The door, half-open, the sound
Of piano keys one by one
Accelerating, rushing,
Then, softly and gently
Fingertips only
On your neck
And my hair;

The doormat, greasy,
White stains on black,
White stains on white,
White saints above,
And below — white Snow.

Hands jump
From one place to another,
Passionate, yet thoughtful,
Albeit slightly nervous;
A black bough
With a little cloud atop,
Red on white,
White on black
And white on white again.

A lucid view
Through an opaque surface,
Chills mixed with warmth
Within and around;
Muted soft sound
Goes on for a while,
Numbs the senses,
Then, suddenly, a couple
Of accurate and precise
Touches make such
Clear and dazing notes,
That you just sit there
Overwhelmed.

The drum, slow and steady
And swingy and lazy,
As the body trembles,
Bends slightly, freezes
And goes crazy;

Translucent wings
Flutter over white
And black and gold,
The bird serenades
In the dim, shivering light.
He puts
his hands
Around her body
And a calming, warm,
Quiet sound
Of a pulsating heart
Blurs and blends
All the colours:
White on gold,
Gold on black,
Black on white,
White on hazel
And so on
And so forth;

An upright bent
Of the bent upright;
Hold on,
Forever.

The end.

I'm dancing with my darling
To the New Covid Waltz
She looked up and she said to me
"I can not see you"
"You're so far away"
For now, that's the way it must be

I remember the time
That we danced until morning
Watching the night turn to day
Now, when we're dancing
I can't even touch you
You have to stay six feet away

I'm dancing with my darling
To the New Covid Waltz
She looked up and she said to me
"I can not see you"
"You're so far away"
For now, that's the way it must be

I remember when we
Would dance in  the moonlight
Cutting a path 'cross the floor
Now with N ninety five masks
And gloves to your elbow
We cannot do that anymore

I'm dancing with my darling
To the New Covid Waltz
She looked up and she said to me
"I can not see you"
"You're so far away"
For now, that's the way it must be

So, remember this
Keep your distance while dancing
Doing whatever you please
Don't get too close though
Please keep your distance
In case one of you happens to sneeze

dancing to
Clair de Lune
I dreamed of you
choirs sing
church bells ring
waltzing in spring

Debussy and Chopin
mastered my childhood
I loved them but
I spent hours at the piano
perfecting perfectionism
a lesson my teacher made sure I'd never forget
nightmares basked in the moon

in the car
age nineteen
I cross the lines
lyrics mean
more to me
open my eyes

to sensuality non-conformity shades of gray
and the blues
once I only knew black and white keys
now I see
dissonant chords and improvisation
what, not everything is planned and perfect?
showtunes and musicals
I gorged on the meat of their stories
sweet delicacies
the orchestra played music that never sounded more delicious

night descends
first love ends
six years to mend
drinking in
Taylor's blend: acoustic pen

melodious lullabies
familiar comfort
Celtic tunes of magical lands faraway
Chinese songs of my parents' day
they used to play when I wouldn't sleep as a baby
and I fell asleep
writing my way into healing

years have passed
take me back
nocturnes bathed in moonlight
dancing to
Clair de Lune
still I dream
of you

Dancer
by Michael R. Burch

You will never change;
you range,
investing passion in the night,
waltzing through
a blinding blue,
immaculate and fabled light.

Do not despair
or wonder where
the others of your race have fled.
They left you here
to gin and beer
and won't return till you are bled

of fantasy
and piety,
of brewing passion like champagne,
of storming through
without a clue,
but finding answers fall like rain.

They left.
You laughed,
but now you sigh
for ages,
stages
slipping by.

You pause;
applause
is all you hear.
You dance,
askance,
as drunkards cheer.

Keywords/Tags: dancer, waltz, waltzing, applause, drink, drunkards, neon light, strobe, flash, flashing, crystal ball, chandelier, lap dancer, exotic dancer, stripper, peeler, strip, striptease artist, burlesque, Moulin Rogue, dance, passion, champagne, gin, beer

To Please The Poet
by Michael R. Burch

(for poets who still write musical verse)

To please the poet, words must dance—
staccato, brisk, a two-step:
so!
Or waltz in elegance to time
of music—mild,
adagio.

To please the poet, words must chance
emotion in catharsis—
flame.
Or splash into salt seas, descend
in sheets of silver-shining
rain.

To please the poet, words must prance
and gallop, gambol, revel,
rail.
Or muse upon a moment—mute,
obscure, unsure, imperfect,
pale.

