Sonnet 220

Oh, how my heart does pine when you’re away,
Desire is like a hunger without end;
I long for all the things you do and say,
And all things dear love’s loving does attend;
Soft eyes that with a glance, can melt my soul,
Sweet gentle voice, warm promise does avow,
Fond touch that can make primal juices flow…
So come to me my love, come here and now!
Let us commit and ever be as one,
And heart to heart so share each living hour
Until our loving work on earth is done,
And we embark unto that crowning bower.
Two hearts so joined shall ever outlast time;
As I so consecrate, in heartfelt rhyme!

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 219

When I am wedded to that mistress Death,
Committed so forever to her charms,
And feel on nape, the coldness of her breath,
And too, the clammy clasp of fleshless arms;
The blanching kiss of frigid livid lips,
That leering look of scornful jaundiced eyes,
The grotesque smile of gargoyles guarding crypts,
Choleric voice now ever there to chide.
Long past the point of sins to yet atone,
No breath or words remain to gods implore,
Not but the fading wail of banshee moans,
So hurled into Hell’s pit forever more;
Beyond the brink, where prayers may not annul;
Dark matrimony so consumes the soul.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

A Child’s Gold

There is naught but sweeter,
Then a child’s song;
When the sun’s a golden meter,
And days are long.

The midas orb looks down
Through green leafed shade;
Dappling the ground,
Gold coins inlaid.

Orange tiger lillies wave,
To passing bees;
Beckoning that knave
To ravish, please!

The lady slipper sleeps,
‘Midst mosses green,
Immersed in shadows deep,
And rarely seen.

All streams run crystal clear,
Rainbows and brooks;
Rise slowly to the lure,
From watery nooks.

Coyote calls soon stir,
The thickening night;
And lightning bugs inspire,
In fancied flight.

Warm moon that rises there,
From out the ground;
Floating on thin air,
Without a sound.

Barn owls hail the stars,
In muffled calls,
And cattle call afar,
In lowing bawls.

The moonlight gilds the grain,
In silver bold;
Where sunshine will at noon,
Fair grace with gold.

The world aglow in peace,
There on the farm,
Reminding of the place,
My song was born.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Ode to Humor

Yes, she was quite skeptical,
I saw through my spectacle,
Yet still I wrote,
To get her goat,
And pen words respectable.

I tried antithetical,
And verged on polemical,
But still she frowned,
To bring me down,
And claimed it expectable.

So then I tried notable,
Though aimed for collectible,
That made her laugh
And take a bath;
I strove for correctable.

My ego susceptible,
To barbs so adjectival,
I took my pen,
Once more began,
An ode dialectical.

Approval undetectable,
Or praise non selectable,
She seemed to sink,
My words of ink…
Raised eyebrow conjectural.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 218

Am I now married to your willful praise,
That in each word I seek some paltry gain?
I supplicate for eyebrows not to raise,
Averting shadowed frowns that might cause pain.
My heart, served on a platter, unrequited;
Assiduous mind, attuned to your desire,
My adulation for you, ever slighted;
My hands, slave to your labors, never tire.
What fate awaits this prisoner of love,
That in your service, seems forever bound,
Unto your stolid heart what must I prove,
When in your hallowed crypt my love is found?
To love so much is not to seek a cause;
For you my love, I bear this solemn cross.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 217

Wicked, in the dead of night, I saw your smile,
Yawning wide, breathing poison on my soul,
And I, frozen in fear, like a frightened child,
Transfixed by demon eyes of burning coal.
Yes, still you haunt me on these moonless nights
When I’m alone, afloat on tranquil dreams;
When not a ray of stars does there belight
These steadfast windows, etched by silent screams.
Oh, darkness deeper than the pits of hell,
Those Stygian shadows which ensconce your heart,
What evil form does your rank will compel
To stalk me still, though we lay long apart.
Yes once this fool embraced a heart of stone;
Black blunder brief……forever to atone.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Spring Joy

It is spring time,
Time to sing time,
Let’s have a fling in May.

It’s time for love,
The sky above,
Will lift our hearts in play.

It is spring time,
Lovely spring time,
Let laughter ring each day.

Sweet blossoms grow,
Adieu to snow,
Be happy and be gay!

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 216

Sweet robin red breast, harbinger of spring,
Raise up your voice and to the heavens call,
That your dear mate may hear the love you bring
And music such, stark dormant earth enthrall.
Your voice awakes the slumb’ring sprigs of May,
Imbues a blush of envy to buff hills,
As if each note your precious throat may say
Adds dabs of color to drab winter’s twill.
So is it now as it was times gone by,
A joyous lover paints the world in song,
As if his brush of love could gloss the sky
And his blithe trill could right each earthly wrong.
Sweet robin sing, and here your heart outpour!
That every brumal heart might spring adore.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Sonnet 215

In truth, you would beseech me endlessly,
And evermore heap guilt upon my breast.
A child of love you wished to thus conceive,
In trust; and I the one that would so bless.
No obligation, none, you staunch did swear-
No ties, no times or labors to confound;
Just you, your child, and hope to here forbear,
And I a memory lost, my life unbound.
No simple matter to unyoke a heart,
And so to leave a hackled soul to roam;
Though I, in pleasured moment play my part,
Yet there condemn my conscience to a tomb.
A life so precious must spring forth from love,
Or I the dastard left, with naught to prove.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

The Empress’s Clothes

A woman’s geography
Is considered pornography
So everywhere that she goes.

She’s constrained unto modesty
So many times all that we see
Is face, fingers, hands, arms and toes.

A blatant inequity
At least at the beach where might be-
A veritable lacking of robes.

Where once that ‘don’t look at me’
Embraces hypocrisy-
Most everything hidden now shows.

It would seem then in history
Or at least in false piety…
The empress sometimes has clothes.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.