"acrobatics" poems
Up on the cliff face,
Mountain goat's acrobatics.
Wind's hands undermine!
Apr 28, 2016
Apr 28, 2016 at 10:00 AM UTC
A bag full of water
Little goldfish swim around
Nudge the bag, explore your world
Tell me all that you have found
Let me know your in there
Little nudges, little kicks
Let me see those acrobatics
Show me all your tricks
You are my little goldfish
With tiny little feet
Little arms
Little legs
I can't wait for us to meet
May 17, 2012
May 17, 2012 at 3:02 PM UTC
Yes,she talks to squirrels while admiring their acrobatics on a phone line above
Monarch butterflies land in her hand and visit awhile
It’s an Indian Summer and things go up and down daily
The autumnal rainbow is slowly beginning it’s spice rack color show
She likes her iPod tunes and private fitness time
An October walk in New York
Greeting and playing with every dog or puppy crossing her path
C@rainbowchaser2018
Oct 6, 2018
Oct 6, 2018 at 11:59 AM UTC
The kite gets high, stays aloft-
quite some time displaying
enviable dexterity, for fun
do spectacular somersaults as much times
as it could, climbs up in air with a loud swoosh
then look! how the wind gets *****
with her, if she has something
of a skirt, it goes up, up to an
indecent height, she doesn't have
that balance a player at such
heights should have kept always.
Its absurd, all these acrobatics silly kite
displays before the world at high altitudes
with a unholy interest
to show herself more accomplished
than what she really is, could you
pardon that frivolity, because she
has many more colors than clouds.
He admits abashedly that he too was
once in love with her frivolous attractiveness,
but he never could understand a kite;
in spite of the lightness, that makes
it easier to travel heights, has kite a significance?
After all what is a kite? her merit?
a strange arrangement that defies
common sense, all it can do is aimless flying.
Isn't it a charge serious enough?
even a dry leaf, or a falling feather
can do these acrobatics for a while.
What is the meaning of a kite,
kindly someone notify , if it has any,
meaningless flying is not for anything
of substance, what kind of play
is it, if it is perceived as one, by any one
why the folly of someone take us
for a ride all these years, without
a second thought, he wonders
who might have promoted it, had some
ulterior motive, some point to prove;
wind, mightiest of forces is made to look weak
in everyday life .
He would suspect, in the bargain many
generations too spent their time
in this vein pursuit without any thought.
Any kite display a greed to go up and
stay there, till the time it is possible to float
don't want to be back, when wind is on her side
unless force is applied, what does it signify?
Kite has a hunger to touch wonder with its fingers
he knows, and he can't but appreciate it
and when the occasion arises she fly up to the cloud,
play with him as if he is her secret lover, that hurts
could such a liaisons are to be be tolerated
she knows how a cloud tastes at different times
Yes, sky certainly intoxicates her,
she want to move closer, doesn't it spell danger?
Dec 23, 2013
Dec 23, 2013 at 1:09 PM UTC
Boiling blood and angry eyes
Boil over in tears that do not cry
For this idea, one last good-bye
Is a selfish notion
Proximity breeds what hearts belie
Jagged emotion
So this, our little rendezvous
I swore that I would never do
Until, of course, you asked me too
The doorknob's turning
Now, it must be followed through
My heart lies burning
Ferocity to match my own
Intensifies this time alone
The love has long-since been outgrown
There is no forgiveness
Just pleasure like we’ve never known
This time, I’ll win this
Then finally, you’ll realize
I’ve grown into these golden thighs
That seem to have you hypnotized
Within their power
And far too late you realize
You’ve been devoured
By the woman who stands glistening bare
Watching you with tainted glare
In a flash the passion flares
Drunk acrobatics
Bring forth new heights our bodies share
Now spent and static
Breathless and dripping wet
As close to hate as love can get
And this amazing last duet
An exclamation
In this goodbye lives no regret
No indignation
May 29, 2010
May 29, 2010 at 6:45 PM UTC
There’s a concert in my back yard
solos and duets all day
a circus with acrobatics
clowns painted with reds, blues and browns
just feet from my perch
here as I peck on the keys
the stars fly in
then flit away with ease
as if to tell me:
you can’t hold me long
with your seeds and your eyes
we are free to dive the skies.
May 12, 2022
May 12, 2022 at 9:31 AM UTC
I see them in the evening
echolocate after gnats
as they dart and dive for micro-prey
our night sky is alive with bats.
