Best Doted Poems
Sitting on the cusp of dusk and evening
Placidly he ruminates where life has been
When she still believed in vibrant springs
And exulted dawning of purple mornings
Echoing exuberance of seasons’ calling
Fragile, yet colorful, as autumnal leaves
Delicate, aesthetic, as snowflakes falling--
Until she chose to surrender her dreams.
Oh! how fervently she cherished streams
Zigzagging ebulliently on their property
Digging lanes through prairies dark green,
Giggling, rushing, curving, on life-journey,
Pointing zealously, how to redirect destiny
Hosting daydreams of daffodils, milkweeds,
And tranquil bliss edifying lotus sanctuary.
Pity, neither did he feel her zestful appeal,
Nor could he allay those spaces left empty--
Between life as it is, and life that could be--
Saddled by incongruence defying harmony.
Lonesome he wailed tracing her footprints:
Cheered birds singing, doted stars twinkling,
Breathed-in her air scented with jasmines,
Buzzed in moth-passions of nocturnal winds,
Gazed deep woods where moon was rising,
And found her there, but not her meaning.
Yet, she came by, reminiscing through time,
Staying long enough, scanning the night skies--
But much as she tried, the Venus didn’t smile,
Alas! when she left, that was final goodbye.
April 28, 2021
Poem of the day on April 29, 2021
Placed 1st: This or That, Vol 2 Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
Title chosen: Forlorn Hope
Categories:
doted, lost love, moving on,
Form:
Verse
memories are the sweetest recompense when faced with imminent death ~ by poet
We were two for forty amative years.
I turned toward you for comfort and strength.
You came to me with your deepest dark fears.
We lifted each other and talked at length.
Each doted on the other with respect.
Our distinct differences made us whole.
The other’s support we came to expect.
Each other’s success was our greatest goal.
As successive years grew long and longer,
the wrinkles showing as we became old,
the bond between us grew strong and stronger.
Subsequent aging grew tougher, more bold.
Then Old Man Death in his black raiment came.
He proceeded to do what must be done.
My shattered life will never be the same.
We were two – woefully, now we are one.*
* HEY beautiful PS poets/poetesses. The greatest compliment to me as a poetess is that I can evoke such caring, emotional comments from colleagues. I have received so many soulful, prayerful thoughts and caring condolences about this poem, I would feel dishonest if I did not report that this is entirely a work of FICTION. My humble thanks to you all. With love, Linda
Categories:
doted, death, emotions, grief, heartbroken,
Form:
Quatrain
The stranger is strange, pariah, leper sounds offbeat,
Neither truculent, nor relevant, all destined to encounter the doomed relic;
The bizarre outlander, alien to stimulate the instant pulse-beats!
The uninvited hobnobber, one despises to welcome in routine frolic.
The stranger is unsolicited, the object of latent fear,
As strange may be the ways of the unbidden ones' intentional cares!
The stranger is unfaithful: weird to tranquility, comfort and cheer,
For the sceptical one, we become anxious by a mere fateful encounter!
The stanger lies in our conscience; in a distant land in paradoxical disguise.
Masquerade, the image generates an uncanny fear to sigh!
Sounds delinquent to subjugate the wires of prudent conscience!
Nonetheless, cogitates as usurper of peace; an ineffable parti pris.
Self-centred, they are loquacious, spell bound like con stars;
Babbles from the masks, camouflages as the epitomes of pretenders.
Unknown, unfamiliar, stirs alarms not to mingle, to be away, to be cautious.
In disguise, comes the alleged stanger to ruin ones' peace to shudder and shatter.
But the most alarming of all preconceived archetypes, are the strangers:
Who lingers on, as routine friends and well wishers,
On whom we doted on, are the real dear strangers,
Who by feigning friends, acted quisling, an obvious stranger!
'Hold!' sometimes left us dumbfounded with their insensible fickle deeds;
Even when the unknown stanger might spare and stand by us in awful needs!
When our intimate ones deny to wink at the distress;
While busy in spilling the beans, our woes go unnoticed by the feigned well-wishers.
Indeed! They are the untagged apparent strangers, fugitives in our trials.
Beware of those strangers, whom we adore as near and dear ones, 'bosom friends,'
the agnates and cognates, to entitle the crown, “an actual stranger" who elopes in tmes of miseries!
