Dialects Poems | Examples

Standing in Line during the holidays

When the Language Merge**

I walked into Bobby Department Store and yelled, “Where are the Jamaicans and Barbadians?” This might sound a little strange to most people; however, it’s that time of year when all the languages and dialects merge, accompanied by the authentic accents from their respective places. Plus, there's always a bit of rudeness as people wait in long lines. Yet, amidst it all, the joy of Christmas still shines through in their voices. 

Christmas is that one time of year when you can be happy without needing a reason. I could hear conversations like, “I want to mail this barrel by next week, but I know they won’t get it before next year.” As an outsider eavesdropping on these conversations, I sometimes think, “What is this barrel they are talking about? A barrel of rum? A barrel of Jack Daniel’s? A barrel of monkeys? What barrel?” 

Yes, Bubba! That barrel is filled with gifts and food for their families on the Island of Brim. All I’d like to add is that I’m reminded that while New Yorkers say “standing online,” the rest of the English-speaking world says “standing in line.” - Jeffrey Stein Garten.

Amber in the wait

Nothing lonelier than being alone in a crowd
standing still in a bustling sea of aliens 
they speak their dialects and look
right through me as if I wasn’t there

Feeling insignificant I don’t belong
and everybody knows it
like an imposter trying to fit in
but wearing the wrong camouflage

I try to merge with oncoming traffic
but they ignore me and won’t let me in
refusing to give me a chance
I am not worthy and they let me know it

Secretly part of me thrives in their ostracism
content that I have made my attempt
that like amber in layers underneath
there is more to be found in silence


Inspired by movie “Lost in Translation”

AP: 3rd place 2025, Honorable Mention 2025

Cracks In Quiet Love

Written: May 09, 2025, for contest Sponsored by: Constance La France

Quote: "There is a loneliness more precious than life, there is a freedom more precious than the world." By Rumi

          ****************

The frosty night breeze embraces me tight,
Such as a moth-eaten shield, enticing flight. 
Bitter rain lashes against the sidewalk face,
Delicate drops pirouette, each finding its place.

Visions flicker by in headlight, fleeting beams, 
Love's echoes glimmer akin to vanished dreams.
How jaded lovers lose spark, turning strangers,  
Specters in their home, now cloaked in danger.

Foreign dialects speak in words we once knew,
Widening cracks claim seismic shifts through.  
Still, optimism clings as I traverse the city chill,
Dreams still nudge that love may cure what is ill.

Silent tears trace paths down my weary skin,  
Longing for dawn light, for a raw start within.  
As the sun rises, distances wantonly wane,  
As rainfall fuels flowers, may our link heal again.

Grins and Groaners: Folio 2

Q: What would Roy Rogers have been called if he had been a singing farmer?
A: King of the Plowboys.

Q: In the Beowulf saga, who was a male child of the hag Grendel?
A: A real sonofawitch.

Q: What's the slogan for an ad campaign for a certain fabric in Copenhagen?
A: "Something is cotton in the state of Denmark".

Q: What is fear of joining a fitness club?
A: Gymtimidation.

Q: When she worked onstage in a comedy, what could actress Elaine do for an audience?
A: Keep it in Stritches.

Q: What might you call the LGBT version of the glass slipper story?
A: "Transgenderella".

Q: Also for theatre and film buffs--What would you call public transportation in a ghost town?
A: A streetcar named Bizarre.

Q: Why did the man tell the 911 operator to please send help quickly when his spouse appeared to be choking?
A: It was a matter of wife or death.

Q: What is someone who hitchhikes across the country studying different dialects?
A: A roads scholar.

Q: How did the Glasgow "Evening Times" reporter headline the story of the party boat that sank after hitting an iceberg?
A: Scots on the rocks!

Problem

Ulay kasano'y kadagsen di problemam 
Adikan itolok ay mabege ka, labanam 
Ta maga to met lang di odom ay kaseseg-ang 
No baken sika ay manang 

In Kankanaey ( one of the dialects of the Cordillerans )

Global soupsters

The earth's globe rotates around the sun.
Morning for some and night ffor mothers as it does.
Languages are many and dialects varied causing divide 
What of the language of literature?

Translations of heart. feelings and life seep thru both 
      metal gates and hard walls.
Poets of mind acknowledge each other with open nods.
They know no divide of country. culture or race.
Only to speak the truth of bring.

When Silence Speaks

When silence speaks in broken dialects, to harmonize hurt, 
I ponder, would the sky unravel synonyms for serenity, 
amidst piercing thunder that strikes through raining regrets~
upon flowers, swaying forsaken, to butterfly ballads? 

But will oblivious eyes, roaming the blackness of selfish spheres~
where prayers are abandoned as meaningless metaphors, 
ever feel the darkness we carry, when tears no longer flow in lakes with swans, to be seen? 

