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Sally A Bayan Oct 2015
lovely Saturday morning....
      might we dance a bit today
         to ease off some sadness?*


DANCE
(A repost...some editing done)

The neighbor's stereo was playing tango music
      too loud, it made me  look at my red painted toes...
i realized, my feet hadn't even swayed
for so long now,
they've grown timid...and wary
  
All i want is to dance,
to be safe, warm,
close to one, as close as
cheek to cheek,
go left, then right,
lean, cling, then hold hands,
be held on the waist,
dip, then circle gracefully,
and step, a stretched arm away,
be brought closer once again,
hearing clearly the sighs
as the music reaches a high.

But, it was a chicken dance i had joined then,
the shaking and jiggling were so
repulsive...convulsive...confusing.
it mattered not who fell out of the beat
the desire waned,
fires die,
fires died, alright.

My feet are raring to swing back,
to be alive once more
on life's dance floor
no more falls, trips or missteps this time
just steps with a slower beat
with more grace now,
who knows,
this could be my best dance
ever!

This has got to feed my jazzy mood
play my chosen music
maybe do the shimmy for a while,
then shift to the bossa nova,
swing to its cool, hip-py rhythm.

Whatever the beat may be,
my partner and i,
we shall blend in while we do the mambo,
the rumba, cha-cha, even tap dance,
to celebrate this new chance on life.
I only  wish that on our first dance together,
we may dance the samba on the wide floor,
let the hours fly by.

Then, with a waltz,  we'll take it easy
until we finally get weary,
until we decide....to slow drag
the night away.

***


Sally

Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Sally A Bayan Jul 2014
Dance

The  neighbor's stereo was playing tango music
too loud, it made me look at my red painted toes.
I realized, my feet have not even swayed
for so long now,
they've grown timid and wary
of making the wrong step.

All i want is to dance,
to be safe, warm,
close to one, as close as
cheek to cheek,
go left, then right,
lean, cling, then hold hands,
be held on the waist,
dip, then circle gracefully,
and step, a stretched arm away,
be brought closer once again,
hearing clearly the sighs
as the music reaches a high.

But, it was a chicken dance i had joined then,
the shaking and jiggling were so
repulsive...convulsive
confusing.
it mattered not who fell out of the tempo.
the desire waned,
fires die,
fires died, alright.

My feet are raring to swing back
to be alive once more
on life's dance floor
no more falls, trips or missteps this time
i'd like to dance with a slower beat
with more grace now
who knows,
this could be my best dance
ever!

This has got to feed my jazzy mood
play my chosen music
maybe do the shimmy for a while,
then shift to the bossa nova,
swing to its cool, hip-py rhythm.

Whatever the beat may be,
my partner and i...
we shall blend in......be it mambo,
the rumba, cha-cha, even tap dance,
to celebrate this new chance on life.
Together,
we shall dance the samba on the wide floor,
let the hours fly by.

Then, with a waltz,  we'll take it easy
until we finally get weary,
until we decide
to slow drag
the night
away.

  ***

Sally

Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Anshita Mehrotra Sep 2015
i hate it;
i ******* hate the way you hold me in your arms
-and make me feel like nothing could ever matter more,
and so i sat in the rain for hours
until i went numb
felt anything but your touch;
dancing on the tips of my skin
carving courtesies in the pores of my heart
and every drop burnt like acid
-because the rain was an intruder beginning the tango
when i had only ever learnt;
the waltz
so then my bones chartered swiftly with the violin that was your voice and with the waltz that is this heart
this may be a bit confusing.
but simply,states that all of me was accustomed to him,and now the touch of anything but him,felt too foriegn to contemplate.
I have an illustrious dream,
     want to be Leonard
          Cohen's gypsy wife,
he's kissing my lips on
    Boogie Street,
impetuously we dance
    to the end of love
       'til closing time
       midst his secret life,
he serenades me with
     I'm your man
         when we take Manhattan,
bewildered by his poetic beauty there
     waiting for the miracle to happen,
a sip of wine, a cigarette
         in love we disappear,
   here it is, you got me singing
        be that dog in heat,
I'll take this waltz and
   another please, cause
             everybody knows
     I hunger for your touch,
  his famous blue raincoat
         and the dew on my thigh
goes a thousand kisses deep
   in the cave at the tip of the lily
  with its very own breath of brandy,
slipping into the masterpiece
             where Lenny is eternal
If you don't love Leonard Cohen's poetry and music, it probably won't make much sense.
Brenda E Suhan Jun 2015
Right, left, back – what?
Flames flicker to the rhythm of
Your feet
And waver
At the ripple of my laughter.

