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Far from simple but simple is how I live. The battle has be won, so there is nothing to lose. Reality is my playground, heaven …
Poems
WickedHope Aug 2014
Magic Shoes (Pointe)
WickedHope
Aug 2014
This is when she can become herself.
Not anyone special.
No one famous.
She is not anyone at times like this.
Just her.
Moving in ways never to be understood.
Defying gravity with her shoes.
The children call them Magic Shoes.
The world moves because she tells it to.
She needs no one.
Her only companion is the music.
She likes it this way.
They become one.
She is music, the music is her.
They are a blur of color and sound.
The music is the most beautiful rainbow.
It dances across the space.
It is the spot light.
Enhancing her.
Her problems fade.
There is no war, no disease, no hate, her mother is not dying.
The floor is far beneath her, the people are far below, too far to touch.
Comparisons are not able to be made here.
She is fierce with power and passion.
The one place she is strong.
Most would crave praise in such a place.
But no applause is necessary.
Her Magic Shoes send all the feedback she needs in their echoes.
Energy races though her body.
But by watching you can not taste it the way she tastes it.
She can not help but grin.
She feels unstoppable.
She is captive to the music.
Her feet have grown to the Magic Shoes.
They are intertwined.
There are blisters and cuts.
Sweat, and blood.
It is all part of the game.
They are a small price to pay.
They fade away as she continues.
She flows effortlessly.
She is nothing.
No one.
Elegantly she can float.
She floats like the feathers the ducks leave behind in the river.
Like the toy rafts they used to make.
She is reborn here.
The mock titles given to her fall away.
No longer is she plain, boring.
No judgement can linger.
Harsh words are gone.
Time does not exist.
No one can torment her here.
She can not bully herself.
Being in the Magic Shoes she is calm.
When she puts on the Magic Shoes the world changes from a dull grey place of monotone sounds.
What is felt are the colors here.
The sounds.
She feels joy.
Purple.
Birds chirping.
Strength.
Green.
A downpour.
Weightlessness.
Yellow.
An opera.
Excitement.
Red.
The hushed hum of a distant helicopter.
The music is so loud it is not heard.
Only felt.
Music is her favorite emotion.
The floor hurts.
This is the only moment her trance ends.
Falling.
She is broken.
Bent out of shape.
It is the source of her imperfections.
She can not be a professional.
Her bones are wrong.
I will never be a ballet dancer.
Not anyone special.
No one famous.
She is not anyone at times like this.
Just her.
Moving in ways never to be understood.
Defying gravity with her shoes.
The children call them Magic Shoes.
The world moves because she tells it to.
She needs no one.
Her only companion is the music.
She likes it this way.
They become one.
She is music, the music is her.
They are a blur of color and sound.
The music is the most beautiful rainbow.
It dances across the space.
It is the spot light.
Enhancing her.
Her problems fade.
There is no war, no disease, no hate, her mother is not dying.
The floor is far beneath her, the people are far below, too far to touch.
Comparisons are not able to be made here.
She is fierce with power and passion.
The one place she is strong.
Most would crave praise in such a place.
But no applause is necessary.
Her Magic Shoes send all the feedback she needs in their echoes.
Energy races though her body.
But by watching you can not taste it the way she tastes it.
She can not help but grin.
She feels unstoppable.
She is captive to the music.
Her feet have grown to the Magic Shoes.
They are intertwined.
There are blisters and cuts.
Sweat, and blood.
It is all part of the game.
They are a small price to pay.
They fade away as she continues.
She flows effortlessly.
She is nothing.
No one.
Elegantly she can float.
She floats like the feathers the ducks leave behind in the river.
Like the toy rafts they used to make.
She is reborn here.
The mock titles given to her fall away.
No longer is she plain, boring.
No judgement can linger.
Harsh words are gone.
Time does not exist.
No one can torment her here.
She can not bully herself.
Being in the Magic Shoes she is calm.
When she puts on the Magic Shoes the world changes from a dull grey place of monotone sounds.
What is felt are the colors here.
The sounds.
She feels joy.
Purple.
Birds chirping.
Strength.
Green.
A downpour.
Weightlessness.
Yellow.
An opera.
Excitement.
Red.
The hushed hum of a distant helicopter.
The music is so loud it is not heard.
Only felt.
Music is her favorite emotion.
The floor hurts.
This is the only moment her trance ends.
Falling.
She is broken.
Bent out of shape.
It is the source of her imperfections.
She can not be a professional.
Her bones are wrong.
I will never be a ballet dancer.
I have a slight deformity in my bones in my legs; they grew crooked,
not enough to to notice in passing,
just enough to prevent me from dancing.
This is an old piece, a vignette actually, I wrote for a class once, slightly modified.
not enough to to notice in passing,
just enough to prevent me from dancing.
This is an old piece, a vignette actually, I wrote for a class once, slightly modified.
Roger Turner - Poet Jan 2014
Thumbelina Ballerina
Roger Turner - Poet
Jan 2014
It was early nineteen thirty four
The world was set to change
Europe was on fire
It was time to rearrange
Poland was the first stop
The German Army on the move
So we left for America
I hope you did approve
You came with me to Jersey
On a trip across the sea
You've guarded all my secrets
Known by only you and me
You used to spin quite gaily
Now you just stand there en pointe
You're my clipped wing little angel
That's the name I shall anoint
Thumbelina, Ballerina
Dance your dance for me
We've been together eighty years
You are who I want to be
Thumbelina, Ballerina
Just one more pirouette
We've been together all this time
Our dancing's not done yet
I sit here and remember
All the treasures you once hid
You've still some trinkets in there
Some from when I was a kid
Your tu tu is all tattered
The silk lining frayed and torn
But, you've held together nicely
But, I guess we're both quite worn
Your lipstick isn't red now
I hear your music in my head
It hasn't played for 50 years
I just remember it instead
The music gave up playing
You were slightly over wound
But, you still twirled and kept dancing
Even though there was no sound
Thumbelina, Ballerina
Dance your dance for me
We've been together eighty years
You are who I want to be
Thumbelina, Ballerina
Just one more pirouette
We've been together all this time
Our dancing's not done yet
I've told you more than anyone
Than I have ever known
We've been together now forever
You're the most precious thing I own
You've been with me for two husbands
And you've seen my kids pass on
There's just me and you, my dancing girl
All the rest of them are gone
Your paint is chipped and cracked
Your pony tail is broken too
If I still can recollect now
In the fall of fifty two
Your spring is rusted tightly
You need a hand to stand up right
But, then again, I do as well
And most days it's quite the fight
Thumbelina, Ballerina
Dance your dance for me
We've been together eighty years
You are who I want to be
Thumbelina, Ballerina
Just one more pirouette
We've been together all this time
Our dancing's not done yet
Charms and little trinkets
Plastic jewellery, real as well
Secrets of a child
Secrets you would never tell
I am now moving to December
Of my calendar of years
Soon my life will end and
There's no one left to shed me tears
I sit here and I wonder
What shall become of you
My Thumbelina Ballerina
In your dancing dress of blue
You started as a music box
You are not used as that no more
But, Thumbelina Ballerina
Will you dance for me once more?
Thumbelina, Ballerina
Dance your dance for me
We've been together eighty years
You are who I want to be
Thumbelina, Ballerina
Just one more pirouette
We've been together all this time
Our dancing's not done yet
The world was set to change
Europe was on fire
It was time to rearrange
Poland was the first stop
The German Army on the move
So we left for America
I hope you did approve
You came with me to Jersey
On a trip across the sea
You've guarded all my secrets
Known by only you and me
You used to spin quite gaily
Now you just stand there en pointe
You're my clipped wing little angel
That's the name I shall anoint
Thumbelina, Ballerina
Dance your dance for me
We've been together eighty years
You are who I want to be
Thumbelina, Ballerina
Just one more pirouette
We've been together all this time
Our dancing's not done yet
I sit here and remember
All the treasures you once hid
You've still some trinkets in there
Some from when I was a kid
Your tu tu is all tattered
The silk lining frayed and torn
But, you've held together nicely
But, I guess we're both quite worn
Your lipstick isn't red now
I hear your music in my head
It hasn't played for 50 years
I just remember it instead
The music gave up playing
You were slightly over wound
But, you still twirled and kept dancing
Even though there was no sound
Thumbelina, Ballerina
Dance your dance for me
We've been together eighty years
You are who I want to be
Thumbelina, Ballerina
Just one more pirouette
We've been together all this time
Our dancing's not done yet
I've told you more than anyone
Than I have ever known
We've been together now forever
You're the most precious thing I own
You've been with me for two husbands
And you've seen my kids pass on
There's just me and you, my dancing girl
All the rest of them are gone
Your paint is chipped and cracked
Your pony tail is broken too
If I still can recollect now
In the fall of fifty two
Your spring is rusted tightly
You need a hand to stand up right
But, then again, I do as well
And most days it's quite the fight
Thumbelina, Ballerina
Dance your dance for me
We've been together eighty years
You are who I want to be
Thumbelina, Ballerina
Just one more pirouette
We've been together all this time
Our dancing's not done yet
Charms and little trinkets
Plastic jewellery, real as well
Secrets of a child
Secrets you would never tell
I am now moving to December
Of my calendar of years
Soon my life will end and
There's no one left to shed me tears
I sit here and I wonder
What shall become of you
My Thumbelina Ballerina
In your dancing dress of blue
You started as a music box
You are not used as that no more
But, Thumbelina Ballerina
Will you dance for me once more?
Thumbelina, Ballerina
Dance your dance for me
We've been together eighty years
You are who I want to be
Thumbelina, Ballerina
Just one more pirouette
We've been together all this time
Our dancing's not done yet
Mims Oct 2016
get to the bloody pointe
Mims
Oct 2016
pink satin shoes,
i've wanted,
false;
needed,
since i was six years old,
i craved the bruises and the blood,
that comes with pirouettes
the hot blisters,
bubbling with possibility,
the possible pain,
that comes,
with my first pair of pointe shows
i've wanted,
false;
needed,
since i was six years old,
i craved the bruises and the blood,
that comes with pirouettes
the hot blisters,
bubbling with possibility,
the possible pain,
that comes,
with my first pair of pointe shows
i've been dancing for eight years, i'm ready for my ****** pointe shoes