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LR Thompson Jan 6
The morning dew drops fell to their rest

Little stars shine moonlight reflections

Each reminiscent of the different dimensions

To which water can be a part

For on the tapestry of earthy green leaves

A universal ballet is being rehearsed

As spinning fractals dance to the rhyming crickets

Whose choir hums to a classical melody

That soars as high as ancient redwoods

Towering above the dew drops as they pilè

Into a pirouetting waterfall

Whose crash sends cosmic waves

Of pitter pattering percussion

That quickly rises to a triumphant crescendo

Only to fall silent as the first light of morning

Transforms the dewy pantheon

Into glorious diamonds of golden rays

Whose attitude stands defiant

Against the altitude of the coming vault

Back to the skies from which dew cried

A forlorn mist longing to reach the clouds

And escape the terrestrial embrace

Whose gravity forever tugs with tidal force

Turning mist to rain to fall in stars

Droplets destined to reunite with the lonely night

And once again dance to the dew drop ballet
For a visual experience please visit my page on commaful
Bella Isaacs Feb 2023
Gaze at me, with you ever-so-slight smudged lipstick
Pop-punk lyrics issuing from your perfect mouth
Dark circles from the khôl and folly
Forgiveness from your youth
Torsion of perfection into a wry smile
Sober, you say, drunk, who'll walk upon my style?
Who'll dare? I dare, in laying bare, ballet hands,
The contents of my *****; You know, friends,
I may be an actress, and pretentious,
But my ability to lie's contentious.
Can I just be my perfect self, please?
Maria Mitea May 2021
on that day
she performed the dance
in a mortal silence

lustful intensity,

the unusual
exit with the back
was hiding her face
without any wave of hope,
the eyes
seeking consolation,
her spine
became alive
like a tempting serpent,
were wavy wings
a cry for help,
legs outstretched
like two cello strings
under the guidance
of internal forces,

the pirouettes
with a great talent
the lack of courage,
as a sacrifice brought to the air
she kept doing
dozens of rotations
as if
the body
was anointed
with the dark air,


it fell into its arms
like a wet coat,

every movement
again and again
"I love you
I hate you",

sun rays
in a light
that bowed obediently
under  the public eyes
like a forest
of frozen trees,
waiting for
what's next
Tribute to one of the best world”s ballerinas Maya Plitseskaya!
Juno Feb 2021
There’s a specific rhythm to dancing
which only a dancer knows.
The thrill of a strong jump,
or a good pointing of the toes.

A tap of pointe shoes on the floor
where usually sounds a thunk,
or the success of a hard spin
when you thought you’d run out of luck.
daphne Feb 2021
little balerina
glides gracefully with ease
the soles of her feet bleed
but her smile aimed to please

little balerina
each twirl immortalized her
prancing around me like magic
everything she does is a blur

little balerina
i can see her smile wavering
as she dances with such splendour
around a truth she's been denying

little ballerina
such a beautiful form of art
but it's time she accepted now
an end that broke her heart
It was funny how
Before her summer of fourteen
Her life became
A longing dream
Small waist,
Big hips,
Double Ds,
Thigh gap,
An hourglass.
E, t, c.
This was her list and the time,
Ticked away like grains of sand and salt
The scale reads one five zero.

She had a
Banana for breakfast, just one:
Yellow and clammy,
The way her skin had become and yet it was
Cool and smooth to the touch.
Milky. Like that dancer's dying eyes
After the teacher had told her to drop a few pounds.
Well, now she hangs a few pounds.
Just for a few pounds.
Toes pointed perfectly.

Do you like
How she floats now?
Are her little freckled arms
Light at her sides now?
Angelic, you wanted, and angel you now have.
Held up by a halo of rope around her 14-year-old throat.
I hope you still get a chance to watch her dance from hell.
xander Dec 2020
through a silver thread our love is intertwined, leaning on the edge of a silver knife and the nape of a man you once loved, much can be undone.

such unearthly love they’ll say, much like the lines on your weathered forehead. The end is nigh, like a loose string hanging around your frail neck, bonds made to be never broken.

hand in hand, the traveling jeans of downtown abbey, such a compromise aristocrats could not bear to lose.

In the old days it was enough, card games and slow dancing in the dark, tasting much of the old stored in the cellar, spirits and conservative values alike.

but can much be said, when the raging of the dying of the light is proved useless? spinning, we can’t sit still, advertised in blue skies, our young blood must’ve been shed.

idealism and passion sits idle, in a prison, a prison we call home. shackled by sandy shores, the foundations of this earth are restrained, like the rose petals that fall from your lips.

twirling and twirling, grace and femininity indoctrinated from young, much can be undone.
Carlo C Gomez Oct 2020
Out of touch with the ground
I walk a thin line

I am in lonely equilibrium
A broken umbrella

Swinging to-and-fro
On this trapeze

Coming untethered
From these elapsing heart strings

New love's dividing line
Depends upon its precise timing

Port de bras
The illusion of imponderable lightness

Take a leap of faith
Reach out for me
Lily Sep 2020
Waves cleave the cliffs
The birds ride the wind
The night fills the soul
I cleave to you

The sand polishes the toes
***** tango in the sand
Stars perform ballet in the black
The fire sparks against the stillness

Waves cleave the cliffs
The birds ride the wind
The night fills the soul
I cleave to you
another product of my English class
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