"arabesque" poems
Never will I be covered in tattoos
My legs and toes shall forever stay bruised.
I’ll never paint or carry a tune
Forever and ever, I’ll wear a tutu.
I won’t dye my hair pink or blue
My piercings will stay as the simple two
Nails cut short and hair in a bun
In ballet, this must be done.
Pink tights by the mound
Bobby pins all around
Leotards on the floor
Pointe shoes by the door.
Toes taped so tightly
Smiling big and brightly
Red lipstick adding to her beauty
The dancer moves so smoothly.
Turned out from my hips
No words coming from my lips
I dance sweetly to the sound
Ooh ballet, to you, I am bound.
Full of grace, never haste
Filling perfectly my costume of lace
Ever so sweet, my dancing feet
Step after step, I repeat and repeat.
Obtaining perfection is my key
It’s what I strive for, it’s all that defines me
Pushing harder and harder to reach my goal
It’s what I live for, ballet is my soul.
My toes may bleed
And my knees, grow weak
But I’ll never stop dancing…
Not until I reach my peak.
Pirouette, Pirouette
Dancer’s silhouette
Practicing at dusk
Dedication is a must.
Stretching my limbs
Choreographing on a whim
Alway aiming to be stronger
To hold my arabesque longer.
When I do finally reach that triple pirouette
and all is done and all is set
I put myself back into class
Aiming for a fourth, to be better than the last.
This is the life of a dancer en point
Risking the health of her feet, legs and joints
Just for that one perfect moment on stage
Where the ballerina stands tall and all are amazed.
Feb 19, 2014
Feb 19, 2014 at 3:49 AM UTC
Goth Child nursed his mother's tattooed *****
Snapped **** with teeth
Then grizzled grin at me and spit up
I poked at my chile relleno
Twisting hot cheesy sludge off prongs
Tour jete with fork finishes in arabesque
Between my own fangs
I spit back scalding ****
Goth Child points, says, "Pawpee, that man is scarewee"
Pawpee turns his tattoo tears to see
Flashes his gleaming grill
I sink in my seat behind sightline of salsa squeeze bottle
Chattering ivories
Nov 23, 2015
Nov 23, 2015 at 2:19 PM UTC
♡><♡><♡
on bare boards
the glit'ring gause
graceful gesture found
an arabesque
an aching pause
apropos to concert sound
lithe lustrous girl
scarce woman grown
pours out her beating heart
to stretch with every
muscle owned
in pain for love of art
pure grace she is
just as a swan
soft white and deepest black
she sways and lilts
her own will gone
on point with arch of back
a strong male
who leaps and soars
stately carriage bounds
to show his love
unto his core
and sweep her
from the ground
no person in
the world knows
the dancer's struggle, care
they only see talent bestowed
as he lifts her in the air
the grueling practice
hour on hour
the hardship and the strain
taxing body til it's empowered
the tutelage of brain
hour on hour
same movement learned
feet bound until deformed
to ache, oh yes, to hurt and burn
'til she has perfect form
but all this pain
which we don't see
is never all for naught
for the roses she will be
for the applause
she's fraught
for when this girl
is on the stage
she will, as a swan, fly
and with great grace
she'll turn the page
and then, as woman
die
soulsurvivor
(C) 8/1/2015
Aug 1, 2015
Aug 1, 2015 at 12:26 PM UTC
I once found my heart in Catawaba
Where the blue cornflowers flourish between
Arabesque petals floating from the snowy dogwood trees
Encasing the air with the thick fragrance of innocence
You took from me beneath the dying maple tree.
The monotone cubicle in which you thrived
Wouldn't suffice for the rose petals lingering
Between your flushed lips drenched pale in the moonlight
Breathing "You are beautiful"
Smoking cigarettes with your mind.
