Just off the boat
Seventy four years ago
Nationality thrice changed
Misunderstood by all
Spurned by mother India
Disowned by the King
Distrusted by our rulers
Misunderstood by all
We are patriotic too
Though often locked out
To the laager we retreat
Misunderstood by all
Neither here nor there
Speaking in dulcet tones
Not in our mother tongue
Misundertood by all
As we grow old and lonely
We crave attention
Needy and entitled
Misunderstood by all
In a window with a bellrope ready sits old blind Captain Cat
calling in the day, with his old yarns wagging on the door mat.
He hears the postman's rat-a-tat, kids' feet skipping on cobble stones,
all the secrets leaking out windows, in furtive dulcet tones.
Dylan Thomas's beloved character 'Captain Cat', in the radio play for voices 'Under Milk Wood'.
‘I wear the chain forged in life.’ – Charles Dickens from A Christmas Carol.
Enduring the daily drudgery ahead –
providing no comfort, only burden.
Resisting the luxury of memories
as regrets only serve a selfish purpose –
clamouring like Marley’s chains.
The dulcet tones of unchained laughter
free of guile and regrets.
I welcome the many fond memories –
comforting medals of honour.
I embrace the promise of the family gathering ahead.
A gentle breeze carried the tune
of a lady gone too soon.
I listened to it longingly until,
inside my bones, it caused a chill;
and then blew my dreams through other bones,
across centuries of dulcet tones.
The blackboard waited stark and bare
As yet, there was no teacher there
A striding vision, took the chalk
You know… I recognised that walk
Miss Malone’s Dulcet tones
Sent a shudder through my bones
Her flowing hair with blonde highlights
Her mini skirt and fishnet tights
The way she stood with feet spread wide
And the purpose in her stride
I gave my mate a little nudge
His loving gaze just wouldn’t budge
I said, “Forget your lurid thoughts,
We’re barely out of schoolboy shorts.”
He nodded at her crimson lips
The wiggle in her swaying hips
I said, “You’re fourteen, feeling flirty,
That there teacher’s nigh on thirty!”
He said, “I’ve heard her name is Maisie,
She makes me feel all oops-a-daisy”
I said, “She’s glam, that much is true,
But truly, she ain’t right for you.”
It seemed he thought me quite remiss
And so I had to tell him this,
“She seems quite able in her job
But last week, Miss Malone… was Bob!”
the dining hall is half empty
because it is friday - shabbat
and good jews light candles at home
not such a good jew i am out
with my female friend both of us
dressed for the late winter evening
conversation is light, muted
mostly about the eggplant dish
i'm having or calimari
my elegant friend is having
while the wizened broad in the back
plays dulcet tones on the steinway
my mind drifts from the idle talk
as i think how at such a place
with the white tablecloths
quiet music and low lighting
they shot dead rosie rosenthal
when he stepped outside for a smoke
i half expect to get shot too
when at length the dinner concludes
and we rejoin the chilly night
with near regret i note i'm not
for they'd recall me like rosie
and i'd not wake up still alone
Across the tossing tumult of reality
my brain gasps for truth, for freedom.
This inconvenient leprosy of mind,
whose scarred visage must be quelled.
My own reflection has no scars,
yet, all about are those that insist that ...
AH! What a perfect sunrise!
no secret concoction, no peering prying eyes
-hidden yawns or dulcet tones or pseudo smiles,
suggesting - DEMANDING I ...no, this day
I will go to where only God knows where I am.
I will dance with the forgotten frantic weeds
- spayed and sprayed, dandelions of disdain
live here unfettered
This house, neglected, forgotten in
a field of imperfection to those
who can not see what is perfect, is Heaven to me!
Apples with scarred blemished skins
beg to be loved - excused for
their imperfections shall
be my nourishment.
The passing of each day -
my romantic vision transformed,
my own pace, my own space, where
freedom hugs me, warms me, feeds me
and loves me
-sleep dear child, you are free.
I am found, but then, God always knew
...where I was.
Amidst dulcet tones of mid-day
a friendly hum tickles my ear
before rollicking into view
My eyes cavort, my head does sway
I'm led in dance as it draws near
cool in temper and warm in hue
Its beauty boasts in modest May
its curiosity sincere
now where there was one, there are few
A rainbow of colors array
these flying jewels, I endear
we share a smile then bid adieu
Moments of frisson, chill the arm
as a witness to nature's Charm
Beauty’s Rhapsody
In shadows of candlelight your sweet arias sing
Reveries flow in pearls of satin dew
With your sweetness I soar on silk wings
Cherished moments in the presence of you.
I fly through skies on your dulcet tones invitation,
Abide in moments of floral amber lights,
Gossamer hues of wind chimes perfume elation
As I drift in your scented mystery of spice
Your grace notes linger in andantes sweet
Seasons entwine between lines of your symphony
In garlands of your aromatic lyric complete
Your beauty shown to me - unmasked rhapsody
7-26-22
Based on Gymnopedie No 1
I serenade my wife each night
With songs both old and new
To show how much I love her
It just seems the thing to do
But she is not enamoured
To hear my dulcet tones
She says it's just annoying
And it grates upon her bones
She says “just you keep quiet,
And I'll tell you this for free
If you don't stop your racket
You'll get nothing for your tea”
Mellifluous her soothing voice
Each word sugar-coated
Like sweet honeyed candy
Luscious and mellow
In her gentle dulcet tones
Flowing sweetly and melodiously
Lyrically euphoniously
Unlike his loud flamboyant tones
Oh such vociferous sounds emit
Until he heard her mellow words
Smoothly ~ gently her voice doth calm
Written 16th September 2021
Contest 'M' Contest New Poems Only
Sponsor Constance La France
FIRST PLACE
Contest A STRAND 1060
Sponsor Brian Strand
FIRST PLACE
Your cancer wasn’t a mirage
unfortunately it was all too real
but in reality it did us both a favor
giving us a huge wake up call how fragile life is
A skilled surgeon performed the surgery
with delicate precision he removed the tumor
the consolation is you are now cancer free
Your surgery was the pivot that kick started me writing
and with encouragement from a friend
she persuaded me to post on poetry soup
I now have a hobby I love!
I’ve recorded my dulcet tones on some poems
and been told my voice is sexy and full of allure
although at times when I nag
I'm sure my husband would prefer the nonverbal me!
Eight Word Anniversary Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Michelle Faulkner
Required words:-
1. Mirage 2. Dulcet 3. Consolation 4. Pivot 5. Favor 6. Nonverbal 7. Delicate 8. Allure
My 5th year anniversary of joining soup was on 2nd February
2/18/19
In dulcet tones
known just to me—
(nonverbal,
some would say),
though delicate
is not your speed,
I hear what you can’t say.
Consolation
is to breathe.
Allure means just to beg.
Mirage is only
what I see.
Who’d pivot
from your face?
Today’s an anniversary?
You’re with me
every day.
I’d favor flesh
instead of this
but death got in the way.
January 31, 2019
Eight Word Anniversary Poetry Contest
repose bestowed like a willow no
longer weeping for its barren branches-
seeking only solitude when anguish
envelopes my soul in troubled waters.
for I am but a woman who blankets
herself in soft palliated ease-
no one can sever the ties I hold when
the reverie’s tow carries me under.
the breath of a lingering doe
whispers down my nape,
I am forever lost in its calming
efflorescence.
dulcet tones of an aria resounds
through my veins as if I am reminded
of my youthful dreams-
I used to be carried by weakness, now
medallion strength follows me with
pride.
I love who I love, I need who I need-
I find comfort in the willow no longer weeping.
July 1, 2018
Across the tossing tumult of reality
my brain gasps for truth, for freedom.
This inconvenient leprosy of mind,
whose scarred visage must be quelled.
My own reflection has no scars,
yet, all about are those that insist that ...
AH! What a perfect sunrise!
no soylent concoction, no peering prying eyes
-hidden yawns or dulcet tones or pseudo smiles,
suggesting - DEMANDING I ...no, this day
I will go to where only God knows where I am.
I will dance with the forgotten frantic weeds
- spayed and sprayed, dandelions of disdain
live here unfettered
This house, neglected, forgotten in
a field of imperfection to those
who can not see what is perfect, is Heaven to me!
Apples with scarred blemished skins
beg to be loved - excused for
their imperfections shall
be my nourishment.
The passing of each day -
my romantic vision transformed,
my own pace, my own space, where
freedom hugs me, warms me, feeds me
and loves me
-sleep dear child, you are free.
I am found, but then, God always knew
...where I was.
(True story, please google "god knows where I am" - it will haunt you)
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.