The morning sun spilled blood across the sky
And slid his golden daggers twixt the gloom,
Transfixed the purple dawn with bloodshot eye
And strode across the hills in cloak maroon.

He ran his midas fingers through the trees
And turned to diamond every drop of dew.
Strew silver from his purse in bold decree,
And drowned the moon amidst an ocean blue.

He drank the morning mist from forest glens
And feasted on the shadows of the night.
His laughter soon awoke the sleeping land
And struck it blind amidst rude splendor bright.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

You the carefree lover play
And wile away our love’s long day
As if each action were to prove
Your stolid heart immune to love,
But the day will come you’ll see
When you’ll love no one but me.

Your suitors number full a score
And who am I that could compare,
Yet with my patient love I’ll wait
And leave our future much to fate,
For the day will come you’ll see
When you’ll love no one but me.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

The mist hung on the hills like a wet silk cloak
And you and I for want of a walk set out
Along the railroad tracks, step in step, hand in hand
And listened to the crunch of wet gravel and sand
Saying few words for there was understanding,
While in the distance the river meandering
Beckoned us to follow to some sheltered spot
To leave the dreariness that the rain had brought.

And those soft sad eyes made grayer by the sleet
Looked up with wet curls pressed tight against your cheek
Asking questions that I could not answer then,
So, ignorance to their probing I did pretend
And carried on though with a heavier load,
Together in this silent shrouds we strode
And I thought how strange it was that this cold wet rain
Could not quench the fire in my heart, nor ease its pain.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Do you remember one August afternoon,
Yellow and gold; the sky a turquoise bowl,
The sun with Midas fingers caressing
The room and lending it a wondrous glow?
And you and I much like children at play
While carefree smiles and laughter filled the room.
As we exchanged fond words and friendly ways
I felt immeasurably at peace with you,
And probed the depths of those dark eyes that danced
With vitality, and yet served to soothe
That inner fire that burns at the entrance
To my soul. And I thought if I should lose
Your friendship for some petty little cause
That I could not understand, or even
If grand misprison were to bring this loss,
What tragedy my heart and soul would feel.
To think that we who’ve shared so much of life
And love; had lived and loved, felt joy and fear,
And all lifes’ peace, serenity, and strife,
Could end all this amidst a flood of tears
And say good-bye; and say good-bye; good-bye?

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

She cut herself with a kitchen knife
And yet no drop of blood did I see.
And the parted flesh was lily white;
Bare nerve and bone that did not bleed.
And she quickly turned to where I stood,
But I switched my gaze before her glance
And felt stern eyes that searched and probed
My face, which bore a mask-like trance.

She seemed relieved that I had not seen,
Or so she thought, and then turned back
And wrapped the hand in linen clean,
And went about her daily work.
She gave no notice of her blundering
And asked about the morrows’ weather.
I stood there dumb in quiet wondering,
Then said, perhaps it will be better.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

I am going to the meadow
Where the lady slipper grows,
Where the grass is green and even
And the sparkling waters flow;

Where the sun drenched daisies slumber
And the soft spring breezes blow,
I am going to the meadow
In the valley down below.

I am going to the meadow
Whistle sweetly, soft and low,
See the gentle flowers beckon,
Twilight shadows now unfold.

I am going to the meadow,
Kiss me softly as I go;
I am going to the meadow,
In the valley far below.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

The flower we nurtured
With tears and sunshine smiles,
Now languishes in autumn light.

Purple petals drooping,
Shivering in the breeze;
Shadowed by the encroaching night.

Stars in solemn mourning,
Watching from skies above,
Proclaim it a pitiful sight.

This flower, born of spring;
Cradled in summer arms,
Embracing a wintery blight.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Darkness settles lonely on the land;
In its’ humble hollowness I stand.
Listening to the echos now apart;
Echos of a softly mourning heart.

Quiet memories now my thoughts entreat,
Tear drops slowly stain a sullen cheek.
Wondering why fair summers have to die;
Wondering if you too alone would cry.

Did our actions grieve some jealous god?
Did we not in love his bounty laud?
Did some silent error mete this fate?
Did our love some maxim desecrate?

Do we now embrace this destiny;
Smile and sail into a stormy sea?
Clutch our memories to our breasts and weep,
As a barren mother suckles grief…

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Now my darling, are you grieving
Over golden dreams receding?
Are the distant pastures greener as they say?

Do you think of those you’re missing?
Are your gentle lips not kissing?
Do you pen your secret longings every day?

Are you ever feeling lonely
For the one who loved you only—
The one who once your stolid heart did sway?

As you wake from sleep each morning,
Do the time-worn lines give warning?
Can you see the silken curls growing grey?

In the evening by the fire
Does your mind’s eye ever tire
Of roving where the distant memories lay?

As those memories do entreat you
Does a sullen tear now greet you,
Or does cold conscience keep them still at bay?

Does your hardened heart grow tender
When you chance to still remember
How hearts and souls once sang in joyful play?

Or does summer sun now find you
With your youthful hues behind you—
And does your silent mirror friend betray?

How do you greet the morrow
Full of gladness, tinged with sorrow—
With its smile a woeful frown you wear all day?

Does your barren breast now mourn you
For  the children who now scorn you—
Did you ever dream it all would end this way?

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

If not now,
Then when?

If not here,
Then where?

If not you,
Then who?

If not love,
Then why?

For all be nought,
If not
For
Love.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.