They clear away mosquitoes
never seeming to alight
and make it safer here below
these tireless workers of the night
I am fearful for their future
as we use our toxic sprays
for as we spray mosquitoes
we poison those who call them prey
Still the acrobatics thrill me
in their nightly hunt for gnats
and I hope for many years to come
our nights will be alive with bats
Cori MacNaughton
(July/Aug?) 1999
Jun 17, 2015
Jun 17, 2015 at 1:37 AM UTC
Dramatic faces and dancing clowns, who's next to make a frown.
Acrobatics and tiger tamers.
Creepy smiles, chills down your spine, oh look? there's Alice In Wonderland with her time rabbit friend. Creepy places, so eerie and dark, don't you want to come with me and see the other side of Circus Wonderland? where every creature comes to life. Even the unknown.
Their all wild, their running for their lives, going untamed but trying to tame.
Let's go to Circus Wonderland, where there's hot bags of crunchy popcorn bliss in the summer air.
Colorful lights, beaming sounds of fright.
Portals to unknown dimensions, where things we dream of come to life.
Come take a ride on the wild side darling, i promise you'll be alright.
Let's go to Circus Wonderland, where even the ballerina over the jewelry box dances under the diamond ring while the tamed lion jumps through the ring of fire.
Jun 9, 2020
Jun 9, 2020 at 12:17 PM UTC
I can feel us on the edge here
this narrow ridge we’re hiking
it’s thin enough in places
that I’m nearly certain we’ll
topple down the side
But we haven’t yet and
it could be your acrobatics
or mine
that’s got us still balancing
in an act a professional
tightrope walker
would balk at
We’re daring though
and the view from up here
so far is breathtaking
and the thrill of chill wind
against our faces
exhilarating
The peak not yet in sight
shrouded in soft white fog
that was forecast to disappear
by noon
instead it’s rolling down the side
thickening and reaching
for us
Our view goes white with gray
eddies loosely defined
interludes of curling air
the pebbled ground slowly fading
so we clasp our hands together
it’s less stable but
comforting
as the mist swirls between us
Soon there’s nothing
no outline
the last wisp of your hair
is gently consumed
into this vaporous world
where only a touch
obstructs
surreal isolation
Nov 12, 2012
Nov 12, 2012 at 2:13 AM UTC
She made it vanish
every trace of it,
with her inimitable
feminine magic.
Fully erasing my
post ****** hatred
led me from the front
to an exploration of
ardent, ****** acrobatics
that took us through the
***** dynamics of
****** healing, non peril!
Wasn’t she an all terrain ace?
Aviator making me fly
without wings above the
fluffy soft caressing clouds
The toughest driver on roads
of all kind,keeping pleasure
at the acme through out her drive.
What a swimmer was she,making
me swoon in sensual waters.
Apr 23, 2018
Apr 23, 2018 at 2:33 PM UTC
my first loves
transformed what 'beauty' and 'perfect'
meant to me, and looking back
i see some other meanings
to the imperfection-
perFected i proclaimed;
concupiscent nerves from icy stutter flutter/stop/and start
to overvast before- and after-glowing liquidy, salacious insatiateness--
to coughing up to concrete luck
or reigning fates between the legs
and then the sob galactic spin of adoration-letting-go
even when in full embrace
from many imperfections always there,
'perfect' grew -- astounded me
beyond imagination's bounds--
and i still say amid the memories,
((mistakes and hurts and flaws
i held close then)):
i found in her,and her, and her perfection fullness all and nothing left--
sincerely told her so,
demanding in a tongue perhaps akin
one love there,one love, one more another one in oneness found in one
an understanding of a 'summun bonum' love returning yet just found at last the first.
and then, to see grandma!!
elope away at 86 to marry on impromptu cruise!!
i saw a childlikeness there as she returned,
youthful once again a flame adventure shocking all her young,
to spring her step beyond her offspring
despite the flaws become apparent it was perfect watching them
(with that same man she'd passed up for another at 18)
dance into a twilight swoon of giggles envied by the moon..
finer acrobatics of the heart
to tie the strings of self with other knotted self
together form and net cocoons for loving evolution's end
in learning how again to change into the deeper love of flaws which strengthen us as well to bonding into
this
all too perfect, imperfect endless bliss
.
Sep 5, 2012
Sep 5, 2012 at 11:47 PM UTC
I love watching swallows
Gyrating and playfully swirls;
Mingle above over the river
Forming in a malee a ball.
Swiftly riding the thermals
Scooping the swelling water.
They shriek wheeling freely
Like boisterous little girls.
I came to see the lively acrobatics
In graceful motion of symmetry.
See enormous body of water flow
Pour itself into it's wide open mouth.
Slowly eroding shaping contours
And lives living along it's banks.
Constantly foreboding danger
And yet beauty and the mighty
Together in harmonious chemistry.