Jul 14, 2012
Jul 14, 2012 at 3:05 AM UTC
Arabesque brown galaxies peer from behind rose tinted shades
As your soft pink lips plant
cashmere kisses that I crave
And when you leave, my neck is haunted
by the ghost of your teeth,
body still trembling from the
euphoria achieved
Dec 2, 2014
Dec 2, 2014 at 10:24 AM UTC
I wear white
I wear white
I wear white and stare right back at
the other end of the world
The hems of the loosely fitting traditions
Barely touch the ground anymore
I wear white
I wear white
White like the chalk on the blackboard switched from
right to left.
Aimless and bereft of the desert I once called mine,
I walk alone
I wear white, I wear white
As I have done for 14 hours
and 14 years
7000 miles on the screen and 2 more up there
to be precise. It faded for every mile
Just as it has been doing since the day Darwish died
I wear white, I wear white
A different breed of Semite than they're used to
Not walking but flowing almost
as contradictory as "poutine Arabesque"
The routine wears my jaw out
as the vowels twist from right to left
I wear white, I wear white
Not just quite there yet
Not even close
Not even halfway to the surface but then again
I suppose we've always been at ease at the depths of the sea
Pearls and black gold abound
I forget that sometimes in between
intermittent bouts and doubts of "3arabiyun ana"
As if that's what makes up the anatomy of an Arab
As if that's enough for you, Khaled
I wear white
I wear white
Or at least I tell myself I do
Leave myself open to the prospect
of life starting anew
Forcing myself to see it through
See life through your eyes
Or are they my own **** you ?
Tell me for the love of Christ
Call me by name and don't
bury me under the empty discarded photo frames
that you stockpile
I'm calling to you, Walid
And will keep on calling
And trying and burning and aching and failing and dreaming and irritating
like a bad itch
I sink under it all and push it all off step 3 repeat as necessary
I scream in the tongue that you deafen your ears to and pull at the beard you've tried to shave off
I pluck at the horizontal heartstrings you've tried to mute
Above all, I wear white...
And I fight.... I fight.....
I FIGHT
Apr 4, 2010
Apr 4, 2010 at 8:10 AM UTC
Seduced by Debussy
In music I lose me
When notes float on staves
Rolling in with the waves
Of pure sound.
The music around me surrounds me
Enraptures and captures my heart.
Arabesque,clair de lune take me off to the moon
And again I'm in rapture
Trapped in the capture of music.
Mar 2, 2013
Mar 2, 2013 at 10:00 PM UTC
Silken ribbons lacing dainty ankles
toes snug within slippers in first position
she nods her head for the music to begin
breathing a deep breath, ready to audition
Vibrations dance through out the floor
her frail body flows with such grace
with an arabesque she looks into the crowd
hides her nervousness, with the smile upon her face
As pirouettes sync with the allegro tempo
into a grande jete she soars through the air
though her leg gives, she falls with broken pins
an elegant bun lands as unraveled hair
Breathing deep breaths, her heart beat races
while seeping into the floor she rests her head on
are the tears of failure forming a lake
around the broken winged beauty, a fallen swan
Her shattered dreams unlace defeated slippers
for she has cried out all of her ambition
to be a prima ballerina, now never to curtsy
with ankles chained in fear locked in first position.
Dec 11, 2013
Dec 11, 2013 at 1:33 PM UTC
Piqué, piqué, piqué, pirouette.
Arabesque. I stand there and you spin me around en pointe.
You complete me. We dance and the music is like the background
To our focal point.
We are the centre stage.
Echappé, échappé, relevé.
Pas de chat ensemble.
Repeat à l’autre côté.
You take your hands from my waist now.
We need to complete the choreography.
And I feel lonely without you,
Although you are just on the other side of the room,
By the stereo.
I miss you.
Dancers fall for their partners all the time,
So I will never tell you how I feel
Because love will be the thing to tear us apart.
Feb 3, 2013
Feb 3, 2013 at 12:53 PM UTC
capricious
arabesque
undulate
clientele
juxtaposition
visceral
illuminati
illustrious
canticle
piecewise
chantry
tealeaves
evensong
quixotic
Oct 20, 2011
Oct 20, 2011 at 12:46 AM UTC
Flowing voice-
such a sweet aria!
only such arabesque
allegretto beauty
could ameliorate
shakespeare, mozart
with only mere words.
