"ballerinas" poems
my fingers have become bored with
the quicksand of routine
they prefer to dance erotically over my typewriter
frolicking like naked ballerinas
over an ancient stage
spilling their secret thoughts
onto blank page,
after their day job
threaded together
over my lap,
or bending over to
reveal the contents
of my burlap sack
they have taken instead
to jumping over cracks
in the nothing of night
stifling the sound of silence
with assortments of clicks and clacks
punching in the perfect pitch of keys
to leave Beethoven blind
from this symphony of notes combined
and just like that at last
they have unfolded some rhyme
unachievable with ink and pencil,
without the stencil of time
dictating to work inside the lines
Nov 14, 2015
Nov 14, 2015 at 7:07 PM UTC
The belated summer sky is alive
with a D r a g o n f l y ballet
Beneath,.. the rain parched sod
lay sullied, cracked open
by an unsated thirstiness
awaiting the painted autumn days
and the cleansing rain's renewal
A lace-winged hatch rises skyward
— meandering airborne —
drifting upwards like a burst of dust
dissipating in an invisible cloud
of eventide's silent breath
Darting shadows hover
above a seeker's curiosity
just this side the
softening sunset backdrop
A synthesis of fluid motion
– darting kinesis –
swift agile fliers
steal away over the thirsty pond;
their mesmerizing beauty enchants
as the dimming dusk falls silent —-
embellishing the unrelenting ending
another summer's
imminent curtain call;
reminding how inexorable-time
is only a contrived human notion,
a recurring extrapolation
of passing seasons
Heightening awareness:
how we too are only
passing through these
unholdable moments
coming to know
we cannot stop
how life unfolds
The raindrops will quench
the pond's aching thirst
again one fall someday...
— hereafter —
there will be another
beauty of dragonflies
some other eyes will see
preying on another burgeoning
gossamer-winged hatch
and
another beckoning autumn
when the dragonflies hover
below the gazing totems
in the treetops
Jesse Stillwater ... September 2018 .
Sep 19, 2018
Sep 19, 2018 at 12:52 PM UTC
We are all ballerinas
Tying our broken, battered toes
Into pretty, pink satin slippers
Nov 1, 2015
Nov 1, 2015 at 10:20 PM UTC
The ballerina's pirouette:
This is the little triolet.
Within a faëry scene and set
The ballerinas pirouette
To a limpid midnight minuet
In Thumbelina-esque ballet.
The ballerina's pirouette:
This is the little triolet.
*
Mar 13, 2015
Mar 13, 2015 at 3:02 PM UTC
Rilled
as
a Rose,
Petals Painted
with Radio-waves Billowing
amongst Bouquet of Ballerinas,
a Blossoming Trailing
New
stars Born
and Blushing
Foaming
at their
Skirts
like
wrapped the
up like home, Surf of the Sea
in her Doesn't it feel
spiraling Scented with
arms? of her sleeves, warm
Sewn into cotton fibers cosmic
the latte?
uni- Oh,
entire verse before
our we
was grew
She // taller
Apr 30, 2015
Apr 30, 2015 at 1:21 PM UTC
and I would give everything I have to see your eyes light up like streetlamps and you know that time in summer where the steady glow from daylight merges into night time and the breeze dances along the leaves of trees too tall like ballerinas; so gentle if you blink you’ll miss the sway of them? that’s what you remind me of.
you are a glow, an indian sunset and I long to be the sea your sun shine kisses and when your glow transcends into moonlight I long to be the stars who are accompanied by your effervescent light night after night and you know to me you will always be a god **** sunset when you should be rainfall: you pour down on everything I love and leave puddles; you cause unapologetic floods in the crevices of my collarbones and attach your saltwater to the follicles of my hair and you warp the words on the pages of love letters I never sent and when you fall down my cheeks my teardrops and your raindrops will merge and for a moment we will become one and that’s all I’ve ever wanted. to be one with you. to be a god **** indian sunset in your illuminous eyes.
I keep running through the hallways of my mind and your voice is bouncing off the walls and echoing straight through my chest and there’s a thudding that gets louder and louder, like bongo drums, every time and I’m pretty sure my heart is now a gallery of us, open for public consumption and they can walk along the hallways and appreciate the beauty of our profound love like you never could.
one day you will find someone who melts your heart into your veins until it feels like the oxygen around your body is trapped and screaming for you to try to breathe, try to breathe harder and you’ll scream for them and they’ll stop returning your calls and there’ll be no texts and everything you once had will sink – almost in slow motion, almost as intangible as the idea that I loved you harder than anyone ever could – a ship where you’re the only person aboard and you’ll be watching an indian sunset like you watched their fingertips trace the curvature of your hips for the last time and you’ll realise in that moment that they were your indian sunset and man, don’t you just wish for some rainfall?