There I was many hours
In thought. What do I ever get?
At the jetty by the imperious
River where until dark I will be.
Time spent the opportunities
Passing by I have no regrets.
I'm like a ship from harbour
To harbour of a predestined life
With cargoes of worthless experience
Till I rot at the bottom of the sea.
Laboriously river meander and flow
Agile wings twist and turn in the air
With invisible brush of arcs and lines
With a vast sky as an open canvas.
The two characters, elements
Of nature, demonstrate their part;
In the theater of strength and grace.
While I am but a nameless intruder
Grateful of the kindness forever last.
Jun 25, 2018
Jun 25, 2018 at 11:02 PM UTC
I had forgotten the way to the hut that I had traveled to so many times,
so many days. So many moons, I would say. But no one marks moons anymore, except hunters. And I am not one of them. Nor a gatherer.
I listen to old men tell how they felled the stags. I do not believe them.
I am a wayfarer, to use the archaic words I used to love, the words
I had forgotten, the words of time in eternity, the words of orange leaves
on towering pin oaks, the words of circles of shadows settling on Gavarnie, of snowfall in the Pyrénées. Sever Spain from the Continent.
I had lost the language of the ***** spray-painted sheep scampering
over gray-bouldered cirques on mountaintops, boulders turning into mountains in the shadows, in the fog, in drifts of snow. There are no words for this now. Bleating sheep drown them out, and yapping dogs.
There are no words for the radiance of transcendence. “Climb higher,”
I hear them say. Higher into the haze of clouds. Cirque: circle, circus. Acrobatics on hillsides, balancing acts on rockslides, skimming streams in hard-toed boots. I had forgotten the way to the words, far behind me.
I have come to a gate, a steep stile in shadow. No sheep can pass. Nothing looks familiar; nothing looks strange. I saunter in a cloud
of unknowing. I had known the words: worn, smooth as stone unscuffed by hard-toed boots, slick as snowmelt. Slide from France into Spain.
This is the path of Santiago de Compostela, the route of St. James, who said, “Do not be double-minded, brethren.” I cannot remember if I have been double-minded in my travels. I had forgotten the way. If the words do not come, which mind sees the threshold; which mind circles the fog?
What passes, what begins when we travel? I do not look backward.
The way lies ahead, waiting, wandering away from the words. Splotches
of lichen sprout orange and green. “Go no higher for safety.” No higher.
They do not mention exile or ecstasy or the straight path of radiance.
The cirque circles my words in mountain shadows. I must unlearn
the art of travel, adrift in broken fields of stone. I had forgotten the way to the hut. Rocks obscure the path. Light ensures the path leads upward. Nothing is lost. Words hold their weight. Stags dance above me in fog.
Aug 14, 2018
Aug 14, 2018 at 3:19 PM UTC
I try to write when I am tired
but tiny spiders descend around my desk.
Newly-hatched eight limbed-things
parasail
the silk lids over my eyes.
If only I could ride out the exhale and
go at once adrift, self-rappel
I would climb the silk suspension line
swing from thought to thought
thread the eye of the needle
pull-ey up the beanstalk.
but instead I'm left to watch these aerial yoginis
swim on a draft from the ceiling.
These spinsters with their poetic acrobatics
for whom rhythm is spun on silent trapeze--
make a play-swing
out of gravity.
The tiny spiders that descend around my desk
make me--an oaf.
a self-honoring monument
for climbing, a botched landmark to ---human ingenuity
me, a moving pedestal for dancing
me, a knotted up windsock
hunched over a heated screen,
trying to blow down metaphor, alliteration
from these tiny kites that ascend the earth.
Tiny spider, tiny spider
let down your silk tresses
draw up my mind
swing the high rafters
I want to hang upside down--
make a play-swing
out of gravity.
Yet when I pulled on the thread
to net the silken-mouthed beast,
words did not come down
like mana from heaven.
Rather, my tongue grew heavy with cotton
metaphor, alliteration,
the fabric of suspended poetry
unraveled.
Lucid improvisation fell like Icarus
to quips.
because thinking to write
and writing to think is like
pulling dead hair
from spaghetti.
Meanwhile, tiny spiders descend around my desk
parasail
and make a play-swing out of gravity.
Jun 28, 2012
Jun 28, 2012 at 4:13 AM UTC
Knew you had walls guarding your heart
Uncomfortable with the way you look
Girls left you feeling broken, empty,
You try to replace pieces they took.
Flatlined and abandoned
Questions where confidence should be
Gave all my love to you
In return got disloyalty.
