"bolero" poems
Her shoulder rose like the moon
above the black velvet of bolero jacket
She took his arm, his eyes--
An apogee
She took the room
in reverence
So slowly
shed the mountains
shed the light
hand to touch their wonder
Gazing after
her noiseless ascent
which never happened
while they watched....
Pearls—
roll against warmth
luxuriating offspring
cool encircling
contents iridesce
their energies’ warning:
Nothing quite that simple
Nothing quite that still
Nothing like the opulence
on the Proud Eve of catastrophe
Pearls—
caught in the lining
of what never happens the first time....
She heard them before she saw them
rip their orbits!
fission her universe!
in the mezzanine of the symphony hall
Pin ball in the Fun House
Bingo bounce
off—
the hardwoods of space....
Universal Theory of Scatter?
Even now I can still hear the clatter
of their round smooth souls
in the doorways of distant relatives
How could I know?
You would condemn me
to find them all?
Jan 25, 2017
Jan 25, 2017 at 8:31 PM UTC
Fenola watched
as Eileen bathed.
She took in
the hand
moving
the lathered sponge
over the contours
of the body,
moving between ****
like some
venture ship of old,
moving down
the belly,
beneath the soapy water
to the pleasure dome,
then out again
around the neck
and under chin,
then whole body
over once again.
She knew that body well,
each inch of flesh,
each orifice,
each smell,
each loving touch.
Even the thought
pleased her
overmuch.
Eileen looked over
where Fenola sat,
on stool,
in bathrobe,
with feet
on mat.
Come on in,
she said,
room enough for two,
you rub my back,
I’ll rub yours
and other places too.
Fenola thought awhile,
took in her eyes
that gazed,
the smile
that spread,
the memory
of the afternoon
in bed,
the positions held
and played,
the *** ensuing.
Eileen pointed
to the soapy bath,
come in,
she said
with **** laugh.
Fenola stood up
from the stool,
disrobed,
set it aside,
stepped in the bath
and sat down,
the water engulfing.
Somewhere
from the other room,
Ravel played
from hifi speakers,
Bolero
or some such piece,
the sound touching
the bathroom walls
with steam and scent.
The girls rubbed
and scrubbed
and laughed
in soapy water,
each one
like a siren
of the sea
or Neptune’s daughter.
Nov 28, 2012
Nov 28, 2012 at 3:42 PM UTC
watch the sunset setting on fire
the concrete buildings you can see at the horizon,
feel the sand cooling in your palms
as the sun is one more time going down.
watch the stars while they slowly show
their bright faces between the clouds.
*upon the sea
the moon again kisses the skies
before they go to sleep
and I'm not there,
I'm not there
to see it with you.*
breath in the salty evening
hear the voices of the waves
singing unheard lyrics;
build a fire
gather some souls
a guitar sound,
you have it all.
wait for the sunrise to paint the clouds
dance with a stranger
while the Bolero with its crescendo
touches your mind
see the Black sea turning into Red
see the shy sunrays braided with the waves,
kiss the air while it is still fresh,
feel the sand as it gets warmer in your hands.
watch this life waking up again,
and if you have any free time
send me a picture of your perfect land.
or, better yet, send me a picture of your smile
after all, that's the image I most long to have
when the night breaks in
and I have only darkness between my clouds.
*upon the sea
the moon again kisses the skies
before she goes to sleep
and I'm not there,
I'm not there
to see it with you*
May 5, 2016
May 5, 2016 at 3:13 PM UTC
a daunting bolero sends a shiver through a dream
a forlorn melody haunting a hazy delusion
crooning on a whimsical note
and breaking a melancholy tone
an elusive song opens into an abyss
of mambos and rumbas
that thrill like a superfluity of delicious electricity
strumming at our deepest treasures
buried in woebegone memories
seeping into our cellophane heads
and enveloping our entire being
until we heave our way back to reality
and dissolve into a sea of people
who are only twinkles
in the scudded windshields
of a rococo world
Nov 4, 2012
Nov 4, 2012 at 9:03 AM UTC
The rustling of girls in nylon underskirts
And shoe buckle in bejewelled highlights
With presents so wrapped and tied bows
For bolero in angora to complete the show.