All Rights Reserved © Silpika Kalita
Categories:
doted, fate, fear, grief, hate,
Form:
Rhyme
braising thoughts arose as my lifeless
body huddled in a fetal position i' d completed
thirty hail mary's an yet my macerated flesh
lay still as the sun began
to settle embedding itself almost oh how vain i was
thinking merely of beauty
my beauty taken in an instant on impact
how selfish i was addressing the father how dare you
why this isn't living an yet you promised
i shall die and live i doted on you believing every word
like a faithful child twitching kicking the paramedics
oh what a bad patient scolding the rescue workers
for saving my retched life
do they not see the father in view are they blinded
by the light the sullen hue
that consumed my being torn flesh from my face
ah in my lowliness my wisdom edified
as st anthony strolls by in a distant glare mending me
this sereme endeavor captured
my solace for peace although there was no peace
in my living i'd wandered deeply from earthly realms
a gentle peace in my dying bestowed me
i glanced at the road that swallowed me whole
leaving no sign of life it was then st theresa whispered
you are his child quickly i responded
oh no ma'am i'm not with child thinking only of my figure
she smiled a warm glow and whispered yet again
you are his child she gestured to another woman
st cicelia quite childlike to my eyes
she chanted you are woman you are child
do you understand i responded amidst my sufferage
for the sake of his sorrowful passion
i over stand his divine mercy
Categories:
doted, angel, beach,
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
Incertitude
Who am I...?
Am I the first born son, emanating from a fire of passion?
Am I the long lost hope, rekindled, ravenous in the eyes of my forebears?
Am I the caressed cocoon, spun out of love and compassion?
Whose silken threads, entice and embellish the vain vanity of its wanton wearers?
Am I a prodding prodigy,
Aimed at excelling in every sphere ?
Am I, a porous sponge, meant to absorb every single human emotion, a mortal can bear?
Am I a doted upon enduring exemplar or a doomed ephemeral effigy?
Am I the mellow and musky mist, exuding from a bare bosom?
Am I the naive, reticent lover, imperfect, yet dearest to my beloved?
Am I the longing in her eyes, a hypnotic hum?
Am I mere an object of desire- usurped, used, seduced, shoved?
Would I be another mere mortal among the countless thriving throng?
Lashed by grief, aged by time, thwarted by fear and smitten by love?
Would I be a forgotten fable or a perennial song?
Would I be remembered as -
A peacock- proud of its plumage,
An Owl- sombre yet subtle , of a lettered lineage,
A nightingale-serenading a song touching the core ,
A mystic bird from an ancient lore,
or , a dove – cygnet soft , gentle sitting on an alcove?
Oh Time! Tarry! A little,
Before I transcend from this world to the other,
Hark ! I plead, solve this riddle.
Oh Wind! Carry away my doubts to the omniscient;
Rush against all odds, be it a mighty mountain or a rampant ridge.
Time is running, I dread to lose myself in this mystic maze,
Oh Almighty! Accept my venerations to you my liege,
Enlighten me , before my mortal remains is set ablaze.
-Saptarshi Mukherjee
Categories:
doted, introspection, prayer,
Form:
Rhyme
The virtue was being wronged, depicted his woeful tale of prey and innocence.
Gradually people gathered to listen to the poignant rhetoric.
blown away by the felon's aching, awful narration;
pitied the miserable plight, lamented the dejected tales.
There were babbling, the throng silently protested the unfairness, the injustice.
In innuendo, the protagonist raised the pitch of the tragic tale, the foul play.
one day, the aggrieved throng, broke the glasshouse of the pointed swindler of innocence to penalize,
rejoiced, contended, the folk were prattling the nature's law of justice.
The protagonist in awe, applauded the mob for the transgression, for the hold up.
All of a sudden, the cynosure of their eyes,
became bean ideal of rectitude and integrity,
applauded for the moral fortitude, honoured, doted on.
The proclaimed perceived upright hero was silently starring, astounded at the susceptibility of the mob, utterly blind,
subtly entangled in his devious, fabricated, intrigued plot!
The protagonist of the moving tale, removed the mask at the end quietly, with a sardonic laugh;
in triumph to give a puff to the credulous absurdity.
The machiavellian hero, was meticulously eavesdropping, peeping at the gross fooly.
The irony! The demon in disguise, is glorified by mercy of ludicrous asinine.
Categories:
doted, betrayal, character, crazy, devotion,
Form:
Burlesque
The strongest woman that I ever saw
was born thirty-four years ago,
to loving parents who doted on her,
told he of the great places she’d go.
She was popular all through high school,
never failed to pull down straight A’s,
was taught to be strong, and never take crap,
a path for women she would blaze.
She had not a head for the hard sciences,
but in business she quickly excelled,
got her MBA from the finest of schools,
a master of finance, and of what sells.
Moving to the city, she got a good job
and proclaimed one day she would be in charge,
she brought in accounts all through her twenties
and was rewarded with a salary large.
She shot up the ranks, quickly at first,
found herself in the office by my desk,
though we were in different departments
it was clear, she was one of our best.
But when she turned thirty she seemed to slow,
though she stood by her stated goals,
and every so often I’d find her staring
distractedly out of her office window.
