Author: Loubert S Suddaby

Sonnet 435

On By Loubert S SuddabyIn PoemsLeave a comment
At times I write and poetry absconds,
Light lilting lines that long to wander free;
The pen proclaims its phrases must belong
Unto some heavy hackneyed harmony.
While paltry poets daub their verse as prose,
Like children scrawling past their measured line,
The crux of any cogent ode composed
Is keeping rhyme where form and sense entwine.
This is the timeless challenge of the bard
To have his rune perform as patterned dance
Where every chosen word in that regard,
Through artistry, does imagery enhance.
But let me pose…a thought is still a thought,
Though writ by fools, and when it rhymeth not!

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 434

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Rose pink hued clouds and skies of baby blue,
Sun-kissed horizon blessing distant trees;
Feathered warblers croon sweet loves to woo
While cherub buds sway softly in the breeze.
The last of winter’s blight melts down in tears
To form bright silver runnels trickling down;
While denizens delight in raucous cheers
As bashful floras don their fresh new gowns.
So is it now as it has ever been—
That never-ending constancy of change
For when it seems that all is lost within—
There blooms a hope no sorrow can estrange;
I fare in faith, whatever life may bring,
That you, my flower, stay redolent of spring.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 433

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Sweet love remembered, silent tears now fall
Upon this breast where beats the heart you hold,
As muted murmurs haunt the empty hall
And whisper through the hearth now dark and cold.
O love more rare than any love may be:
Once lit that fire which warmed this quiet home;
Now Stygian black, cold anguish all I see—
Eternal ache I carry here alone.
For but a moment more to hold your hand,
To kiss those lips in pleasure, most sublime,
To press you in my arms in rapture grand…
Perchance I’ll be forgiven in due time.
One line of this regret I pray you’ll  read,
And crush my suffering heart—or grant reprieve!

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 432

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Am I a fool, believing you are true
When my heart whispers oft it is not so;
A slave to love and virtue through and through
And yet I wonder where your truth has flown.
Your frequent absence stirs dark doubts in me,
Your explanations ever seem contrived
As though you think that I am blind to see
Such sophistry our sacred bond derides.
Why can’t you say that love for me is gone?
Why must we play this soulless sad charade?
Why should we linger if love’s labour’s done?
Why yet here kneel when every hope is prayed?
‘Tis best you go—no longer shall I bind,
In truth’s release, perhaps new hearts we’ll find.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 431

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Long having labored in a solemn art,
One that could never fully feed my soul;
Still as God’s servant I fair did my part
And in due measure proudly played my role.
I mentored to the lame, the sick, the blind
And with keen blade I fought their dragons well;
Though everyday I toiled with faith aligned,
Of what lay vanquished, I could seldom tell.
Though oft my passage lay in praise replete
I was still haunted by my failings there,
By demons dark that I could not defeat…
That skulked within to stir my soul’s despair.
The path we choose is rare of reasoned rhyme,
—Perhaps I will forgive myself in time.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 430

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What laurels lie in polished flattery
Exceeding proper bounds of human praise,
When eyes so called upon must surely see
Incongruities to the casual gaze?
If so, then all the puffery I say
Though born of truth, might still be judged pure lies;
And should sound judgement enter into play,
What words there said might ever truth disguise?
Of matchless beauty, let me understate
And of rare grace, in passing might I tell;
Through intimation, minds exaggerate—
And mute acclaim lets inward fancy swell.
To sound your peerless worth, I’ll show restraint:
In honest praise one finds the brighter paint.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 429

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I write the best of you by candle light
When evening shadows wrap me close in warmth,
Light-stippled skies still hint of heaven bright
While fading gold glows faint within the hearth.
‘Tis then I sit alone in peace and pride
And dwell upon sweet images of you—
Of beauty blessed that time cannot deride
And of a love that stays forever true.
In reverent silence, while you sleep above
I murmur softly your dear precious name
And silver tears stirred from a heart so moved
Fall softly through my memories like rain.
No greater gift has God yet given me
Than your pure love—which ever cherished be.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 428

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The passing of a year exalted thus,
Time’s ending now in merriment proclaimed
As if a dreaded tyrant fallen was—
And so deposed, a celebration framed.
But ruthless Time is never here undone,
No mourning or rejoicing brings him peace;
His ordained circuit ‘round that sovereign sun—
How many turns bring mortals to their knees?
Hope lies in dawning—hence the revelry,
Though every passing year brings much the same;
And though we dream of providence to see,
By equal share, damnation lays its claim:
Yet good or bad, whatever comes to pass,
On thoughts of you, I’ll ever raise a glass.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 427

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Rich diamonds glittered on that blank white robe
Where coppice spots like ermine tails did stain,
So draped on field’s edge, hemmed by sable groves
That echoed all past regal mantle trains.
It folded o’er the shoulders of the hills
Where streams flowed forth like silver ribbons bright;
A blood red brooch—a distant water mill—
Did bind together all that raiment right.
So with that blazoned cloak did Winter stride
Proclaiming rule upon the vanquished land,
Cold vassals, hushed, endured his gelid pride,
And bore the burden of his stern command.
Yet serfs stayed silent, suffering his sting—
Prayer locked in hope that Springtide soon would sing.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.