Love Mary x
Aug 5, 2018
Aug 5, 2018 at 9:50 AM UTC
Black Topनि बाला स्राव स्राव
अन्थाइ सेरेपनि लामाजोँ
Bolero Scorpio सिमब्रेलांदोँ
लाइ लाफा मुलानि मोदोमाव हाद्रि फोन्नानै
लारि लारि
संख्रि फानलु बोथ्रोदग्रा फोरनि गाड़ि
~
मन्थ्रि एम एल ए फोर
बिसोरनोथ'मोन जोँनि सिफाइ
जोँनि हारिनि रैखानि थाखाय
बिसोरनोथ'मोन मोनजारोङैनि थाखाय
ओँखाम दै गरतसे जगायनो
~
मायसा दांनाय
लान्थिरामा गल' नायहरदोँ
आरो नायहरदोँ हानजासे
हाजिरा खामला मावग्रा
मिजिँ गोनां हामख्रं सोलेरनि मावथिफ्रा
~
होँगो दोँगो गथ'फोर
मेँब्रां-मेँब्रिँ नायनो सेलायदोँ
बहाथो मानसि गिदिरा?
बैलाय बैनो फिथा हास'नाया
ए बेनो बेनो
उदै गिदिरा नामा?
~
दांखालियाव गोदानाय
सानफ्रामबो जायै जायै
अमा बोरमा बेदर बेसे जानो?
हाउजिं गंसेनि मुंआव
बुरखाव लांहानियाव बोथिसे जालांदोँ
साम'जोँ सबायजोँ
दाउला खासि अनला खारै
नाथुरजोँ लाफाजोँ मोननो गैयै नाफाम
जाबाबो जाथ्र हायै फ्लेट खुरै बुंजाफा
~
खुसियैनो जाहोहरदोँ बुरखावआ
नाथाय जाला सिफिया लाथिम
थायसेबो थायाखिसै
नोगोद नैरोजा बाजौ खरसा थांबाय
बेखौ मालाय बहा मोनखो
रां दाहार गोनांखा-
देवबार माहाजोननियावसो दाहार.....।
Dec 9, 2015
Dec 9, 2015 at 2:20 AM UTC
The hollow of the cheek, rosy yet
Maplewood, quiet, yet stirring
breathless against the pale of the thigh
Eyes flicker in eighths upward touch secret blue
Hers is the downbeat of his coronary bolero
He, the maestro for her skyward glissando-
the unspoken, unbroken fermata
in the dying wash of sound
in the instant before the applause.
Sep 10, 2012
Sep 10, 2012 at 4:02 PM UTC
A cocachos aprendí
mi labor de colegial
en el Colegio Fiscal
del barrio donde nací.
Tener primaria completa
era raro en mi niñez
(nos sentábamos de a tres
en una sola carpeta).
Yo creo que la palmeta
la inventaron para mí,
de la vez que una rompí
me apodaron "mano 'e fierro",
y por ser tan mataperro
a cocachos aprendí.
Juguetón de nacimiento,
por dedicarme al recreo
sacaba Diez en Aseo
y Once en Aprovechamiento.
De la Conducta ni cuento
pues, para colmo de mal
era mi voz general
"¡chócala pa' la salida!"
dejando a veces perdida
mi labor de colegial.
¡Campeón en lingo y bolero!
¡Rey del trompo con huaraca!
¡Mago haciéndome "la vaca"
y en bolitas, el primero...!
En Aritmética, Cero.
En Geografía, igual.
Doce en examen oral,
Trece en examen escrito.
Si no me "soplan" repito
en el Colegio Fiscal.
Con esa nota mezquina
terminé mi Quinto al tranco,
tiré el guardapolvo blanco
(de costalitos de harina).
Y hoy, parado en una esquina
lloro el tiempo que perdí:
los otros niños de allí
alcanzaron nombre egregio.
Yo no aproveché el Colegio
del barrio donde nací...