Jan 25, 2016
Jan 25, 2016 at 9:31 PM UTC
you turn yourself inside-out
each word from the invisible
stretches into the ear of listeners
your heart sense making sense
in a whole new galaxy
the mind and accepting hearts
forming stars in the blackness
light up and spin like ballerinas
Jan 1, 2015
Jan 1, 2015 at 9:12 AM UTC
Sometimes half asleep, scribbling words
or waiting for the morning sky to deliver birds
I fall off the edge, leave this tiny bed
float on rainy streets, there is no one that I meet
only a corner vacant house, where precious paintings hang
I am staring in the window, at flowers yellow, blue
this must be the room of Vincent Van Gogh, this starry night
with lily ponds so beautiful, fields of flowers
purple iris, Monet meadows
brown skin woman, hibiscus flowered
island scenes of Paul Gauguin, so brightly colored
there are pastel Degas dancing ballerinas
Marc Chagall, blue indigo people
without legs, they smile surreal
this museum of the mind
minutes like hours
turned sublime
Nov 14, 2014
Nov 14, 2014 at 10:30 AM UTC
I'm not from here,
I was never from here.
It's time to return home.
Looking at the walls,
A group of ballerinas,
Dancing until the world ends.
Their feet in perfect form
And their open hands.
Why do they not dance for me?
The world is dancing,
The people are singing,
But I feel as though my life is ending.
Tonight,
Feeling a little poor,
I'm like an animal
With my head hanging out the windows.
It's time to return home.
This is my final song,
My final song,
Profound thoughts
And dancing...
...until the world ends.
Sep 28, 2014
Sep 28, 2014 at 11:11 AM UTC
the ballerinas are sleeping
while the show must go on
the stage keeps on turning
awaking ballerinas across the world
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 12:13 AM UTC
The walls harbor my secrets
Pink wall paper
Tucks them away as I sleep
Ballerinas dance in my head
I want to be like them
Graceful, thin, light
My secret scrapes at a dinner plate
Longing for more
But begging for less
I want to be her
The girl in my dreams
Who has perfect pirouettes
But when I wake
My knees meet
Bathroom tiles
Bile spills into
A porcelain bowl
I'm not a ballerina
I'm a bulimic
May 9, 2015
May 9, 2015 at 10:37 PM UTC
an aerosol angel with college-ruled wings
and paint stained fingertips
stranded in a sea of pigmentation
lately, she's been feeling out of place
not all compasses point due north
a parrot in a sea of sharks
who's never learned to sail
they're selling tickets to the shit-show on the shore line
catch the half priced sunday matanee
save the date
a trapeze ******* with a choke hold on the universe's coat tails
tap dancing through star charts and love poems at the pace of lightning's strike
some failures just have to be public
if lessons are to be learned
the prettiest ballerinas aren't afraid to fall
she's learned the hard way to find beauty in skinned knees
strength in stubbed toes
and faith in a broken heart
no point in dressing up, honey
prince charming doesn't frequent freak shows
he's an arrogant flake, anyway
her best bet is a strong man
or a fire breather
when looking for a boy to bring home
one man to bare her burdens
and another to scortch the wreckage of what's left
careful what you wish for
butterflies the size of funnel cakes shake her rib cage to pieces
silver confetti on pitted pavement
he looked so handsome beneath the neon lights
horrified and ecstatic all at once
like a lost boy in neverland
scanning the crowd of strangers for any possible princess tiger lillie's
someone to ride alongside on the ferris wheel all night
untill the sheriff shines his flashlight down the path that points them home
alone
but handsome boys know little about matters other than themselves
so she's gotten good at feeling bad
it's time to find a man
someone who can build things instead of just break them
Nov 19, 2012
Nov 19, 2012 at 3:17 PM UTC
She stands tall and slender like poetry
Her eyes hard as steel
Her face a mask of sovereignty
She's seen it all in her industry
Outwardly she appears calm
Don't be fooled by her charms
Her mannerisms are her keeping
Don't overstep your line.
She's fought a hard battle
Laid claim to the highest throne
She's driven out the competition
But now she stands alone
At what cost comes success
The sacrifice of sanctity
The loss of integrity
A woman fighting in a man's world
Play by the rules or risk your dignity
The fall from grace will be so steep
One she'd rather not see coming
So she dances while she can
Her ballerinas grace has u enchanted
When the time for the show is over
When the curtains r drawn and the lights are dimmer
She takes off her mask and weep miserably
She has only loneliness
To keep her company
Aug 27, 2014
Aug 27, 2014 at 12:01 AM UTC
He always wanted to be a ballerina
To dance so dainty up on his toes.
But everyone could see under his tutu
And the bump they saw was not his nose.
He had the talent and the perfect figure
To perform the balletic steps just right.
