"choreographing" 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
Daydreamer waiting for her surprise
She's always sitting on the bench outside
Watching through the golden glasses
She sees through her eyes a world that unties
Beautiful creatures and where love prevails
She always wonder why her beauty does not impales
As she holds so many wonders
A sweetness in her bright almond eyes, behind the glasses that sat crookedly on her nose
She focused her eyes on a flat prairie
Where the unaccustomed eye sees only ordinary
In hers, the dale was a beautiful swathe of shiny green grasses
Trees are clothed in delicious cream and pink blossom
Jasmines dancing to the winds, choreographing autumn breeze
The sun casting its last golden rays
Changing its yellow into hues of tangerine and fire red
Her perfect world, she whispers
She is a daydreamer
With eyes so full of love that will make you melt
She is beauty and love
Looking at her shadow slowly shrinking down her feet
Only her can see the magic
You will find her outside
Waiting for the man to share the same picturesque landscape
Seeing her reflection on him just like a mirror
Sharing a moment, a smile, a touch, a gaze
Closing their eyes to a slow and soft kiss
Alas; she is still waiting on this
Waiting to meet him flesh and bones
Dreaming about it everyday
This love she's never met,
Yet she seems to glimpse him in every corner
And because of it, her heart craves for blossoming flower
Her heart is bound to a fictional imagery of him
Creating imaginary moments and opportunities
Clinging to a false sign that precipitates desires
The desire to lay her eyes on him and feel his lips on hers
The desire to feel her body shivers with his skin on hers
The desire to feel his heart beating to her caress
the rush in her veins, with just his look
She will be an eternal daydreamer
Until she finds him sitting on the bench outside for her
For an eternity of love
Dec 21, 2017
Dec 21, 2017 at 1:42 PM UTC
Snow falls heavy on head of Earth
Weight added as this mighty rock spins
Might be spring according to the calendar
Icy powder covers the dancing tree limbs
March choreographing slow routine
Time taken to feel sun's warm glow
Movements meticulously placed
We patiently wait for greenery to grow
Each morning rises giving way to new roots
Relying on heat that stays out of sight
Looking forward to the colorful weeks ahead
Good weather to melt the frozen cloak of white
Mar 23, 2023
Mar 23, 2023 at 7:18 PM UTC
*Choreographing words
Into theatrical dances
With her imagination,
Gracefully exhibiting
All of her thoughts -
Using letters
As lavish decoration.
Having them leap-out
Onto the stage,
Outside of her mind,
Hoping each performance,
"Her life's story,"
You will find.
By Lady R.F ©2016*
Dec 15, 2016
Dec 15, 2016 at 10:33 PM UTC
She wove life from the threads and fate of dreams and she was and wasn't a dream herself
She had filled the first hourglass with the sand of the desserts of the time before and upon flipping it over set the hands and gears of the first clock in motion
There is no secret buried in the endless depths of the ocean she doesn't know and she was the one that had arranged and named every twinkling orb in the night sky
Using nothing but a small kiss and a sprinkle of magic from the colors of her eyes she brought dead starfish back to life and taught them to dance in the palms of her hands
And when she wasn't choreographing new ballets for the fish in her hands and the stars in the sky
She was collecting lost dreams and broken hearts and suturing the cracks closed and finding them new roads to follow and teaching laughter to the tears they had shed
And if you are every lost between always and heartache if you follow the roads and the sky of the starfish ballet you will find her sitting and waiting to weave you a new day and a new dream and a new fate under the street sign that reads
Oceans End
Mar 4, 2017
Mar 4, 2017 at 1:23 AM UTC
A quasi fog hole is born
An urge to be somewhere
Anywhere but these islands of bloodstreams
Far maybe in Thailand
What awaits next is a scaber of thresholds
It's an unknown world if you fall and land here
Shimmering camels going about their own biz
Wearing demon suits with demon ties
Auxiliaries conversing in Bonomos
Common hats all practicing, choreographing all catacombs thundering novels that are occurring as they scream, pictures willowing one by one, second by second all occurring simultaneously
...and say again
Awaiting ...
Not occurring at all...
Never had occurred at all
Dec 14, 2011
Dec 14, 2011 at 1:37 AM UTC
A mistress of her space
She moves,
with the airy grace
of a dancer.
No effort spared;
no gesture wasted
Choreographing breakfast
In her roadside trailer-cafe .
7th April 2017
Apr 24, 2017
Apr 24, 2017 at 12:54 PM UTC
I’m from vegetable gardens, pink lemonade and board games.
From tall, golden sunflowers blooming in the summer to soaked mittens resting on the radiator in the winter.
I’m from twinkling white lights arranged beautifully in the bushes surrounding the pool and from thinking that the Canada day fireworks were so incredibly magical.
I’m from my teddy bears and dolls cluttering the basement floor to fresh cut peonies sitting on the kitchen counter and filling the house with their familiar scent.
I’m from ‘elbows off the table’ and soft boiled eggs in little painted egg cups.
I’m from wondering what the hundreds of old books on the bookshelf could possibly be about and from watching Shirley Temple movies over and over again until I could recite nearly every word.
I’m from choreographing dances to classical music and preforming them in the backyard.
I’m from ‘goodnight’ and forced bedtime prayers.
I’m from Gudrun and John better known as Nanny and Poppy.
Apr 15, 2016
Apr 15, 2016 at 3:22 PM UTC
*Choreographing words
Into theatrical dances
With her imagination,
Gracefully exhibiting
All of her thoughts —
Using letters
As lavish decoration.
Having them leap-out
Onto the stage,
Outside of her mind,
Hoping in each performance,
“Her life’s story”,
You will find.