It is in melted muteness, we reveal realness of suppressed pain,
as childhood fears scribbled as forbidden secrets~
rewind on repeat through holographic lens of life,
mirroring bloodstained fingerprints etched across linen of chastity…

So tonight, when blue moon in my mind ascends in insomniac stillness,
listen to the sulfuric sins scattered as flashbacks of an onyx rose, 
as vandalized veins scream in helplessness,
awaiting a sculptured sunrise that bleeds balmy ointments for burnt blisters,
while I remain, in mists of misery, weaving prose,
to erase tattooed torment that stole starry symphonies within my soul. ..

I am N8LM Duplex Star Wars Tribute

I am N8LM a protocol droid,
an oil bath is good when I’m annoyed;

  Perilous journeys leave me so annoyed, 
  I prefer trips that are less than a parsec;

It’s better to travel less than a parsec,
if you get caught it is all your fault;

   How rude to blame me if it’s your fault 
   I told you unequivocally of the odds! 

Seven hundred and twenty to one odds,
you heard me in NONE of my dialects;

   Fluent in over six million dialects, 
   I will aid you however you see fit;

I translate language so it will fit,
I am N8LM a protocol droid.

Lost in Translation?

I know a translator named Randy,
whose skill with dialects is dandy.
But I have the advantage
of knowing sign language,
and it really is quite handy.

Grey Matter

The philosophy
of language
its essence
rephrased 

The alpha
and beta
unknown
without names

All dialects
freeing
the sound
of the ink

Without words
and their meaning
could
— we ever think

(Villanova University: April, 2024)

lyrical accessories

punctuation walks
on eggshells
when
words like
               water
                       falls
flow into nothingness,
soaked in syrupy syllables
behind veiled vowels

assonance is the twin of 
consonance as
         a e i o u
are an
unfinished bridge
without connection
of consonants
weaved together
in visible
unspoken actions
woven without words
just like rhythmic meter 
of thunder with lightning

like a lost refrain in a poem
assembled with enjambment 
metaphorical reflections of a
reflective metaphor portray a
m i r a g e less sincere than silence

value blossoms
when the body adopts
a gospel language
where speech
is unnecessary
unless expressed
through true
dialects of conduct
without the use of
lyrical accessories.

superficial silence

why do we 
still assume that whispered diamond dialects
delicate and sheer
aren't scripted with blades 
that curdle blood-stained musings
as summer symphonies scorch ebony skin
tattooed with dark and deep sinister sonnets
sewn from superficial scarlet syllables 
that emanate rusted mahogany hues

so listen to the mulberry metaphors
that rain with roseate rhymes 
from the hazy melancholic midnight skies
where not every mist of dust 
becomes a halcyon teal blue rivulet 
of passionate poetry
nor do they mirror 
the wind 
carrying unspoken tale
that is veiled
beneath twinkling twilight tides

Hearing

When symphonic waves crash on soundless shores,
Listen to the cadence of silent seas,
He's a virtuoso of voiceless woes,
orchestrating pre-written faith, at ease.

For every tainted tide, transpires a tune,
If you lend your ear to the unsung sighs,
perhaps sonorous currents too would croon,
amidst ringing reasons that fall and rise.

There's a fine song for every shipwrecked heart,
entrenched in rhymes from the soul of sand dunes.
Healing comes through searing sirens as art,
rhapsodizing themes of roaring runes.

As waters whistle, hushed air ricochets,
resonating the melody of a dulcet dove,
breeze beneath ripples rewinds and replays,
in divine dialects through language of love.

Whilst chorus of crickets swiftly unfold,
allow nature to compose musings of the ocean.
Words can only whisper deep scars untold,
in poetic crescendo, that translates intense emotions.

Gods Quintessential Tapestry

whirlwind of spectacular sounds
elephants tromping through, ears flowing
continent made of diverse dialects
zebras striping the horizon with color
countries with their own flavors
Africa God's own quintessential tapestry

Silk-Fire and Arctic-Air

I'm silk-fire, curled in emblazoned quartz horizons,
Of aurous equator, rising in smoke as a secular bird, 
From own fossil-ashes, flying to distant honey-shores, scarlet spun, 
Stretching across merlot crusts of earth, like a coal-storm, sobered 

Yet, my heart is not a silent sandstone, flaming with rage, 
It whispers to my Mon Cherie, my arctic air, 
In dialects of redolent romance, midst ethers of space, 
And he, who fuels my glory by igniting spirit, emerges in graphite flares

Our skies are not sketched with rose-gold glitters, 
Rushing in a black-horse's symphony, 
crashing porcelain herbs, 
We paint universe in ruins of lead and metallic cinders,
Me and arctic air, breathe as one in thunderous heartbeats of reverb;

Orbiting in jade bonfires of ornamented redwood, 
While cradling wrath in crimson vineyards, 
Has any nurtured offspring of starburst hope withstood, 
If our eclipsed union is a toxic twinkle upon sacred lotus' haven-yarns?

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