Andante ambiance
azure bliss blossoms
when gaze meets gaze.
lovely cadence
your dusty rose lips
whisper dulcet
promises of eternity
Oh eternity!-
how short it does sound!
But yet eternity
must efflux at some time
we will hold eachother
in the next eternity
and the one after
Apr 16, 2013
Apr 16, 2013 at 9:25 PM UTC
At it's ecstatic heights, life is
a splendid display of ballet moves.
I watch you fly high precariously,
stopping a beat of my enamored heart
with an astounding move speaking beauty
and dexterously land statuesque,
in a graceful arabesque stance.
Defying gravity with amazing ease
you create beauty none ever dreamed,
so kaleidoscopic, appreciating it means
touching the eternal with one's being
in a fleeting moment, get transported.
For that, one needs a mind as sharp as
razor's edge and constantly pirouetting
360 degrees embracing you at the
speed of light, before you turn to a
lightening flash,of different wavelength,
all over again and begin the next cycle.
Mar 25, 2016
Mar 25, 2016 at 9:18 PM UTC
I feed my appetite with your voice. Your fricatives pirouette on my tongue. Each sibilant hangs on my teeth, then slides off and leaves its wax to pile up in my throat. I cough it up and collect it in a jar. It sits on the shelf in my basement and becomes familiar with the musty cloak of yesterday’s wet laundry. On the shelf, there are jars of swollen strawberries and gritty half-skulls of pears, blackberries like bundles of balloons. But in your jar, suspended in their own sugary liquid, are ripened vowels that arabesque when I give the jar a shake. I wipe the damp film off the metal lid with my thumb. Now I’m sitting in bed at 2:00 a.m., scooping your words from their glass house with a sticky index finger, speckled with seeds, semicolons, ellipses. Each dig gets me closer to your older, sweeter language–closer to what I’ve been craving. The last drops cling to the jar’s lip until I tilt it to mine, and I’m full-bellied, staring at an empty jar. In the bathroom, I slide a finger in my mouth until it reaches my throat and the words come up and fill the toilet and overflow onto the floor, puddle around my crooked toes and stain the linoleum.
Jul 29, 2013
Jul 29, 2013 at 4:44 PM UTC
Unfinished I am
Left those ribbons flowing
River
Stream
Adagio
Fluid and slow
Tipped across floor
These cracked toes
Unfinshed I am
No water to reflect
Face unshown
The build up
En L'air
Made love to wind
Touching cheeks
The essence of air
Inhaled
Exhaled
Whispering over ground
For as i went up
Strong
A grand allegro
Soft
Slithering around hugging wood
I came down
Arabesque
Leg heavy
An ox I am
Held perfectly
Examined by man
Unfinished I am
Left those ribbons flowing
By the river
Stream
Adagio
Fluid and slow
Tipped into pond
A sensuous grand finale
Of floating below...
Nov 25, 2012
Nov 25, 2012 at 3:34 PM UTC
In the light of your immaculate form I make the following declaration:
I will be your jealous cellist-
(I.)
And I will play you like a stringed instrument - then
When you make delighted whisperings
And finesse the fine music of the feminine, magnificent
Your heathen distemper
Distributed,
woman-like, goddess-like
Classic cello-shape
Draped in lilting silk
Then
I will fiddle and pluck
Cast broad swathes near and about your single tingling place
Your attuned instrument
And it's spruce wooded
frontispiece.
(II.)
You faux arabesque
(for faux is our shared domain)-
Your hands moving gracefully - you pause -
Feigning flight
Feigning fancy
Considering
My rising fire
Weighty desire
Shadows mingle with glimpses of
My thickness and length-
Veined skin and steel,
White - waiting, wanting -
And there's an answer.
(III.)