Lady R.F. (C)2015*
Sep 17, 2017
Sep 17, 2017 at 7:19 AM UTC
Here sits a poet,
A constellation of thoughts,
A colourful sunset of rhythms,
Meteors of rhymes.
With pen in hand, by lamplight,
Only a poet knows
to create order from chaos,
His every word on paper flows,
Spinning dreams, emotions and wishes,
Whence the threads of figure of speech weaves,
A never-ending tapestry of poems.
Choreographing each stanza to be awesome,
Dancing over the meter,
Painting each picture to better,
The character,merit and existence,
Of what each poem means.
7/4/2019
Apr 8, 2019
Apr 8, 2019 at 9:13 AM UTC
Wearing regret like my Sunday's best
My eyes are smiling a sad song
Weighing heavily on my chest
Crying crystal memories, so long
My dear, your sweet kiss, neglected
You're gone now, laying in a casket
Looking within, there is nothing reflected
I'm drowning myself, trying to mask it.
Missing you and our reading minds
The dormitories rainbow swirls and laughing
Walking and walking weightless and it reminds
Me of our wispy white choreographing
Our souls entwined
And now there's a part of me
Swift and free on the other side
Speaking, whispering through cups of coffee
I'm trying not to contemplate suicide
So you and I can reconvene
Remembering, though, I'm a part of you
On this side, living, white clouds and grass green
Breeching all realms, I'm there, and you're here, too.
Bones in a box, empty of yourself
I don't want to think about it anymore
Shutting pages, back onto the bookshelf
A tale for posterity, it's folklore
Wearing regret like my Sunday's best
Sad songs ringing, deafening, I'm praying
Paralyzed in bed, ghost treading on my chest
Trying to escape this place, but staying
Jul 19, 2016
Jul 19, 2016 at 12:55 PM UTC
A birds song echoes throughout a chilly winters night
Flightless with an everlasting dream of the sky
A tune more beautiful than the dawning of a new try
A staunch ache a craving of a dream
Creating a delicacy
Sorrowfully gleamed
Moonlit distress paved in silver beams
A spotlight of romance
Held in high esteem
A love made up
Spreading wings once more
Torturous dissatisfaction dances with such allure
Habitually choreographing
A compromising score
A birds song echoes throughout a chilly winters night
Flightless
With an everlasting dream of the sky
Dec 28, 2016
Dec 28, 2016 at 9:50 PM UTC
I don't dance
Cept in my room
By myself
Choreographing my own dances
That none will ever see
Sometimes moving to music in my head
Sometimes moving to the beat of a poem
Or the rhythm of my own heartbeat
Sometimes to no beat at all
But no one will ever see my dances
They may feel them in my words
May hear them in my voice
See them in my eyes
But eyes will never see me
Dance
Jul 19, 2012
Jul 19, 2012 at 11:54 PM UTC
Soon
The Lightning McQueen light ups lying on the floor will be traded for shiny black pumps
Soon
The screams will be muffled cries for help rather than loud, blatant shouts of disobedience
Soon
Dinner won't be a time to be together, it'll just be another meal
Soon
Nights up late choreographing will be nights up late writing essays
Soon
Coming home won't mean the excited shouts of tiny voices, rather, silence or the sound of adulthood
Soon
Everything that used to be, won't be
Soon
Everything I know will be different.
Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 2:08 PM UTC
Wallontly i glared toward the heavens
Seeking homage with the deities less registered in my recess
Sanity compromised my doubtfulness
As the blue sky and the grinning yellow occulus obscured my quest
"You can't see god"they warned my sight deprived eyes
Discernible kaleidoscopic star performed a victory dance in my cornea
I squinted in surrender
Choreographing my eidetic
Memory wikipidia
I vividly recall being
cautioned about mentioning the name of the gods in vain
Yet here i was
Calling my lungs out
Coughing and spitting profanities
Just trying to catch their attention
I searched with futility for heaven,paradise or even olympus
Whichever residence the gods laughed at my pitiful threats
I called my voice hoarse cursed the moon and swore never to think about the gods
Yet as i lay my tattered flame at night i wondered
Could they have heard me but decided to play hide and seek
Could they have seen me but decided to spare my pathetic human soul
So in dream land is drowned and i dreamt death....
Mar 12, 2016
Mar 12, 2016 at 3:00 AM UTC
I can hear the lullaby of life,
serenading
our movements to where
we sway delicately to its
inevitable
conclusion, a moment that
is elegance haemorrhaging to
silence..
"Life is a masquerade of motions, we dance till they fade,
Mar 9, 2017
Mar 9, 2017 at 7:03 AM UTC
I hope you remember me as your favorite hour of your favorite season.
Maybe it's dawn of a spring day, the new morning light glistening through dew drops on green grass springing forth and flowers just beginning to bud.
Maybe it's a fall evening, a slight breeze arousing fresh fallen leaves, choreographing a dance that is at once bursting with life and also a solemn epitaph.
Maybe it's a winter day, soft snow brighter it seems than the sun itself, falling slowly and covering the world in a soft embrace, both cautious and beautiful.
Maybe it's a summer night, stars patiently emerging one by one through a clear sky, whispering of the humble vastness of all that is.
Do not let me be a face or a name, but a feeling, returning to you once again, each year.
Oct 16, 2017
Oct 16, 2017 at 2:14 AM UTC
a dancer’s body
a writer’s pen
undulating gyrating
scribbling scrawling
across floor and paper
choreographing sweating
imagining writing
touching kissing loving
expressed in her movements and his words
Aug 3, 2023
Aug 3, 2023 at 10:38 PM UTC