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Be as the leaves
of one tree dappled
by shades of light
that are never
in the same
pattern, floating
as stardust or
leaves, dream
as a poet
and hear the
words of
small things
in existence,
they are ways
of home for
the lost one,
an elusive
dancer of
the infinite.
cleann98 May 2022
light footsteps as i was taught...

i have learned to balance my legs
like the precise swinging
      and swaying
of a well maintained metronome

in fact, they could very well move
on their own if i asked them to.

picking up the stars at the tip of my fingers,
connecting the fainting lights at the black
until i could form something
good enough to at least imagine it real

        or at least to make a good story about.

breathing in intervals
as the skies would allow
feet planted firmly
solid, stuck on the ground
i can only dance for now...

under the loudly singing
roaring sea of starlight
the half moon reaching out
to call me back home
i can only extend my arms
to sign a silent promise

here in the dark prison of gravity
the blackness of twilight taunts me
soon o' little skywalker

the day will again come
and hide my moonlight
and yet all i can do is
wait watch and practise--

**i can fly higher than this
thank you for reading!
i'm still in a slump ;-; maybe i'll start posting old poems i haven't put here yet just as buffer but i do want to be active in poetry again since i'll be composing songs again too ._.

btw do you think this poem is optimistic or pessimistic?
JKirin Sep 2021
I never knew love before seeing him—
a beauty under the southern night sky—
as he danced, his strong body pliant and slim,
to the tunes of a distant guitar.

I never knew love before seeing him
with his heels on the pavement click-clacking.
As he flares his dress, goes to a spin,
with a rose in his hair – he is striking.

Each step, each clap – I am at his mercy.
Each beat, each dance – he is all I can see.
I'm lost, I'm in love, I'm down on my knee –
each time I pray that he also sees me.
about falling in love with a queer gypsy flamenco dancer
Rainswood Sep 2021
The sedum has begun to blush.
Something in change of seasons  
That intensifies my craving
for strong male energy.
A Gravitational pull
Towards Infamous downfalls.
Until the day that all the Jessica stories have been told
I will continue living this way
Dancing in the rain
Stomping over the invisible lines
Drawn to keep me contained
On knowing and loving myself
Karijinbba Jul 2021
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 renewed beloved my forever Kemah twin oaks
two glistening poles
I am art twirl divine

from past to present LOVE
Lives 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
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.
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.
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