Another person to hurt, betray
I never was important to you
Mental acrobatics performed in my mind
The intense thoughts weren't in yours too.
I told you to be yourself
Had already lost who that was
Held by insecurities
Instead of me chased a buzz
You said I meant everything to you, the world and more
If that's true why do you treat me like I'm simply yet another score?
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 8:33 PM UTC
dear mom
In the distance I Know I’ve been down and searching low
Know there’s been times when my pride was the only thing on show
Still I kept trying having only found disaster at my feet
Thinking life was a joyride on the way to easy street
But I knew that without you I’d have crashed and burned
Knew without you no lessons could have been learned
But with a new release on life
I learned so many new things
Learned how to love so I’m going to spread these wings
Gonna amaze you with my wonders, going to reach into the sky
And only you can stop me so please mom you’ve got to let me fly!
Let me lift my spirits up won’t you see how high I can go
Without your support I’m still gliding if you wish harder I’ll glow
These mountains in the distance they don’t mean a thing to me now
I’m gonna dazzle them with my acrobatics somehow.
dear son
When u was an only child i put my wings over you
I said a little prayer so that your love would set u free
I knew you would get older and everyday I would find my might
So those days lost to wonder are just getting me ready for the fight
You see we work together; as loving mother and son you are the key
But you have unlocked my power now I'm sailing our ship to victory
Now nobody can stop us we are a united carousel of hopes and dreams
And who would have thought we’d get this far on a fools ship at sea
Aug 23, 2010
Aug 23, 2010 at 1:37 AM UTC
Magnificent blue tent is spread over my head. I look at it without a word while the audience throws unleashed cries of encouragement. "Go, go! The net is under!" . Hands holding a long pole. Providing a first step towards a string of fate, felt my face turn white as a mask on it. The sudden touch of metal wire under my feet breaks the breath from my lungs. One blink and everything disappears, my steps are steps of fate that slowly sneaks maneuvering between two abysses. My hands have grown together with rod and turned into a solid dragon wings. Through spread nostrils I am breathing in sweet smell of victory, and exhale fire of disappointments and saliva of defeat. The audience is still unleashed: "Fly, don’t you see you have wings? Fly!". I move slowly, like a white panther whose fur is embellished with blue diamonds. I walk slowly, coping with every step, feeling soothing palpitations, it was just a short-term earthquake which shook my knees, elbows and fingers. The epicenter was reported somewhere in the abdomen, waves of heat and uncertainties have slowly spread to my limbs, passing with from my skin through electrified air to the audience. The earthquake, which I've already forgotten strongly encompassed thousands of rosy faces and bright eyes squeezing out of them delighted "Ooooh," while I slowly crossed my way through streets covered with traps. Heavy load on my back, large stones of tedious requests, cramp biting my shoulders, neck and bending my spine, as if all this is gone in an instant, while I safely walk under Dragon armor down the sunny street of bravery. I arrived at the other end of the wire ordeal and with the final step I realize that there is no place for fear, nervousness, that I'm not an amateur in a professional competition, Harlequin has survived another day. Tomorrow when the load again rises to the scale of the iceberg, when again I become stray ignorant in acrobatics exam, tomorrow, if it ever comes, I'll think about it. Perhaps there is sun and melts the icebergs, might come truck and drive my loads away, I may again grow wings to bring me over the abyss.
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 2:07 PM UTC
bronze statues sit along the fence
singing through multi-coloured-
feathers and beautiful beaks
they mimic others song putting-
a twist of their own into the mix
they take off from their plinth
massed air acrobatics in sync
one bird with a thousand wings
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 1:51 PM UTC
today seemed inspired,
clever grammatic acrobatics,
maybe some genuine musings,
definite contextual reactions.
has the psyche, yours and mine,
been as busy as the day's rain?
what was so different in the air,
when we stayed inside,
seCured in our sense of shelter?
was it ugly out? I found it beautiful,
but I couldn't take my laptop outside :/
Jul 20, 2012
Jul 20, 2012 at 10:07 PM UTC
Under hazy violet twilight hum sprites
Performing acrobatics above my head
Eyes fixated on the popcorn ceiling
They sing the body electric
In the cinema between four off-white walls
Under lazy muggy moonlight I hang tight
Watching pixies become gremlins
Eyes chartreuse, bright, and bulging
Scurry down walls and seek refuge beneath me
Becoming the neurotic symphony of aging pipes.
Under fading fluorescent lights I sit upright
Scanning all four corners for my personal bogeyman
Eyes bloodshot, heavy, and weary
Once again close beneath then fortitude of quilted mass
Becoming another night of stuttering slumber.