There was no way he could ever manage
To keep that ample package out of sight.
Jete, jete. Plie, Plie.
Dance like that’s all you want to do.
Dancing straight, or dancing gay,
Do whatever is right for you.
Hands and toes pointed fine
Back and necks held straight.
Maybe it’s not your time to get picked.
But make it worth their wait.
His skin was smooth just like a swaddling baby
There was no concern about flat *******
Many ballerinas are rather mannish
With not much curvature to their chests.
So he could pass completely undetected
Androgyny was his great good friend
But any moment when he swirled about
Tutu would lift and then spell the spell would end.
Jete, jete. Plie, Plie.
Dance like that’s all you want to do.
Dancing straight, or dancing gay,
Do whatever is right for you.
Hands and toes pointed fine
Back and necks held straight.
Maybe it’s not your time to get picked.
But make it worth their wait.
He never really loved the danseur posture
The holds and lifts and hearty leaps about.
But in the world of ballet and its leaders
Ballerina guys are always left out.
Still he danced in tutu at auditions.
He heard the comments, paid them no mind.
If they could not see grandly male Pavlova
That meant that all of them were blind.
Jete, jete. Plie, Plie.
Dance like that’s all you want to do.
Dancing straight, or dancing gay,
Do whatever is right for you.
Hands and toes pointed fine
Back and necks held straight.
Maybe it’s not your time to get picked.
But make it worth their wait.
Aug 7, 2015
Aug 7, 2015 at 9:07 PM UTC
my open window
looking out with anticipation
cloudy day
waiting for rain drops
precious sounds of life
trickledown into a thunderstorm
crackle of light
reaching from the clouds to the ground
cloud condensation nuclei
magic droplets start to fall
clouds pass
anticipated blue sky
sun raining rays
creatures buzzing
bird wings flapping
luck of the universe
bringing loveliness into my vision
kismet of my ideas
when reaching for the unknown
ladybug lands on me
providing the luck
elytra open like a mechanical contraption in my dreams
protecting precious veined wings
off you go with exquisite elegance
graceful motion
ballerinas
mimicking
your moves
grand jeté
Dec 3, 2018
Dec 3, 2018 at 2:17 PM UTC
Youth has lost it's sweet seduction,
Yellow lemon heads have grown hard and sticky,
No longer resting upon our eager tongues,
But instead gathering lint in forgotten pockets.
Dreams of astronauts and ballerinas
Only exist in dated children's books
And hospital emergency rooms.
There isn't room for foolishness anymore,
Not here. Not now.
Childhood has shrunken into a tiny ball
That would fit perfectly into the hands
Of anyone brave enough to grasp it.
Yet, instead it has rolled off into a corner somewhere,
Out of the reach of subway tickets and smart phones and deli sandwiches and fake leather boots.
Sitting there, stagnant and unnoticed, it festers in the disregarded possibility that is life.
We all grow up and forget this,
We fall into the routine of tooth paste and parking meters and 160 character love notes,
We forget about the astronaut and the ballerina and the president who all once lived inside us,
We shut them away in our minds and starve them,
Only giving in to their innocent requests in the dark of the night,
Where time and responsibility dance hand in hand in blissful oblivion.
Ashes, ashes we all fall down.
Jan 16, 2013
Jan 16, 2013 at 3:15 AM UTC
The Room of Dancing Shadows,
undulating across the wall,
like ****** Persian ballerinas,
making no sound at all.
Reaching, retreating, a mosaic form,
eternally shifting the dark shade.
Pictures of no light in a flux,
remain fragmented, cold, unmade.
Hypnotising, random shapes in black,
swim serenely, start to slide.
The Room of Dancing Shadows
holds its fear deep, deep inside.
© Pagan Paul (03/10/16)
Apr 23, 2017
Apr 23, 2017 at 7:40 AM UTC
That happiest moments come in childhood
When innocence combed ones hair
And Saturdays bring respite
Bedrooms lined with a few toys
While two fair ground ballerinas
Curtesy on a white wood mantelpiece.
Then that snuggling down to sleep
Under homemade feather eiderdown
Hot lemon and sugar brought in a glass
The certainty of mother's voice
Climbing the stairs with wine gums.
Even if time stretched patience
It arrival brought only surprises
And leaf rubbings on paper
Were treasured achiements
Displayed in cardboard mounts.