You are girl - such a girl
I am boy, only boy
My persistent mans eye view
Part pleased with the flashes of you -
Now in new
Near **** rhythm
This gilded exuberance,
Radiant
Hypnotic
Sets sparks flying
Tickling toward sky and stars
I would have you
My dexterous digits upon your supple, warm-
Fragrant fresh flesh fret board
I would squeeze you where
Your mystery resides and
Elsewhere besides.
(IV.)
Roughly - at first - needy
Determined -
I would play upon
Your duet of juice creators
Invoke the
Holiness of your
Secret sacred spaces
Doublet, Triplet, Quintet
Play on! play on!
I would have you
With my plugging piece
There! There!
Your open legs
Secretly seeking my carnival of thrusting
Inside your warm girls pearl
Antidote for collective loneliness.
(V. )
I would hold you, your sides -
Firm in my greed
Our lustful minuet in 3/4 time
Play on, play on - I
Kiss your neck,
nibble your *******
It's you, it's you
You arch yourself toward me
Warmly
Affectionate,
We hold hands, fingers between,
And dance.
(VI.)
This some time Summertime
Bright flame
We reach - how we reach-
Our mouths, our tongues -
The very words we speak- yearning for -
longing for -
Connection
Each to the other, and
Our connection to God
"Rightful sin -
Come to us again
And again - and again
Satisfy our minds!"
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 6:26 AM UTC
Her arms so arabesque,
choreographed by Balanchine,
smoothly flow
raise and lower
in time to unheard melodies,
A Flamingo when this lady
dresses.
Bees and birds stop fluttering,
watch, as
she pulls those stockings
slow, so slowly
up her silky leg
to heaven.
Oct 2, 2014
Oct 2, 2014 at 12:32 AM UTC
I dissolve
When I'm in the thick of nature
It turns my brain off (for once)
Smells cast spells
Sounds surround
I am finally in it
I feel
Sparse
Whittled down
To bone and breath
Arabesque complexity nixed
And I am
OK with that
My worries
Go extinct
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 5:43 PM UTC
Have you noticed how the music screams,
How children in the mall confront,
How anchormen are filled with glee
When TV news disaster's front?
Noticed how the colours fade
When iridescent seas are fouled
Or skies turn turgid grey from blue
And football crowds scream hatred loud?
And why is it that every time
An ethnic immigrant complains,
He points the finger square at us,
The fools, whose benefits he claims?
And Asiatic hatreds brew
Between the Indian brother’s, brown,
Over Kashmir’s shaky border fight
And Pakistan’s deep, angry frown.
There’s trouble in the Middle East
Kalashnikovs shoot up the town,
Somebody soon, should tell those boys
When slugs go up, they must come down.
And what about the filthy beasts
Who scatter needles in the sand
To leave the fickle fall of dice
To innocents with tender hand.
Have you noticed how the wealthy keep
The good stuff for their selfish self?
The rest of WE are left to fight
Amongst ourselves for lowest shelf
And how about Ghaddafi’s end
So brutal at the sandy drain
Where wild eyed Arabs shot him dead
And TV watchers, fat, complained?
And listen to the moaning Greeks
Who’ve clearly lived beyond their means,
Complain about austerity
And pauperize their Europeans.
And witness now the howling Yanks
Who stand to point recession’s claws
Directing blame at anyone,
But themselves, whom problems cause.
And finally an Arabesque,
Macabre in its grotesque call,
Of skeletal, Ethiopian forlorn
Whose starving end, ignored by all.
There’s beauty in this bounteous world,
There’s Godly, good, and quiet serene,
But just beneath the surface lies
The human filth, deserved, obscene.
Marshalg
Observing my world in turmoil.
Auckland N.Z.
22 October 2011
Oct 21, 2011
Oct 21, 2011 at 3:48 PM UTC
Grapefruit tree blooms lush
Its proud fragrance dominates
Stirs senses...in white...
Redolence wakens.....
Mind and nostrils, side by side
Inspire and create...