1.4k
Its hard for me to know
where the hell
I went wrong
I never thought I'd see the day
We wouldn't get along
My thoughtghosts linger
on ancient code
with
severed brute vengeance
against your vile
harlot
wickedness.
My eye half blind
from the vicious
bolero
of your deceitful
venom tongue
may see
this wretcheed envy
once unknown
as it is now
an evil I have witnessed
once before
within you,
my divided enemy.
And this treachery is truly
an eye for an eye
when all
have fallen victim
to his own
horrid
lust.
Yet I am but made of youth
and the only trade
that
I have known
is that
of love
for scorn.
Nov 21, 2013
Nov 21, 2013 at 1:10 AM UTC
For my sister
I’ve always wanted to capture
the way you make me feel
whenever I see you move.
But through smiling days
and purple skies
I’ve never found the words.
So I close my eyes
and call to mind a dance
flowing with imaginative poise.
Dignified and fluid,
you glide through my dreams
like Bolero on ice.
While your eyes
mischief-shine
and promise more to come.
Watching you like this
I see all the beautiful qualities
you never see yourself.
The way you move
makes me want to be like you,
if only for a moment.
Makes me want to know
exactly how it feels
to move within poetic grace.
Dec 8, 2010
Dec 8, 2010 at 2:57 PM UTC
Bolero
Roll….slowly,let me rope your soul solely,
As you feel the Sandmans touch take control see,
Theres a whole lotta atmospheric pressure involved,
Rhymes gamed, flames flamed- new riddles to be solved,
Dissolve yourself in my dissolution,
Sudoku rhymer-kabuki solution,
My approach comes over the crowd like a wave-
Hypnotic suggestions - your psyche’s enslaved,
Sway,stay,pray - I prey on your grey matter,
Thoughts dreams and scenes flee all become scattered…
A battered suit of plate armour that STILL holds firm,
Come with me as I whisk you away into the firmament,
See stars born and die in mere millisecs,
Come get drawn further every parsec,
Away from Earth a mere ball of dirt,
Some try to escape their fate the truth can hurt...
But we’re all stardust,so return to your beginnings,
Still spinning,no sinning hear the Multiverse singing,
my Bolero whips you tight in triple time,
dance with me hold tight to my rhyme…
Mar 31, 2016
Mar 31, 2016 at 6:35 PM UTC
La España de charanga y pandereta,
cerrado y sacristía,
devota de Frascuelo y de María,
de espíritu burlón y alma quieta,
ha de tener su mármol y su día,
su infalible mañana y su poeta.
En vano ayer engendrará un mañana
vacío y por ventura pasajero.
Será un joven lechuzo y tarambana,
un sayón con hechuras de bolero,
a la moda de Francia realista
un poco al uso de París pagano
y al estilo de España especialista
en el vicio al alcance de la mano.
Esa España inferior que ora y bosteza,
vieja y tahúr, zaragatera y triste;
esa España inferior que ora y embiste,
cuando se digna usar la cabeza,
aún tendrá luengo parto de varones
amantes de sagradas tradiciones
y de sagradas formas y maneras;
florecerán las barbas apostólicas,
y otras calvas en otras calaveras
brillarán, venerables y católicas.
El vano ayer engendrará un mañana
vacío y ¡por ventura! pasajero,
la sombra de un lechuzo tarambana,
de un sayón con hechuras de bolero;
el vacuo ayer dará un mañana huero.
Como la náusea de un borracho ahíto
de vino malo, un rojo sol corona
de heces turbias las cumbres de granito;
hay un mañana estomagante escrito
en la tarde pragmática y dulzona.
Mas otra España nace,
la España del cincel y de la maza,
con esa eterna juventud que se hace
del pasado macizo de la raza.
Una España implacable y redentora,
España que alborea
con un hacha en la mano vengadora,
España de la rabia y de la idea.
1k
Within the night Ravel's Bolero,
within that arcuate tremble,
within that instant passion fuse,
within that instantaneous release
release of self.
relief,
No I, no I, no i,
The bliss, the bliss, that is now us, and that lacuna moment.
