Sonnet 561

All Hallow’s Eve the mist of death descends
And spirits walk as if of mortal form,
By ghoulish shapes their presence so portends
That every soul is not of Heaven born.
There stones engraved are lit by pagan lights,
That torch of ages raised ‘fore Christ arrived—/
To show that hope shall ever best the blight,
And quietus may ne’er sweet life deride.
So of that dream believers built a cross
‘Mong other icons to assuage their fears
That relic bones be not vain earthly dross;
And yet some essence braves the vale of tears.
That darkened eve that outre vision paints
In doubts that linger on the Day of Saints.

© Loubert S. Suddaby. All Rights Reserved

Sonnet 560

Heaven is falling, so the scholars said;
By sins of man and dastard deeds defamed,
The consequence of vice all dire and dread
Complete repentance still full mired in shame.
You must obey and yield, transgress no more —
Now supplicate in penance and bow down,
Embrace your fate, prostrate, you evil whore!
Vile body owned by those who wear the crown.
What pillars have we moved to break the sky?
What acts of living now are deemed a crime?
What chains to wear no plutocrats oblige?
Why toll not bells yet for elites divine?
The tyrants’ scepter so stands gilt by fear,
Yet soon by common hands coiffed heads to bear.

© Loubert S. Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 559

A Tower of Babel reaching to the sky
Built by stout arms of proud democracy,
Invoking God though doubting hearts defy
His dictums in a vain hypocrisy.
From many, one they piped in bold decree
Yet one of many did the others rule,
By feigned inclusiveness that few could see
They played their minions as rank loathsome fools.
To further aims they would by hate divide,
Black darkness to shroud evils of their ends,
Controlling speech so none could there deride
Thin pillars high that no truth could defend.
Obedience shall gain sweet promised lands:
So states the plaque where on the rubble stands.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 558

Winter’s wrath precedes with blood splashed on the trees
And golden guilders strewn upon the ground;
There too corrupted, gentle summer’s breeze,
Erupts in gales that flays fair fortune down.
Gilt golden grain once proud, now stooked and tied,
By scythe upended, heads bowed to their fate;
The pitchfork pike and plodding wagon ride,
Condemned there to the byre beyond the gate.
Hoar frost encrusts the fields, that chainmail cloak,
Restrains in silence, fur and feathered song;
Though yet unfettered, happy sings the brook
Oblivious to cold chains he’ll wear anon.
So once again that gelid might descends
‘Til gentle Spring returns and makes amends.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 557

All is forgiven, God alone decides,
So by his will you have forsaken me;
Now grief alone shall chase a swallowed pride,
Bile’s bitterness the lingered taste to be.
We are straw dogs though feelings yet contend
Through repressed ire when fate be meted so,
Celestial decrees with wanton ends
Do blacken quite the hopes of lesser souls.
Stalk form asunder, shattered on the ground
Beneath the umbra of unquestioned might;
Frayed worthless husks that love once did impound
Now cast away forever from your sight.
Wind scattered grasses ‘neath dark clouds belie
That noble strife to seek a bluer sky.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

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 much amuse, or yet to gall.
From golden sconce forever 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 darkest night shall come.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 555

Where lies sweet love when we impassioned are
By petty piques that dearest hearts defame,
As nimbus hulks block lights of shining stars
To rouse and rile a thunder scolded rain;
Soon angry waves incensed by distant fetch
Do rage their rancor on the stone cragged shore
As if dumb rocks were but some hapless wretch,
By pure mischance to bear that fearsome scorn.
So where hides hope when darkness damns the sun
While gales lay siege to twist and tear the trees,
When salty spume white fingers rake the strand
To flay in flotsam, scars of vain debris—
There withered hope survives to yet cling on
The stoutest stones that love e’re rested on.

© 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 vase 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 shall outstand—
That I had not the strength to take your hand.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.


So she was fallen in the night,
By limbs now wizened there betrayed;
A tired heart bereft of might,
A body beaten, time decayed.
Did she perhaps call out my name
That I return the help she gave
For but to render there the same,
I might have eased her to the grave.
But I was many miles gone
With arms too short to reach her hand,
The love and life that she did spawn
Now wandered in a foreign land.
Perhaps she knew I loved her more
Than sons have ever loved a grace
And from my breast sweet passion tore
The wish that I had seen her face,
And told her in that fading light
That all she did was good and right.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 553

So do I love you now, as ever, more
And nay, it matters not if you love me
For unrequited yet I bear the scorn—
So indivisible this pledge to thee.
Here bid me leave and heavy I shall go,
Tell me stay, and happy I rejoice;
To love’s command my future I bestow
So be that power in your darling voice.
Love’s grace is not contingent on a plan
Nor does it bide upon some sole decree,
It is a force ethereal and grand
That binds like souls in peerless harmony;
By word alone I here so live or die:
Love is to be, and never wonder why.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.