All of it charged starting one fall day
when she went up for a big promotion,
but her numbers were down, and it went to
a workaholic named Danny Bagosian.
This spurred her on to work overtime,
by coincidence I was doing the same,
alone in the office we got to talking,
what she asked me nearly fried my brain.
She said,”I’m here sixty hours a week,
I’ve no time left for relationships,
and though this may sound inappropriate
I want to ask your opinion on this.
“I could use a friend-with-benefits
to relieve stress and have some fun,
you’re a handsome fellow and it has been
three years since I have had one.”
Now I suppose the right thing to do
would be to run down to H.R.
But a woman like this has a way with men,
and I said,”I’m game if you are.”
So began a secret and torrid affair
that no man could ever forget,
in hotel rooms and there in her office…
let’s just say that I have no regrets.
But as the months went on something did grow
as often happens with ‘benefits-friends,’
at some point we dropped the charade,
no longer willing to pretend.
And in her I sensed something new,
a sadness I’d not before seen,
it came out into the open late a night
when she woke me from a restless sleep...
CONCLUDES IN PART II.
Categories:
doted, angst, children, life, strength,
Form:
Narrative
Childhood days of long ago, were sunny.
I seldom had a reason for a tear.
If sadness should come unexpectedly,
Strong, loving arms of comfort would be near.
Welcomed after a quartet of loved sons,
I was my parent’s long awaited girl.
They and my four brothers doted on me.
Life was the fabled oyster, I the pearl.
Sheltered as I was from life’s disasters,
When even my young brothers did their part
To show me the beauty all around me,
I could not help but grow a happy heart.
Though sadness has accosted me at times,
My happy heart has softened it with rhymes.
Written: May 23,2012
Theme (2) “Happy Heart”
Categories:
doted, family, happiness, happy, happy,
Form:
Sonnet
"Showers and sunshine slowly bring the deepening verdure o'er the earth; To put their foliage out, the woods are slack, And one by one the singing-birds come back."
~ William Cullen Bryant
As I awakened this morning, I rejoiced to hear
melodies of song birds with lyrical good cheer.
'Twas their news that Spring had finally arrived,
time for nature's splendid beauty to be revived.
No longer would the bite of Winter's chill be felt.
Sunshine will warm the Earth; snow would melt,
The change of season is heralded when robins sing
and flocks of sparrow and goldfinch take to wing.
To my garden I'll hasten. There's much to prepare.
Bird bath needs cleaning to welcome them there.
Feeders to fill with seed to attract pairs for mating.
Chickadees are near, and I can't keep them waiting!
They've nests to build in branches of maples and oaks
I love their whistling melodies, that's why I try to coax
them to remain in my yard for as long as they desire.
There's a cardinal. His crimson hue like flames of fire!
In Spring, flocks of wood thrush and tanager abound.
I open the windows to enjoy their enchanting sound.
My berry bushes feed hungry warblers and blue jays.
Their antics are quite amusing on these vernal days.
Red hibiscus will be in bloom for the ruby throated.
Such mesmerizing little ones. Upon them, I've doted.
Each night I listen to the wailing call of a lonely loon.
Wanting a mate, he howls as a wolf bays at the moon.
When night greets the dawn, I will awake once more
to hear the mellifluous chirping of Spring Aves I adore.
Even if the skies are filled with clouds, gray and dark,
distinctive will be the flutelike chant of a meadowlark.
February 24, 2021
A Spring Birds Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
Categories:
doted, bird, spring,
Form:
Rhyme
Seventy-nine years old and counting
Got a whole bunch more years to come
Longevity is rampant in my family
I'm the youngest of ten children
Nine sisters and finally li'l ole me
Two died at birth... but
One sister managed to make it to ninety-four
Four lived into their eighties
And two lived into their late seventies
My mummy was eighty-two when she passed away
But my poor dear old daddy only lived to sixty-seven
Colon cancer got him
Usually when hearing about nine sisters
Most people say, “Wow! You must have been spoiled”
What does that mean... like meat that's gone bad?
I guess you could say I was doted on!
Loved it... I recommend it!
© Jack Ellison 2014
Categories:
doted,
Form:
Narrative
This is about my best girlfriend.
How she attracted men.
When we were in school, boys really doted on Sue.
She is about 5 ‘2.’
Black and beautiful
This poem is concerning one.
His name was Samuel.
While we were in the gym, he wanted Sue to be attentive.
She ignored him well with another male.
He came up the bleachers with a chair.
Said, “That’s my woman Israel.”
Israel gave him the eye.
He stopped and smiled.
Sue sat through it all.
Today she is alone.
Please laugh out-loud.
Because what tickles the funny bone is when you imagine the jokes that went on.