'neath Sunday's twilight
Branches mate....shadows connect,
Entwine....entangle.....
Curved silhouettes form
An arabesque....of shapes
And my own dance steps...
Night impregnates mind,
Scents, trees, starry nights..are turned
To runes..........some, with tunes.
................................
(A cluster of haikus)
Sally
Copyright April 2, 2017
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Apr 1, 2017
Apr 1, 2017 at 11:37 PM UTC
Anticipation is like a former actress who eagerly awaits a future prospect, where delicate wallflowers hang with certain fortitude.
Similarly, our medieval ancestors played the harpsichord, whilst later English Baroque flaunted her chauvinistic flamboyance to those who fluttered their eyelashes in the name of socio-economic harlotry.
I am pleased to meet your acquaintance, my friend of gallantry.
However, the roots of Portugese expression are conveyed in the aristocracy of our heritage.
As purity is the laughing stock of assumed independence, and pride is buried in lascivious presumption, we must remember that the classical piano shares an Arabesque flavour which stands in juxtaposition to our Saxony.
Jan 22, 2015
Jan 22, 2015 at 10:35 PM UTC
A chimera ground
of profound sadness
enframes a deep field of arabesque red
split in two,
as Salomon would,
by a thick bleeding bar of black 'n blue remorse.
Dec 31, 2010
Dec 31, 2010 at 7:57 PM UTC
The car runs rough today, labors over
low hills that lay between me and the city.
Clouds like enormous white feathers
fan across the watery blue. The sun's
warmth has lifted a rime of frost
from the land. The farmer who owns
this field has gone mad it seems,
has taken his tractor on a joy ride
leaving behind a rough arabesque of
dark earth, an unintended and fugitive art.
What moved him to this rash act?
Was it a bitter phone call?
Did he sell the land for enough cash to break even this year?
Nov 6, 2012
Nov 6, 2012 at 4:19 PM UTC
The little girl slides into her slippers,
supple leather gloves for her tiny feet.
Her hair, though not the same copper shade,
still shows tints of auburn in the light.
I brush back a few stray hairs into place,
back to the nape of her neck, where mine stayed for so many years.
I gaze at my shoes in the corner,
the ribbons limp with depression, the elastic dog-eared and sad.
The satin is the dusty rose of evening.
I fluff her tutu and twirl her around;
Chaines come easily to her,
Just as they do to me.
And though even now I strike a picture-perfect arabesque,
no audience is there to watch.
I have passed the recital stage in life,
meaning I am a shut-down factory, left to rust;
no longer am I considered a ballerina.
No longer am I entitled a dancer,
but deep inside,
past the mismatched legs and crooked knees
and twisted pelvises,
I still am.
Her eyelashes blink up at me, and I grasp her hand
as the piano begins.
She sighs and ballet runs across the stage.
I wish the magic came without the reprimanding.
Her green eyes sparkle and her feet sing.
In my little sister, I see myself.
Dec 22, 2009
Dec 22, 2009 at 6:21 PM UTC
With ease the flower juggled
Playing sweetly tenderly with the sun
Outside the vent of my window
Where I smelt the fragrance
Of this pretty yellow flower
Eavesdropping in my penal dream.
Could this be the fruit
Of billion trees veiled in vain
Innocent voices drizzled
And flooded patiently the weighted heart
Weighted heart of sombre days
Sombre days of beautiful injuries
All the Arabesque of the eyes
That foamed far then clad facades
Jun 13, 2019
Jun 13, 2019 at 4:07 AM UTC
suspended vertical defying human limitations
bound in heaven's threads they perform
an aerial arabesque costumes torn, scattering
sequins and halos on their ethereal descent
as the crowd watches breath harmonized,
almost willing them to fall
if air had been my mistress, I could have chosen
to soar the allure of existing only
in this angels' abode where letting go
relies on faith and testament of art
evanescent as we all prepare
for this our final show
Sep 9, 2014
Sep 9, 2014 at 8:14 AM UTC