Sonnet 492

There jeweled light upon dear beauty’s breast
Bright tears of joy from loving eyes so stained
Pure pride achieving honor’s greatest quest,
Sweet song of life that sings true heart’s refrain.
So beaming now she dries the drowning orbs
And with a smile that might outshine the sun
Embraces him with gushing arms out poured
Her forthright pledge to love but him alone.
There he stoops down, ascending to the knee
And clasps that hand he’ll hold forever more,
Through brimming eyes eternity he sees,
Soft quavering voice calls now on heaven’s door.
‘Will you accept this troth and be my bride?’
‘I will my love, whatever fate betide.’

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 491

The wings of night now bring sweet Sylvia fair,
Her form light haloed by the silver moon,
Soft shadowed warmth assuaging every care,
Above her head all heaven, star festooned.
God gave her beauty more than men can stand
And of that essence which I now behold,
No rapture yet imagined here as grand
As this bright angel that my arms dare hold.
No greater gift could living sense bestow,
Not heaven itself to raise such wonders high,
No glory given to enraptured souls
Could with this vision here before me vie;
So blazoned on my mind ‘til final breath;
Here beauty pinioned ‘til I yield in death.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 490

Oh how you squander beauty’s currency
Upon those lowbrow parties steeped in rum;
Cheap cigarettes and turbid rot gut whiskey
Serve to glaze dull eyes and render riffraff numb.
There you, a butterfly among drab moths
That flail about fell sordid driftwood flames;
Chaotic dancers round a witches’ broth
That harkens back the stink upon the Thames.
Those riches that you bear be better spent
In flowered gardens gilded by the moon,
Where blossoms buoyed by crinoline ostent
While violins and oboes softly croon.
I pray these words may you your wealth apprise,
And of God’s gifts, a nobler plan devise.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 489

There blown ashore, blue eyes and yellow hair
A child temptress steeped in beauty’s charms,
No sweet soubrette was ever yet so fair
And I to find her now soft in my arms.
I weep to think of that which I did take
Upon that pleasured lee kissed by the sun,
Afloat in clover on a flowered lake,
What man could yet say no? Not ever one—
As scented gold spilled out on mottled green
Her raiments fell as jetsam on the sea
And on that main, two barques rigged rapture bound
To ever grace spiced seas of memory…
Fair winds at dawn so set to drift apart,
Still yet she stays, staunch Siren of my heart.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 488

Why for to labor in archaic art
And push with might that caber heavy pen
To skid in ink sweet musings of the heart
That they rage ever proud of words therein?
So, duty pressed to wax in flattery
Each premised worth upon which love is bound,
Yet waning quite in fool’s idolatry
At any thought that may love’s truth confound.
Still, what of love can ever said be true
Where painted countenance and lace do ply
Their time worn trade, gulled hearts to woo
That truth may soon upon the alter die?
This stylograph I wield at heavy cost,
Which, given grace, I should in candor toss.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 487

My eyes burst open at the thunder clash,
I reached beside and found that you were gone;
The linen cold revealing time had passed,
My mind yet dark recalled no other sounds.
Another flash then lit the vacant room,
The chaise lounge where you laid your clothes now bear;
As thunder’s dread now echoed through that tomb,
I lit the candle hoping you were there.
In haste I rose and searched by flickering light
Beneath the raging din of pelting rain,
My heart beats joined the drops in panicked plight 
As ragged bolts etched anguish in my brain.
There on the table lay a shadowed note
That cleft more keenly than a thunder stroke.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 486

When you receive this letter I’ll be gone—
But know the blood I gave was of free will,
The battle nears it’s end yet truth fair known,
Few men remain with boiling blood to spill.
There is no food, the water gone for days,
Proud uniforms the gauze that carnage binds;
The trenches are a muddy vermin’s maze
And young men’s whimpers haunt them like the winds:
Yet what is life if not some valiant cause,
Some proposed triumph that we strive to claim?
Sound action that would give the mighty pause,
Where true hearts brave to bleed in freedom’s name?
Please do not shed a tear for me, no do not cry;
From first breath drawn, I was but born to die.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 485

I hear him ride behind me in the dark,
The hoof beats gaining, gaining ever fast;
His black horse silhouettes at lightning’s spark
And on it’s back, the rider, shadow cast.
His form has dogged my journey since I left
And oft I see his shadow in the trees,
Sometimes so close it seems I feel his breath,
Which chills me as some frigid fetid breeze.
Undaunted still I push yet ever on,
My steed’s slick sweat reflecting bright the moon,
Reminding me his strength is nearly gone
And soon that mighty back will sway and swoon;
Then I to brave at last that fearsome knave,
Where none have yet survived his crooked blade.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 484

 

That joy of hearts, a rainbow in the sky
And of sweet minds all wonders there to see;
That visage which no dark or bright could try,
A lasting light to mock eternity.
These thoughts of love a splendored saccharine thing
That strides in beauty, though obscured by night—
A being graced with all that angels bring
Where hands fair strive to grasp truths out of sight.
More simply said, your gaze does make me smile,
And my heart quickens when I hear your name,
Your shapely form can artfully beguile
And in repose, all pious loins inflame.
Though golden voices sing of love sublime:
There you, there me, a loaf, a jug of wine.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 483

While gods have gifted me propinquity
To navigate your waters free of fare,
Still of your essence which I dream and breathe,
That heart I worship seems the less to care;
I am disbarred by social straits quite clear,
My paltry raft few white-capped waves could vie,
Yet hopes fair sails unfurl to bring me near
That I might crest some vista of your eye.
Yet how to charter here the course of love
When all before us lies vast seas unplumbed?
Your gaze upon horizons ever rove
As searching for some mighty ship to come;
And here I toss upon a cockleshell,
To rise and fall, believing love might swell.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.