"choreographs" poems
Die at the mouth,
live at the eyes...
nominal head
downed.
Action Painted
by misfiring
nerves...whose
spasmodic dance
choreographs
days...on...end.
Oct 14, 2012
Oct 14, 2012 at 11:28 PM UTC
Winter's Song:
Wind whipping through my hair,
White fluff swirling without care.
Icy flakes, descending snow
bustling people saying "lets go!".
I feel the freedom, all it brings.
The silence of snow, how nature sings!
And I will sing along,
For sure we all know this song.
The symphony of peace on white canvas
To which life choreographs all its dances.
And in that easy light of winter snow,
I sat by the candles, feeling their warm- amber glow.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 5:11 PM UTC
*She moves the sea with grace
Choreographs its tides
Like a melody she plays
The waves that recede
The ones that grow in hope
On a boat rests the last pearl*
Nov 23, 2012
Nov 23, 2012 at 10:48 PM UTC
It's morning again
the sun rises carefully
and screams out love
to its Mother Earth
Kindness is estranged
for all of us lonely ones
We reach out for peace
and wish peace to each other
The joy of life
fertilizes and nourishes us
We grow and evolve
and reap all our love
The fluidity inside us
creates and choreographs
our wondrous dance
as our feet touch the earth
We help each other
in one way or another
living out our principles
and all our courageous acts
We are all aglow
with this dawn of truth
this prosperity and equality,
the birth of a new era
Jul 23, 2013
Jul 23, 2013 at 7:05 AM UTC
Take yourself back to soft night-air perfumed necks. Once again, allow your thoughts to sculpt a hand of past flesh and stroke the palm of her history with you. O gentle jack-of-hearts backrub lover, you must dance the steps your true soul choreographs for you.
Let’s put an end to future ills with patience for this all too familiar unique smile of affairs. Where are you true love of mine a second time?
With gentle paws upon your heart landscape. The day must allow your conscience to paint like a fox. To love like brunette blades of hair reveal emotion. O precious style of moonlight lights up a secret drama.
Mar 29, 2016
Mar 29, 2016 at 7:46 PM UTC
That's the plague of a dull heart in a
colorful world.
You never understand the hues radiating
from a person's soul.
You never fully comprehend the array of
fireworks behind one's smile.
Except for the writer herself.
She has a way with words.
She choreographs them in her mind and
then she watches them in awe, as they
dance on her paper.
She has a heart of rainbow calla lilies.
Always see's the best in people,
Disregards the worst.
This is the resiliency,
Of the writer' curse.
-Z.H.
Jul 27, 2014
Jul 27, 2014 at 1:56 AM UTC
Always a love ritual
Take yourself back to soft night-air perfumed necks. Once again, allow your thoughts to sculpt a hand of past flesh and stroke the palm of her history with you. O gentle jack-of-hearts backrub lover, you must dance the steps your true soul choreographs for you.
Let’s put an end to future ills with patience for this all too familiar unique smile of affairs. Where are you true love of mine a second time?
With gentle paws upon your heart landscape. The day must allow your conscience to paint like a fox. To love like brunette blades of hair reveal emotion. O precious style of moonlight lights up a secret drama.
Jun 21, 2016
Jun 21, 2016 at 12:42 PM UTC
Take yourself back to soft night-air perfumed necks. Once again, allow your thoughts to sculpt a hand of past flesh and stroke the palm of her history with you. O gentle jack-of-hearts backrub lover, you must dance the steps your true soul choreographs for you.
Let’s put an end to future ills with patience for this all too familiar unique smile of affairs. Where are you true love of mine a second time?
With gentle paws upon your heart landscape. The day must allow your conscience to paint like a fox. To love like brunette blades of hair reveal emotion. O precious style of moonlight lights up a secret drama.
Nov 13, 2015
Nov 13, 2015 at 1:08 PM UTC
Take yourself back to soft night-air perfumed necks. Once again, allow your thoughts to sculpt a hand of past flesh and stroke the palm of her history with you. O gentle jack-of-hearts backrub lover, you must dance the steps your true soul choreographs for you.
Let’s put an end to future ills with patience for this all too familiar unique smile of affairs. Where are you true love of mine a second time?
With gentle paws upon your heart landscape. The day must allow your conscience to paint like a fox. To love like brunette blades of hair reveal emotion. O precious style of moonlight lights up a secret drama.