Jan 24, 2011
Jan 24, 2011 at 9:58 PM UTC
Este poema tiene un son
que no es el suyo. Imaginad
que estamos bailando un bolero.
Pero la música que suena
yo no la oigo: es otro ritmo,
otro compás, el que yo llevo.
Bailo a destiempo, a contratiempo.
Mi pareja se queja porque
la estoy pisando. ¿Cómo puedo
decirle que escucho una música
que ya sonó o no sonó nunca?
Nos sentamos. No nos mirabamos.
(No nos veríamos).
El son
de este poema no es el suyo:
llevamos músicas distintas.
Por eso el baile es imposible
y debo desistir.
718
I dance in Her metaphor
I step in step
within the shadow casted by wanting eye
I swirl Her enchanting dreams
I glide debonaire
twirling through with crystal ball flare
I take a knee to Her grace
I catch the night
silver leaf flowing elegant gown seams
I with gracious heart in Her arms
I can't fool I know
more then two d whispers are always craved
I oh so beautifully in deep love with Her
I think wishes be true
in the bolero devine, the danger zone, Her soul
Nov 16, 2019
Nov 16, 2019 at 12:02 PM UTC
The arms of eternity open,
like a sentimental bolero played
at some in-between place,
they open lazily
and incandescently,
encircling the comically and silently raging,
Poetically, and gently,
the phantom draws her wings towards forgetfulness -
at the eye of the temple -
distant,
full of guidance
and potential.
The profound silence of bitter lives.
Nov 21, 2024
Nov 21, 2024 at 12:54 PM UTC
DON’T GET MOON-STRUCK
Don’t get moon-struck
It’s full moon tonight
You would lose all your senses
You can’t think right.
You hear the seductive music playing
The **** buxom lady is singing
Your heart goes wild with beating
You can’t hold back your longing.
You go forward to the singer
With your fantasy and say-
Join me for a drink
Midnight is still far away.
Meantime, the band goes frantic
(The moon never seems more bright)
The rhythms sound like those of Bolero
Of reality you totally lose sight.
You have had too much wine
Courage is talking louder and louder-
O Lily, I truly love you
I could never love another.
How sweet would the honeymoon be
Under the beautiful Hawaiian night-
I am the world’s happiest man
All my woes have taken flight.
Twenty-five years hence
It’s full moon again
You walk alone in the sombre night-
'Ah, I never knew love is so much pain'
Sep 5, 2015
Sep 5, 2015 at 7:24 PM UTC
*Bolero
Walking by the ocean
The summer night rain falls
I seek the peace in the blue night
that sleep refuses to bring to me.
The humid summer air
Releases its water.
As the warm waves
roll over my bare feet.
In the distance someone
Is playing Bolero on a flute
It is sensual and Haunting.
Its beat strums on my heart.
Like your fingertips once did
I stop and breathe
the hot moist salty air.
Pictures of you flood my mind
Only of you.
As does the music.
In The distance someone
is playing bolero on a flute.
It is beautiful and soulful.
The tears from my eyes
join the rain in their release.
I dream of you holding me
Your eyes dark as pools.
Your fingers in my hair
comforting like a mothers hand.
Someone in the distance
In this beautiful night
Is playing Bolero on a flute
And my soul is aching*
Dec 23, 2015
Dec 23, 2015 at 12:45 PM UTC
at the edge of the ocean,
evening breezes.
cool the memory of your love
I still see it
burning in its early passions.
The night breeze
softly sings love song's
As the wavelets
break over my bare feet
In the distance in the night
Someone is playing Bolero on a flute.
I can feel their fingers on my heart
The salty air purifying my senses
breaking into old lost memories
of lovers past..
In the distance in the night
Someone is playing Bolero on a flute.
Note by note touching my soul
I feel my passions
Smoldering red and on fire.
I need the sultry air
to drown my needs.
to bring solace to my heart
Reflections of moon and starlight
dance upon on the waves.
In the distance
Someone is playing bolero on a flute.
And tears are forming in my eyes.