To please the poet, words must sing,
or croak, wart-tongued, imagining.

Originally published by The Lyric. Keywords/Tags: musical, poetry, rhythm, rhyme, meter, sing, dance, waltz, emotion, catharsis, passion, music, adagio

Before waltzing together
To the melody of the
Blue moon
I danced alone.
Independent and yet feeling.
And then a gap developed
And grew
Large enough for
The space of two
And so I filled it with
The shine of
The Blue moon.

The Blue moon is my
Melody, love and solace
Whilst my body halts
To disallow the hole to
Grow larger.
To feel is to rip the hole
Wider.
And so feel,
I cannot.
The waltz was always
Mellow,
Almost melancholic;
And so it so easily
Unstrung - snapped.

Frozen over

The dance paused for
A few months.
Then the music began to play
So did the light
And I
Saw him
In the distance
Flitting in and out,
But remained
A dance partner.

While I swayed along with
The fluctuating notes
Others danced close by
And once I realised they'd left
And would not again
Dance close by
I shrunk back
Once again
Dancing alone

Frozen - crack.

And then he stepped back and
She came.
The water still dripping
Along her arms
We waltzed.
All too familiar
And yet she
Still withdrew
My hands unmoving,
Floating in the air
Where she would be.

And whilst neither left
Our synergy left me
And so my waltz -
In the rays that filter through
The cracks in the roof -
Is steady even when
The light flickers.

The gentle caress of your fingers
I won't forget
For your essence is still there
Even if only in
The Blue Moon

At a vexing infernal ball,
The molten ash lights up
An intricate obsidian hall.

The devil walked up to me
Offered a withering lily,
And asked for my decaying hand.

So I waltzed with the devil
Graceful fluid movements,
Like the blood leaking
From my long closed wounds.

Hand in decaying hand,
Ashen footprint by ashen footprint,
We drift further into our moment,
Dancing at the depths of our hell.

The dance will end in its own time.
The inevitable death of the
Minor notes of deprivation draw closer.
My heart starts syncing with the notes,
Tuning it's strings to the icy song in play.

As the ending major chords finish
Their prolonged hymn of fate,
The devil leans over my helpless body
And donates a kiss to my struggling lips,
Ending my life in its entirety.

Now a silent ballroom remains.
A silent ashen body lays stagnant,
And soon fades off into the dust
That decorates the ebony floor.

Two unscorched hands still lay,
But they are frail, and will soon decay.

He lay there in a *****, unkept ball,
Having surrendered to the pavement.
Wisps of stringy brown hair
Covered the lines on his sunken in face,
His yellow smoked eyes, rheumy and blurred,
His vision hazy, like a punch-drunk boxer.

Kathleen Harmon sashayed by
With nary a glace downward.
Once they were equals,
When they sat together
During high school Chemistry.

Time slowed from a Tango to a Waltz,
As a drop of saliva
Kissed the pavement.
Stringing there from his cracked, parted lips.

His tangled brown whiskers,
Patchy on his cheeks,
Had lengthened with the passing days
Since their last meeting with a razor.

Nikes, Prada, and Gucci
Ignore him in passing
All sports, fashion, and business meetings;
On the clock, and self-absorbed.

Dusk marked the sky
With a violet crayon
Worn to a nub,
Then worn to nothing.

A sudden thud startled him awake!
Then blackened hardwood stunned him as it bit into his ribs!
A caustic voice berated his slumber,
A navy blue reminder that even surrender was no escape.

A red moon cast on a folly filled night
Humans hid away in fright
A haunting melody was in the air tonight
For the Bone King had arisen from his lair

A lone maiden of silky woven red dared
For she ventured into lands mortals bewared
Slowly following the music of the dead
Not knowing where it led

She encountered the King amongst the tombs of the undead
The land around him had already dwindled
Not even a single flower had remained
But she did not dare fleed

Slowly she took his bony hand
As they danced amongst his land
The Bone King was in disbelief
Why was this fair maiden not scared?

“Maiden, wherefore art thou not afraid? I dareth not guaranteeth thou art safe, f'r I am but a monst'r.”
“Why should I be afraid of the most magnificent being ever made? My king, you fail to understand, for our souls are a reflection of one another.”
"I am a monst'r, am I not? F'r all apart from thee did withdraw, leaving me withthe sc'rn undead."
"You are for them, my King. But what value do the words they utter hold? Beauty rests in the eye of the beholder."

"And f'r me, thou art the most wondrous."