So you shall live in this sweet dying art
Your visage etched in ink as beauties past;
For if a poet’s pen may capture worth,
I pray these words will never be surpassed.
If sweetest essence can distill in rhyme
May those who quaff fall blind in imagery
As fools who search for angels on the sun
Or strain for mermaids on a moonlit sea;
For what is beauty but a living dream,
And what is truth—not but a tenet pure—
Yet when the two are joined in esse supreme,
From unions such rise sylphs beyond compare;
If these words lie then may God strike me dead—
But if they’re true, need nothing more be said.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

I greet you now with silver in your hair,
A winter face etched deep by gelid Time,
And yet you speak the warmth I’ve longed to hear,
That has not altered with your faded prime;
Your hands now crooked, dapple stained with age;
Soft hands that once held firm the sands of life—
Formed fists of gallant triumph or of rage,
Faith clasped in prayer to calm life’s inner strife;
Your languid movements, slowed as in a dream…
Yet eyes still bright with wit and willing fire;
A gentle smile that shares your greater theme,
Replete with kindness, love and hope’s desire.
You are still you, and age a mere disguise,
A garment worn—your truth lives in your eyes.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

I’m proud to pen your beauty’s legacy
For rarest blooms should never fade unsung;
Though portraits rich in outward praise may be
Bright joy to eyes, where yet the lips stay dumb.
Still, icons cannot chart the inner soul
Nor show the golden luster of pure hearts;
More oft with words are daedal truths made whole
Revealing both the out and inward parts.
In paint, no doubt, your beauty rules supreme,
Yet here in words I capture essence sweet;
For best in ink do truth and beauty reign
Where sovereign worth was never more complete.
To capture such on canvas, this I dare:
A flawless angel blessed beyond compare.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Time has not dulled the rhythm of my soul,
Nor has death yet here silenced beating heart;
But of this span called living, this I know—
Your love for me has made the better part.
With you I have not faced the world alone,
Steadfast you’ve stood forever by my side
And in soft gentle ways your love has shown
A heart that is as constant as the tides;
But what have I to give that love denotes
For all the wondrous gifts that you’ve bestowed?
Not but these paltry tear-stained words I wrote,
Well knowing naught can pay the debt I owe.
Still here in ink I pledge to God above—
That I am yours, in pure unending love.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

I have trained hard to learn the craft of war
Yet love not rancor stays my driving force;
I’ve studied every battle gone afore
That I may know the cunning of the worst.
I’ve pushed my sinew to the breaking point,
Borne hardship that did every nerve inflame,
Harsh deprivation did my soul anoint—
Made ‘death before dishonor’ my sole claim.
I do not fear the odds, for fate’s my friend
Yet I love life as much as any soul,
And I shall give my all, right to the end
That every action may by truth be told.
What many pay in tears, I pay in blood;
When guns and steel fall dumb; what greater love?

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Fly my beautiful cherub, fly;
God’s gift so held a precious while,
Those cheerful moments that beguile
Glad hearts that never weigh goodbye.

I know the time to go is nigh
As you embark upon that mile,
I hide a heavy heart and smile
As tears well up and sting my eye.

This joyous pain cannot deny
Sweet memories staunch hearts compile
Though it may seem that love’s on trial,
I let you go with but a sigh.

I struggle and begin to cry,
Oh but to have you stay awhile
That love may not endure exile,
I understand, yet still ask why.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

What justice bides within the human mind
When some subsist while others rise above?
So marks the broader wisdom of our kind—
That one may feast while one lives hand to mouth.
In our subsistent past, by fate’s cruel course,
Some were deprived by acts of men alone;
Expropriation waged through brutal force
Set who had meat, and who was left the bone.
By Christian rule all alms were solemn grace,
The righteous swayed by love of God to give
So when they finally gazed upon His face,
All earthly trespass, He might there forgive.
The worth of charity stands ever strong—
For unto providence each soul belongs.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Selena came to me again last night,
Smiling, aloof, her Mona Lisa eyes
Following my every move in jealous sight,
Vaporous silvered clouds her thin disguise.
She watched me as I wandered through the trees
Walking the path down to the ancient mill;
In darkened air stirred by a gentle breeze,
The brook flowed fast, the wooden wheel stood still.
Oft times we met here drawn by love alone,
Listening to sweet nightingales sing;
The moveless paddles stopped all hope torn foam
As if to sodden round, my life did cling.
What love is this that nightly dreams do make—
To ravish so at dusk; at dawn forsake?

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

I galloped hard across the dusty plain
My hand white blanched upon the bridle reins
Rowelled silver flashing red in meted pain,
I flailed the beast with all my might and main.
Sweat foam told me in time his strength would wane,
I knew that soon their fastest steeds would gain,
And then hot lead would fly like pelting rain—
Terse thoughts tore through the turmoil in my brain.

A mile or more to reach a stand of trees,
Off to my right a cliff and angry seas
And to my left rode flankers, twos and threes
Their musket balls flew by like wrathful bees;
Shod hooves drowned out my desperate God aimed pleas,
The stallion now grew weaker in the knees
There through hot foam his mighty breath fair seethed,
Dull spurs now gave less pain to him than me.

Without a thought I pulled the roan far right
He stumbled but regained his footing quite,
The shining sea loomed closer in my sight
And so a resolution to my plight;
I yelled to stoke his last remaining fight,
Then fired my pistol at the pressing blight,
Clenched leather in my hands with all my might
And launched us o’er the edge … and into flight.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.