Israel asked, “Samuel why she with me?”
Samuel responded and stated, “She is a cheat.”
Israel came around, took the chair from Samuel, and both begin to court Susan.
The morale of it all is this does not tickle the funny bone.
_______________________________________________/
Note:
This creative write was a motivation drawn from Francine Roberts contest
"Tickle My Funny Bone." I wanted to thank her for this motivating writing tool with the flip side of her request. This will not be entered.
Categories:
doted, body, break up, character,
Form:
Free verse
Divorce Court
He doted on phishing, that viral, newfangled
invasion, though most of his handshakes got tangled.
He fumbled his Trojans, cunningly dangled
in front of my mouse so that I would be wangled
to click on the bait. My nerve ends were jangled.
And next came the item that put me in shock.
He wrote an apology titled, “Dot Doc.”
I needed a password with which to unlock
those few paltry bytes. They were all poppycock.
I guess I went into a meltdown, it’s true.
I said, “Keep your floppy and upload it, too,
but as for as this notional marriage, we’re through.”
I wouldn’t have minded so much, I suppose,
but he gave me an Apple instead of a rose.
I went to my room and I cried for a week.
Do I wish him well? No. I hope he is strangled.
Are you ready to guess who he is? Knock, Knock.
Who’s there? Sad to say, my ex-husband is Who,
the cyberpunk man I unwittingly chose.
Instead of a lover, I married a geek.
02/16/2018
Minuanetta
chremamorphism
Categories:
doted, anger, divorce, light, wife,
Form:
Rhyme
Madly in love
with a turbulent world
in a swirling wayward bloom,
till I froze, swept by your comely face.
So, the dreams I once doted on!
Beauty bubbles in your presence,
blurred in my prime by a mirage,
a blinding illusion. Who cares?
Who dares steer off the broad way,
pull over and trace the virgin country
where nature nurtures beauty.
Pure as a lily, you ray like a rose;
and nod, a poppy in a delicate breeze.
Blinking dew, you wake with the sun,
splashing the canvas with seven colors.
A glow at crown of noon, you smile
like setting sun at the border,
clothing clouds in gold. Stars wink
their joy; the moon steps out in style.
Who wouldn't celebrate your beauty?
Even the blind, the deaf, and the dumb;
they see, hear, and shout your comeliness:
a germ tucked away from passing peep
until heart locks onto heart.
Now I dream your beauty in others.
Even in the filthy frenetic world,
love gleams on faces racing down
the superhighway hoping to meet
with you in the jam.
© 2016 Celestine S. Ikwuamaesi
Categories:
doted, love,
Form:
Free verse
The new maid, Jo, walked out onto the deck,
Seeing the reclined form of Eric Dvorak.
He stretched out in the sun,
oblivious to everyone,
then leapt up quick, stiffness in his back.
Eric then stared up at a high window,
way up on the second floor did his gaze go.
Anger made his face a cloud,
he roared it all out loud,
screaming,”Cheating *****! I’ll lay you low!”
He tore up the mansion at a sprint,
she followed quickly when he did.
She didn’t see what Eric saw,
but she knew something was wrong.
When she caught up she was out of wind.
Eric stood in the door, onlooking,
anyone could see the fury in him cooking,
He cried,”I’ll show you both!”
Then into the room did go,
the maid walked up and she saw nothing...
Eric waited in the middle of a bedroom.
The rage was gone, but he wasn’t looking good.
From his face to his veins,
he was a pulsing mass of pain.
He slumped against the bed’s old hardwood.
Now the old maid Ellie came up near them,
and said to her,”Leave him alone now, friend.
None of this seems quite right,
But I’ll explain to you outside.”
So they went down to the backyard fence.
They settled in the shade near the fig,
and Ellie took a bit to puff an e-cig.
She turned and said to her,
“I trust you not to say a word.
Or the outside world will come and start to dig.”
Ellie looked nervous, but then continued on,
“Eric once has a wife he doted upon.
But once while sitting outside,
he saw two shadows in a window high,
and rushed upstairs, fearing something wrong....
CONCLUDES IN PART II.
Categories:
doted, betrayal, dark, death, horror,
Form:
Narrative
The war is a part of life
There was always the sound of bombs
The sound of people dying
One landed close
The neighbors
Rasheed and I rushed out
The house was destroyed
I saw pieces of the mother
The father
Under a pile of rubble was the girl, Laila
So young and beautiful
Lost her parents
Home
Future
Rasheed carried her to our house
We cared for her till she was strong
Rasheed doted on her
I knew his intentions
Soon I would not be the only one
The only wife to Rasheed
For Laila it was my fate
Or death.
Categories:
doted, death, husband, political, sound,
Form:
Free verse