Best Soubrette Poems
Midnight envelops the pillow
where her head rests sleeping
as each shaft of moon light glows,
umber and ocher traces,
through the satin nimbus of her hair,
gently caressing her soft cheek.
The billowing gossamer of sheer veils,
like phantasms, take flight
with morning's sigh
through the open window,
while the shadows dance playfully
through each beam of light.
She stirs but a moment when the cool murmur
tickles the lashes that smile across her eyes.
Smiles of the wonder of life once lived
of friends once known,
now, mere dreams that taunt her
in early morning slumber.
She, once the consummate ingénue,
naive of life's sorrows,
innocent of the pain of affairs
lived and loved and broken,
lies like a babe in mother's arms
cradled in the bosom of her warm haven.
As the sun scales the scaffold of early dawn,
its light scalds her eyes
and harsh reality again awakens her.
With painted face and perfumed breast
she is no longer the innocent,
for life demands tribute and she pays her debt.
Act II, playing the part comes easy now,
the soubrette, her new role,
her transformation complete in the light of morning.
Hiding her doubts behind coquettish trifles
She makes it through another day,
only to await her midnight dreams.
11/18/2018
this poet’s page suddenly turns black
stars appear
am i standing on the earth?
the sky like the palladium
of the phantom of the opera
a masquerade of candleshine
i wouldn’t be surprised to see angels
descending
each holding a solitary beacon
they say stars sing —
i applaud thee soprano-coloratura
star-soubrette whimsically winks
then spurs across theater stage
i say a prayer
3/16/2020
A Star's Heartbeat Poetry Contest
Sponsor - Chantelle Anne Cooke
From: https://www.theopera101.com/operaabc/voices/
*The coloratura soprano is capable of seemingly superhuman feats.
**A soubrette soprano refers as much to an archetype of character as a voice type. These are cheeky, coquettish parts, sung by singers with sweet, bright voices. The tessitura of these parts can sometimes be pretty high but without an excess of coloratura.
Storms came to flood the perversion of careless claims,
The silent witness seated in his chair with bowed head,
Not a word is to be spoken, not an iota of acknowledgement to be offered,
Despise the betrayal, proclaim the abomination,
Never repeat the nonsense, the heat,
Do not greet nor comfort again, stand up as in a presbytery,
Finalise the prayer to yourself, look up and walk away.
Deus, in adiutorium!
My little soubrette, clever and pert,
The Waterloo affair brought crossed swords
And released a horde of travesty in the sward,
A creation of a new Lady D’Arbanville cannot avert
The glare into the lunacy of impiety that is stripped bare!
Oh I swear, I swear!
The tug has suddenly stopped, the ball is being dropped,
All everlasting reminiscences in a second, forever, - popped.