Love Mary x
Mar 29, 2018
Mar 29, 2018 at 12:22 PM UTC
I signed my life away
A week ago today
I took a pledge to be a warrior
To serve my country with pride
I am proud of this
I need not your approval to be the man I wish to be
For I will be my own
Traveling my own path
Finding my own me
I have finished the part of my life to try to impress you
To try and make you proud
I am done expecting you to be there for me
The cracks are too easy to fall through
I hope one day you will wake up from this slumber
We will talk about our lives while we fish for lost time
The bobbers on our lines dancing on the water like ballerinas
The man I am becoming
Ignoring the child inside
Screaming and pounding
For my daddy
Jan 24, 2013
Jan 24, 2013 at 11:02 PM UTC
A woman traipsed with the whole company of ballet;
She was but only a soloist, a mere sujet.
Her companions wore clothes for traveling hard,
But our sujet, she dressed in dancing shoes and leotard.
Her head was upturned and her nose pointed
High, as if by a great saint she had been anointed.
With ease she stretched into each dainty pose
But no other ballerina saw the bandages wrapped around her toes,
Which she had to replace every other hour;
Seeing her bleeding sores did often make her cower.
To the other ballerinas she was dismissive and ****
But her oft-clenched fists belied the faltering of her heart.
Her chestnut hair she had dyed golden like the rest
And her curves became thin so she would dance her very best;
She had hidden herself inside ‘till her olive skin turned pale,
Believing if she fit in, at her craft she never could fail.
Instead of breaking her fast or supping at night
She practiced her art and took nary a bite.
The ballet troupe sneered while the sujet put on her airs
Yet I know she wept at the ice hardened in their stares.
Jan 24, 2015
Jan 24, 2015 at 9:08 PM UTC
Monsters make us better
Children give us wrinkles
And smiles as well.
Monsters make us monsters to,
Monsters make us human
The best of me and you.
Monsters of women
And men
I cannot
Pretend,
Now I'm not a monster
Because my daughter said I'm a ballerina like her
And ballerinas can jump high.
So maby
I will jump over
The past
Present
And future.
And jump over all the
M
O
N
S
T
E
R
S.
To make me the better human being I need to be.
For me
And for my little
B
A
L
L
E
R
I
N
A.
Sep 3, 2015
Sep 3, 2015 at 1:32 PM UTC
Dancers twirl
Through broken glass,
Blood in ribbons
On the grass.
False laughter fills
The air with smiles,
A collection of fake happiness
For a short and precious while.
Appluad the graceless efforts
Of the sinning ballerinas
As the crowd cackles
Like the call of a hyena.
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 3:14 PM UTC
We're nearing as we ready
The home with green and red;
A deflated Santa on my neighbour's lawn,
Canned snow sprayed in window corners,
Polyethylene on a white Christmas tree,
Gingerbread people drinking hot ***
Mistletoe hanging from sticks and jambs,
And an apron round the stem.
I decorate, make my fruit cake,
Set out the children's books,
The ones I've read so often:
Rudolph and Old St. Nick,
They look foolish on my table.
Displayed in their fixed place.
They're not like my Christmas bling,
The blinking lights, false stars at night,
Twas the Night Before Christmas
Is the real thing.
At midnight we'll hear choirs sing,
Joy to the World, Peace on Earth,
For one night I'll believe again.
Stay good night.
I see my words rise on my breath,
Being swept up to your stars.
Stay good people.
Who missed this year.
Who came last,
Who comes next.
I surely miss you all.
Such heavy memories
Of snow-laden branches,
Castles in globes,
Ballerinas in boxes.
My new memories
Will never last as long
As the ones I've carried all along.
Dec 4, 2018
Dec 4, 2018 at 12:53 PM UTC
I’ve sat with Silence
As she cast silhouettes
Moving in the likes
of Ballerinas across
My hair.
I’ve moved with them too.
That’s how I’ve come
To know their names
Or natures
As such:
1) The one who sold her soul to the Devil
For pennies and a dollar
So her mother could
Come off the
Corner
2) The one who put Fireflies and Rainbows
In mason jars and played make
Believe with running fingers
And a wounded
Moon
3) The one whose only trace of a father is
The bloodstain on the wall like a
Family photo with X’s over
The faces because he
Destroyed more
Than his own
Soul
4) The one who strung sorrow to the ceiling
To play its marionette with dancing
Shadows weeping and frightfully
Abandoned, hiding under
A candle in shameful
Bliss
5) The one who wandered though fields
Of whispering epitaphs that
Made nursery rhymes
From the likes of
Madness
6) The one who locked her heart in
A vault within ashen walls and
Wrote letters to stars that
Wrote it’s not her fault
She’s infinitesimally
Small
I told myself I would never return
To sleep
To dream
To surrender my mind to its own
Devices
Vices.
But here am I, Lord
Swinging with the wind
Under a purple tinged twilight
Making friends with twisted tongues,
and braided hearts slinking through the alley.
I’ve bore my heart like a cross,
Carried it past moratorium
Marching east for west
Until my frantic feet
Cease to move
Me.
Dec 3, 2012
Dec 3, 2012 at 12:11 AM UTC