Now uneasy at this intrusion
but spellbound
It is so beautiful deep and passionate.
In the distance on this summer night
Someone is playing Bolero on a flute
And my soul is aching
Oct 6, 2018
Oct 6, 2018 at 5:49 PM UTC
We are
The epitome my dear,
In our dancing throes
To Ravel's
Bolero.
The lead
We share
In giving taking the
Best of love,
Breathtaking.
Up there
Our shine is known,
Among all of the gods
As proofs mere mortals
Can compose
As well
As any immortal does,
With grace with
Love,
With unworldly
Repose,
The touch of Gods
And Angel's daring breath
Unknown to
Earthly man.
Come here to dine and feast
Lovers there,
you have reached
That peak,
That pinnacle,
Of ecstasy
Only gods have
Known.
Nov 10, 2019
Nov 10, 2019 at 11:26 PM UTC
**Bolero
By
Jude Kyrie**
*Sitting at the edge of the sea,
evening breezes.
cool the memory of our love
I see it burning in its early passions.
The waves softly sing love songs
As they break on my bare feet
In the distance of the night
Someone is playing Bolero on a flute
I can feel their fingers on my heart
The salty air purifying my senses
breaking into old lost memories
of lovers never found.
In the distance in the night
Someone is playing Bolero on a flute.
Note by note touching my soul
I feel the passions red and on fire.
I need the sultry air to drown my needs.
Reflection of moon and starlight on the waves.
to bring solace to my heart
Now uneasy at this intrusion but spellbound
It is so beautiful soft and passionate.
In the distance on this summer night
Someone is playing Bolero on a flute
And my soul is aching*
Sep 8, 2016
Sep 8, 2016 at 6:04 PM UTC
*By the edge of the sea,
night breezes cool our love
burning in its early passions.
The waves softly sing love songs.
As they break on our bare feet
in the summer night
Someone is playing Bolero on a flute
it's soulful melody floating in the air.
I can feel their fingers on my heart.
The salty air purifying my senses
breaking into old memories
of lovers lost and never found.
in the distance.
Someone is playing Bolero on a flute
Note by note touching my soul
I feel the passions of the music
red and on fire.
I need the sultry air to drown my needs.
Reflection of moon and starlight
dancing on the waves.
Now uneasy at this intrusion
but spellbound
It is beautiful soft and passionate
In the distance on this summer night
Someone is playing Bolero on a flute
And my soul is weeping.*
Oct 29, 2015
Oct 29, 2015 at 7:30 AM UTC
Bolero
By
Jude Kyrie
*Walking by the ocean
The summer night rain falls
I seek the peace in the blue night
that sleep refuses to bring to me.
The humid summer air
Releases its water.
As the warm waves
roll over my bare feet.
In the distance someone
Is playing Bolero on a flute
It is sensual and Haunting.
Its beat strums on my heart.
Like your fingertips once did
I stop and breathe
the hot moist salty air.
Pictures of you flood my mind
Only of you.
As does the music.
In The distance someone
is playing bolero on a flute.
It is beautiful and soulful.
The tears from my eyes
join the rain in their release.
I dream of you holding me
Your eyes dark as pools.
Your fingers in my hair
comforting like a mothers hand.
Someone in the distance
In this beautiful night
Is playing Bolero on a flute
And my soul is aching*
Sep 3, 2015
Sep 3, 2015 at 6:09 AM UTC
In the distance someone is playing
Bolero on a flute
It's melancholy melody is gripping me
To times I must not visit.
This night is heavy with sadness
Everything is filled
with the humidity of late summer
Moisture forms upon the glass of wine
In my hand
Water drips from the leaves of the parched trees
It forms in my heart.
In the sultry night air
someone is playing bolero on a flute
it is bringing her back to my vision.
I must not let her inside me.
And my heart is aching.
The breeze that carries the music
Is filled with water like unspilled tears.
My heart is releasing her as fresh as the day
That I fell in love with her.
In the distance someone is playing bolero on a flute
And my soul is aching
Mar 8, 2019
Mar 8, 2019 at 6:10 PM UTC