Your palm pressed to mine:
Fire soldered to water.
I twirl and
Your eyes
Extinguish mine.

-bes-
Mystifying Chaos Jun 2015
They danced in the moonlight,
To the beats of their hearts,
Lost in each others eyes,
As the world tried to rip them apart.
Their souls waltzed in a different realm,
Dancing in a place faraway, from the mortal world.
They swayed to the songs,
Played by the bright stars.
No sound was made,
Everything that was left unsaid,
Was spoken through the glances and smiles.
Their love united them,
Like the constellations in the sky.
Blinking Nose Mar 2015
She moved like she was gliding through the star studded skies.
Her feet transitioning softly, but precise like a flame.  
Swaying to the rhythm like a laced  scarf pinned to a line, in the strong winds of April.
Her hand in mine, so delicately firm, her eyes beaming with the unmistakable sparkle of love.
She danced on, looking at me with a smile that could make dead plants bloom.
So I held her, through her love affair with the waltz.
Amy H Mar 2015
Can the poet make you dance?
She could put you in a trance
with pretty words
like pirouette or waltz.
If you should start to shiver
when toes and fingers quiver
most assuredly it isn't
all her fault.
Just like music from a player
the rhythm starts to layer
but not unless you
choose to turn it loud.
And then we see you choke,
you poem-loving bloke.
Just being here we've
found your fancy out!
All in good fun, ladies and gents, and a pun for those who enjoy their poems privately.  ;-)
Listen to Can the poet make you dance? by Amy Hilton 4 #np on #SoundCloud
http://soundcloud.com/amy-hilton-4/can-the-poet-make-you-dance
skyblueandblack Dec 2014
He casts his fishing lines into the water and waits patiently
.. what shall be the catch for tonight?
He needs something to breathe life back into himself; get his creative juices flowing again.

This is what feeds the Artist after all.
He does not need food or water;
he needs inspiration.
Good, bad, ugly.. it matters not.
It must be something- someone-
that affects him intensely,
that reaches deep down beyond his self-imposed armour,
and grabs at his soul.
He needs to devour in order to survive.

It is not long before one bites, and then another.. and maybe another.
He gently coaxes, drawing them in with his seductive lures.
He knows this art well.. knows what to say, what to do, who to be.. or not be..

He examines.. tests them..
… a little subtlety here.. more boldness there,
     …… but tempered,
                with a laugh,
                a smile,
                  a chuckle,
                    a wink.

He doesn’t quite want to scare them away,  but he wants to see how far he can go.
What boundaries can he safely breach..?
He pushes, he pulls..
He engages, he retreats..
He shares, he takes..
He tugs, he releases…
     … and the dance continues until his search is satisfied.

And then when he has determined which shall be his catch for the night,
which of these waltz partners is most ready to be broken – open-
he gently releases the others back into the waters…
gently Discarded.

Perhaps they will be led back to his watering hole another day,
and perhaps they will be the ‘one’ at that future time —
or perhaps they will never be seen or heard from again.

It does not matter.

What matters is Now.
What matters!
         is what it takes to feed his desire.
What matters is this moment.
Everything is in this one moment.

This is practice after all.. one must practice in order to perfect the technique.
One must perfect the technique if he wishes to be claimed and devoured by Bliss.
And who does not wish to be devoured by Bliss?

“Enjoy the practice, perfect the technique”.

he says.
http://skyblueandblack.com/2013/09/12/the-fishermans-waltz/
HackMonocut Nov 2014
If I could write a love letter
I would tell you I miss you
if I could put it into the right words
I would ask you to stay

Don't know who you are now
but I know I still love you
and I wouldn't be afraid of
if I knew you felt it too

Meet you in my dreams
night after night
don't know where you come from
don't know about your past

  but we know who we are now

You walk like an angel
with a smile on your face
we're running out of time
night after night
before I need to wake up
I need to kiss you goodbye
then I know I love you
that you are the one

If I could write a love letter
I would send you a flower
but what if it's too late
and you belong to someone else

If I could pocket my pride
I would tell you I'm sorry

   I was blind

now I realize I missed you for another life
now I realize I missed you for another life

I don't wanna wake up and kiss you goodbye
I don't wanna wake up
new song in 3/4 time, naive love song, waltz noir:) , usually I don't write love songs...
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