To what purpose, April, do you return again?
Beauty is not enough.
You can no longer quiet me with the redness
Of little leaves opening stickily.
I know what I know.
The sun is hot on ..........

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Her feet float above the stage
as if carried by some unseen force.
From my view among the generally admitted
I can hardly make out the details of her face.
But those graceful movements are so alluring
each subtle step, precise, and all consuming.

She is the most vulnerable of all artists,
performing a dance that demands every emotion soak through her skin.
Each fluid movement pulls from the reservoir of her experience.
Trained from a young age to move agilely across the stage,
bearing the weight of the world upon her shoulders;
My Ballerina has more heart than anyone else on earth.

This reckless transparency, on the stage, is her glory.
Yet in the average corner of existence
this susceptibility to the sun's rays
would leave one suffering the harshest burns.
My Ballerina hurdles from one emotional extreme to another
with the cyclical tensing and relaxing of each muscle.

She starts gently tapping on the floor and then romps,
With one hand spread and other near to chest, she stomps;

Stage light follows her as she Palisades below,
As a shooting star which leaves behind the glow;

Her skirt appears to be a turning disc as she twirls and capers,
And when she pauses to resume, as a sugar heap it tapers;

As a pappus, she for a while rises and floats in the air,
Alights too as slowly as the same, oh what a flair!

She with her toe so elegantly executes pirouette,
Only other which will do this is a spin top and her silhouette!

The entrenchments surprise me and are enchanting,
As I count the leg crosses, eyes seem scanting

In that step, as butterfly wings, her legs flutter
I am here stupefied with no word to utter

As the prettiest angel that I can ween,
As the nearest iceberg that I have seen;

Sometimes she flies, sometimes she glides
Giving reasons for her, in my mind, to abide...

Satin slippers, with limbs of ribbon
edges frayed from time and use
overuse.
Countless hours wasted practicing precise dance forms that audiences will never truly appreciate.
Her bone structure screams for
freedom from regimented rehearsals and
strict standards.
She longs for a stage under soft, twinkling lights where her
emotions guide her movements; where
rules
and instructors are not needed.
She longs for the day where
anyone can showcase their soul through movement
without the looming fear of heavy
and harsh criticism.
Her individuality will be praised;
her spirit will be longed for among those who watch with
adoring eyes.
They will glide past one another,
like leaves in a summer breeze.
Toes pointed, ribbons laced
and spotlights casting soft circles
on the bare, dusty stage.

They used to call me twinkle toes,
And I had my fill of admirers and beaus.
I was quite a dancer of ballet,
My pirouette and my grand Pliny
were talked about for months and days.
I had my choice of theaters and plays.
I was photographed and interviewed.
I had rich men begging me for an interlude.
I had money tossed at me as if it were confetti,
I was envied by people that were talent less and petty.
And then all at once at the very peak of my illustrious career,
I lost it all because I developed a taste for hamburger and beer.

Never will I be covered in tattoos

My legs and toes shall forever stay bruised.

I’ll never paint or carry a tune

Forever and ever, I’ll wear a tutu.


I won’t dye my hair pink or blue

My piercings will stay as the simple two

Nails cut short and hair in a bun

In ballet, this must be done.


Pink tights by the mound

Bobby pins all around

Leotards on the floor

Pointe shoes by the door.


Toes taped so tightly

Smiling big and brightly

Red lipstick adding to her beauty

The dancer moves so smoothly.


Turned out from my hips

No words coming from my lips

I dance sweetly to the sound

Ooh ballet, to you, I am bound.


Full of grace, never haste

Filling perfectly my costume of lace

Ever so sweet, my dancing feet

Step after step, I repeat and repeat.


Obtaining perfection is my key

It’s what I strive for, it’s all that defines me

Pushing harder and harder to reach my goal

It’s what I live for, ballet is my soul.


My toes may bleed

And my knees, grow weak

But I’ll never stop dancing…

Not until I reach my peak.


Pirouette, Pirouette

Dancer’s silhouette

Practicing at dusk

Dedication is a must.


Stretching my limbs

Choreographing on a whim

Alway aiming to be stronger

To hold my arabesque longer.


When I do finally reach that triple pirouette

and all is done and all is set

I put myself back into class

Aiming for a fourth, to be better than the last.


This is the life of a dancer en point

Risking the health of her feet, legs and joints

Just for that one perfect moment on stage

Where the ballerina stands tall and all are amazed.