Mar 31, 2016
Mar 31, 2016 at 5:50 AM UTC
Young as I was
with driven energy,
I took the fun
with my sensuality.
I was attracted
to both genders,
all were carefree
indulging fantasies.
And we engaged
and converged,
*** for free
with anybody.
And when done
in the acrobatics,
exhausted and bared
after the shared lust.
The acts continue
with many more,
at several occasions
without precaution.
The body once sturdy
has started to melt,
like a candle shining bright
now has dying flickering light.
The immune system
infected with viral ***
has succumbed to mortality
as lymphocytes posted fatality.
Unknowingly or intentionally
same being shared physically,
the virus to another innocent
infecting through love's scent.
And so the viral multiplies
into many men and women,
whose lives marred by ***
and soon suffer the AIDS.
Despite, many stand strong
to set as epitome of courage,
tell their stories to let known
that such curse must DIE.
Aug 12, 2015
Aug 12, 2015 at 12:42 AM UTC
An ant on the edge of a glass clings with microscopic acrobatics,
A thematic blood-curdling scream breaks my concentration. A dream’s
Manifestation, a masturbatory second-glance, a fiftieth
Chance exhaled out a window, instead of words. I heard
Every one of yours, believe me.
Let me retrieve my dignity, your amnesia only temporary
And your memory selective, my detective skills more useful
For playing CSI in the mornings. The bruises are telling,
The losers uncertain, the wine stains on the curtain
Permanent, the bloodstains invisible, the headache miserable,
The reasons obvious. Be more devious, and less serious.
The lipstick marks I leave on your blanket make it
Impossible to forsake it, but better to forget it, forget the words --
“That jacket would look better on you with some bullet holes.”
Holy **** let me explain:
I don’t want you feeling pain, don’t want you driving home drunk,
I didn’t want you to get into this funk, can’t keep
Protecting you from the truth, I hoped my honesty
Might help you see a little, even help you sleep.
Keep your assessments quiet till noon, adjust your feelers,
Sniff the air, there, there, little ant, it’ll all be over soon.
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 3:47 PM UTC
Sai Krishna
what magic have you wrought
the sideshows and acrobatics
of the world no longer entice
robotically I go through the motions
of daily living
my mind totally absorbed in You
Captivating Lord
You have performed a sleight of heart
and I am hopelessly smitten
fatally attracted I stalk Your
charming footsteps
planning my sweet ambush
Alluring Giridhari
the mid-night air is
dulcet
and heady aroma of
jasmine enchants the Soul
on the soft earth
I have drawn a sacred white circle
a magical mandala
under a pyramid of stars
I wait
Dec 3, 2014
Dec 3, 2014 at 10:06 PM UTC
fire ant performs
acrobatics, on a leaf,
pauses for applause!
Jul 30, 2017
Jul 30, 2017 at 9:46 AM UTC
Woke with the sting of regret, it’s been too long since I fell,
I missed the rush of fresh air, I missed the taste of the smell,
I was in love with the tightrope, the stained glass of her eyes,
Bowed by the weight of surrender, I settled for compromise,
Watching those false idols dance, turning wolves into sheep,
As we played coy with the monsters that sang us to sleep,
I had a million places to go, and so much I’d hoped to say,
But I wasted another tomorrow thinking about yesterday,
And those sticky situations where we all came unglued,
While I daydreamed a sky that wouldn’t mirror my mood,
A slow dance with routine, and every face looks the same,
I was choking to death on the stale taste of my name,
So I started sanding sharp edges, hoping that I might fit in,
I spent a year writing my ending, so I could finally begin,
Dusting off open road acrobatics, I twisted south by the sea,
Searching for the rotting remains of who I thought I should be,
But it was just another battle that I lost to the war,
The same wrecking ball feet with new roads to explore,
Nothing quite felt right, my fingertips became springs,
I’d lost the girl to save the world, and other foolish things,
It was my first last-ditch effort, my best second guess,
I painted myself into a corner of the picture of success,
Fifteen-hundred miles, and still felt so far out of reach,
Until late one night my phone rang as I walked along the beach,
I told my story to the old man as he listened patiently,
When I finished, he calmly asked me to turn and face the sea,
He said, “The ocean is the journey, the sum of all you gave,
Do not lose perspective; this is but a single wave.”
I drove home that night and slept for the first time in half a week,
And when I awoke, the path before me didn’t feel quite so bleak,
I realized there’s no shame in letting someone catch us if we fall,
And that being lost is different than being nowhere at all,
I learned that each story is a lesson, not merely a scar,
And that all we have left is not the same as everything we are.
Aug 16, 2016
Aug 16, 2016 at 2:32 PM UTC