Jan 22, 2016
Jan 22, 2016 at 12:07 PM UTC
Take yourself back to soft night-air perfumed necks. Once again, allow your thoughts to sculpt a hand of past flesh and stroke the palm of her history with you. O gentle jack-of-hearts backrub lover, you must dance the steps your true soul choreographs for you.
Let’s put an end to future ills with patience for this all too familiar unique smile of affairs. Where are you true love of mine a second time?
With gentle paws upon your heart landscape. The day must allow your conscience to paint like a fox. To love like brunette blades of hair reveal emotion. O precious style of moonlight lights up a secret drama.
Oct 12, 2015
Oct 12, 2015 at 11:46 AM UTC
I’m effusively bellowing inside.
Internally drowning from within,
Tears no longer mine but hers.
For the death of whom I’m crying.
Icicles in the moonlight now seem colder to me.
Cold yet they still warm my heart.
Sights of frost will certainly,
Make shudder, lovers apart.
Those who have lost are in torment temporary;
Torment which distance brings.
If only they knew they would be again,
No significance would there be for rings.
She choreographed a dance as old as time,
Men moved to her demands.
Butting and rutting for her attention they crave,
With expectations of fanciful chance.
Never will it be, for her intention is to self satisfy.
Dangling the bogus carrot of possible love,
In front of their antlers, only to turn away,
As soon as she deems it enough.
But wherein she choreographs, and that with which she conducts,
Plays success but only for short,
Since consumption of razzle dazzle, done so for long enough,
Will guarantee her life be cut short.
Knowledge of this is information on which to act.
Act we can, but listen with open ears and mind she will not.
And so she brings us to the sorrowful point,
Although temporary, bare this torment I cannot.
Such a cruel and foreseeable demise predicted by all.
Foresee it she could not since blinded by her origin,
Of facile masks which paved her the way,
And follow with closed eyes she did, to her ending.
On such innocence will the masks master play.
Naivety and kind willingness he will hunt,
For the trustworthy targets, easy to accumulate,
Using pornia to distract as males bunt.
Dec 31, 2016
Dec 31, 2016 at 4:07 PM UTC
Take yourself back to soft night-air perfumed necks. Once again, allow your thoughts to sculpt a hand of past flesh and stroke the palm of her history with you. O gentle jack-of-hearts backrub lover, you must dance the steps your true soul choreographs for you.
Let’s put an end to future ills with patience for this all too familiar unique smile of affairs. Where are you true love of mine a second time?
With gentle paws upon your heart landscape. The day must allow your conscience to paint like a fox. To love like brunette blades of hair reveal emotion. O precious style of moonlight lights up a secret drama.
May 5, 2015
May 5, 2015 at 1:25 PM UTC
Take yourself back to soft night-air perfumed necks. Once again, allow your thoughts to sculpt a hand of past flesh and stroke the palm of her history with you. O gentle jack-of-hearts backrub lover, you must dance the steps your true soul choreographs for you.
Let’s put an end to future ills with patience for this all too familiar unique smile of affairs. Where are you true love of mine a second time?
With gentle paws upon your heart landscape. The day must allow your conscience to paint like a fox. To love like brunette blades of hair reveal emotion. O precious style of moonlight lights up a secret drama.
Sep 7, 2016
Sep 7, 2016 at 12:04 PM UTC
Take yourself back to soft night-air perfumed necks. Once again, allow your thoughts to sculpt a hand of past flesh and stroke the palm of her history with you. O gentle jack-of-hearts backrub lover, you must dance the steps your true soul choreographs for you.
Let’s put an end to future ills with patience for this all too familiar unique smile of affairs. Where are you true love of mine a second time?
With gentle paws upon your heart landscape. The day must allow your conscience to paint like a fox. To love like brunette blades of hair reveal emotion. O precious style of moonlight lights up a secret drama.
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 1:48 PM UTC
She plays a violin with no strings
and wears the heart of a piano just below her neck
Every night she choreographs dances
for all the stars up above
and sings lullabies to the moon
She is the sweet taste of forbidden secrets
forgotten before the end of a kiss
And you will hear rumors of all sorts
but you will never know more than just her name
And then you will awaken in the middle of your fall
and the feelings of love will linger
as your heart burns
to dream of her again
And while sleeping you may hear
the heartbeat of a piano
accompanied by a violin with no strings
as all the stars of the night dance
to the lullaby for the moon
falling blissfully from her lips
Mar 10, 2017
Mar 10, 2017 at 10:42 PM UTC
Take yourself back to soft night-air perfumed necks. