If your sadness were an ocean
plagued with typhoons,
and you were being thrashed around by the waves
and beaten across the rocks;
then I would be the fool who jumps in after you
However, your sadness is not the ocean
it's merely the ground,
and I cannot save you
because we are two bald eagles
talons locked, eyes focused
hurling towards it
So if we die,
we die together
and we can both write stone words
" Sadness overcame"
but if we manage to lift each other up
just before we hit the ground
then we've done a beautiful dance
and managed to pirouette away from our doom.
I lost her.
Where did she go?
I hear her voice.
It's coming from the studio.
Against my better judgement.
I don't dance.
I don't have a dancer's body.
My heart races. I hate this.
The mirrors surround me.
Where is she?
I can't do this without her.
Suddenly, I can't breathe.
I close my eyes.
Ready to fight alone.
Then I saw HER.
As the music played, she let the rhythm pulsate through her body.
The vocals moved her spirit.
The percussion moved her feet.
She had enough curves to move with each instrument.
And so she danced.
She was bursting with sensuality.
Aware of the power of her swaying hips.
Her smile hypnotized me.
The fluidity of her body seduced me.
I must not give in.
I feel weak.
One sway consumes me.
I am defeated.
And so I let her dance
Back into my soul.
The movement came to me as a silhouette
cast upon the wall.
The convulsions shook her body,
but it was not pain she felt.
It was not hurt or anger that made the dancer
shake and shiver.
It was not the swelling of the music
that gave her legs a quiver.
I was but an intruder;
a silent face
spying her fluid expressions.
As I watched her twist and turn
flying through the air
my heart longed to feel the freedom
to leap without a care.
And suddenly I felt it's course,
the movement in my bones.
The release I felt about my chest,
beating with wonder.
Our shadows cast upon the wall
we let out bodies flow.
The dancer came and took my hand,
said, "I'll teach you to let go."
We swayed like reeds, blown in the wind,
and leapt like tigers from a cage.
Sparks ignited my limbs as I moved,
and bliss engulfed my mind.
This silent face, now wears a smile
and leaves control behind.
I am not an intruder of this expression
but a girl who has opened her heart
to this movement that is
This beauty I have come to see,
has taught me to leap at chance,
that we are not just silhouettes.
So dance, dancers,
Reading my own poem, She Dances, which I wrote about one of my best friends, gave me the inspiration to write a new poem, with a different style, yet similar speech and idea. I feel the need to dedicate this one, also, to that amazing dancer and best friend. :) Always <3
She was sixteen in this crazy world
She had big dreams and her hair was curled
Just a young daddy's girl,
Who loved to twirl.
Her dream was to be a dancer,
But she couldn't find the answer,
How to get to the top,
Without getting dropped.
Her spirit was strong,
As she would sing along,
To her favourite song.
A case of bad luck,
She broke her back,
And her spirit began to lack.
Her sister helped her through,
And she knew,
She would reach it someday,
Maybe not today,
But in the future.
These city lights are too big,
For this girl's small town dreams,
Everyday she ties up her ballet shoes,
With hope woven in the seams.
Her light blonde hair tied in a bun,
She pirouettes beneath the sun,
In the hope of a hopeful stranger,
To pull her dreams away from danger,
Of breaking into two withered parts,
Before her chance in the spotlight even starts.
The tartan that rode high on his hips
made the milk maidens get cream
and the hogs that disagreed
were made into compost
for the farmers seeds
He danced a merry fit
then behind a bush
had a pee, when he'd found out
she was a bitch
with a mother of teeth and spite
His dance became an echo
of the suede love he had for her
and her heart did rot
it rotted as a peach would
at the call of winters song
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
THE LADY in red, she in the chile con carne red,
Brilliant as the shine of a pepper crimson in the summer sun,
She behind a false-face, the much sought-after dancer, the most sought-after dancer of all in this masquerade,
The lady in red sox and red hat, ankles of willow, crimson arrow amidst the Spanish clashes of music,
I sit in a corner
watching her dance first with one man
and then another.
As if pierced by some awl,
As if hallowed by some blunt axe,
As if to juxtapose
Bee stung lips.
Swinging, Swirling, Swaying, Swabbing
Sick, Suffering, yet
Sweaty Socage with
Satan’s Sweet Sibling.
Skin Shunned and Shivering,
Shadowed, her face;
Shock-less eye Sockets
Tired grow her limbs,
Unction bottled in her heart.
Unaware, her clientele,
Zeal in their eyes.