels oft corrupt the soul of man—
Kokoro shows love’s worth in full command.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved