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Karijinbba Jul 24
Two Men's vibes
burning reach my Evez ice.
Two my diamond cave enter.
underneath my water fall.
Vibration's from beyond,
  two distinctive voices won,
ever twirling on and on;
deep as violins his pitch fiddle
his electrical guitar's timbre
command starry skies above!
My tantrick abyss below.
I love thee two, lovers mine.
Punjabi voice lover divine.
I thirst for yours all's mine
Our stars wisely magnetized!
Both cosmically energized.
A state of knowing is ours.
dancing eons on two poles,
to twirl on and ages on,
the mornings and eves long.
I twirl on two magestic poles.
Long shiny studs hard as steal!
First pole's twirl echoes longer
Kemah lover elite's older
  ancient memory hunger!
Implant blue pill chip slumber.
From willow tree, past pole lover
to new belovedz Punjabi forever
See me twirl spread for thee wide!
on thine glistening poles
from past to present LOVEz!
Loverz on and on!
By Karijinbba
All Rights Revised 7-29-21.
a dancer’s heart
can not be ripped apart

it moves to the sound of a saxophone
a lovely noise of jazzy notes
that warms you like a winter coat

it swings to the melodies
and receives all these remedies

it carries the passion in every step,
moves slowly and feels holy

a dancer’s heart can’t fall apart
it’s filled with peace and joyfulness
it carries love and is sweet like a ****.
a dancer’s heart is a piece of art.

- gio
Hipster dancer
Hipster poet
She danced
On the floor
He sang
His song
Hipster dancer
Hipster poet
She hip hopped
In 🌷 tulip field
Hip hop music
Hip hop song
He sang
His song
Hipster dancer
Hipster poet
She flaunted
In the air
Her golden hair
Hipster poet
Wrote a poem
She is an official beauty
Does well
Her duty
She dances so well
She romances excellent
She loves him
He loves her
On official duty
They are regular
Hipster dancer
Hipster poet
Confer love degrees
On each other
Hipster dancer
Hipster poet
Vice versa
Hipster poet
Hipster dancer
Hipster is not pejorative. Used in modern context. At working places, working partners become life parteners.
Juno Feb 22
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.
Theanm Ankh Jan 22
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.
Orange Rose Dec 2020
Tomorrow's sun brings icy wind
And hearts entwined are torn again
The wings of angels bleed and break
Reflections dance on mirror lake.

The stars are falling one by one
Darkness consumes until it's done
And fragrant flowers bow their head
The dancers' feet are made of lead.

And cities crumble brick by brick
And flame ignites the candle's wick
As icy wind begins to blow
The dancers' feet begin to slow.

Tomorrow's wind brings burning rain
All living creatures shall be slain
And after rain comes deathly chill
The dancers' feet, at last, are still.
femininefiction Dec 2020
The color of passion, the color of pain

The color of delusion, the color of flames

I slip my swollen soles into your hallow hysteria

Cracked, fragile feet from the frost bite

  of a West Virginia snow

Size six, ruby red stilettos

and I push

and I pull

and I scream

and I sigh

and I try and I try and I try

In my six, ruby red stilettos

Freezing poetic lullabies

Until I can find a place to call my own


Sparks of scarlet bloodlines

Dripping down my spine

Wrestling through rivers

between the spaces in my mind

My heart is much too loud for a place like this

My lips are much too quiet for a place like this

I dance with him in

The color of courage

The color of fame

The color of charisma

The color of strength

The color of my lipstick when its fading through my lies

Much too broken

Much too bold

Bursting into a violet plum

until I am in pieces—

until I decide to throw myself back together again

In my size six, ruby red stilettos

and it wasn't my intention to force them to fit

and I push

and I pull

and I scream

and I sigh

and I sell dignity of my poverty

to get them to come off of me

but once I started dancing

I fell in love with the sound

of my heels clicking

the surface of the floor

and I made myself a home

in my size six, ruby red stilettos.
Grisha S Nov 2020
She danced through the night,

Under the shadow of the moon's light

Her white dress flowed as she spun

When she moved, every spirit and soul on the earth became one

Her face sparkled with a twinkle in her eye,

It shone as bright as the stars in the sky

Her grey eyes looked calm and serene

Her movements as flawless as anybody had seen

No jewellery adorned her, just a white rose in her hair,

Its sweet smell would chase away any despair

She was truly a beauty with her hair black as coal

But it was unlike her pure white soul

Like a bird in the darkness,

She danced with such a finesse

But when the sun came soaring high,

She would disappear in the blink of an eye

As the people gathered on the streets,

On the run, she would be

No animal or human could find her when she was gone

She would return in the night and vanish the next morn

The light chased her away

The sun left her astray

Unlike the shadows they made her suffer

But she was an elegant dancer

And the midnight belonged to her

-Grisha. S
This poem is about a beautiful girl who absolutely adores nature, and loves dancing at night. But what happens when the light peaks through the sky and reaches her?
A swan gliding on water,
A bird soaring through the sky,
A horse running magnificently,
A tiny dancer who wants to fly.
Bold and strong on her own two feet,
Beautiful and driven with every step,
Vulnerable and powerful through her spirit as she freely lets go,
Awaken and alive in the moment.
Dancing away all of her demons,
Regaining control,
She is who she is when her feet moves,
Just a girl dancing with her soul.
Fey Sep 2020
I am a dream dancer.
My strings are taut
over the vaults of the sky so soft.
Like a quiet muse I hear
the silent night breaking in.
Like marble, strands of clouds shine brightly,
in shades of rosé and nacre here,
those anxious sounds are getting lost,
now blanching in rust  and debris near.

I am a dream dancer,
staggeringly floating in the sea of the world,
wobbling and falling on thin ropes,
spoiled in nothingness and oh so empty,
despicably holding the here in fear.

I am a dream dancer.
And I fall
As an eternal bliss truant
To the ground.

© fey (28/12/17)
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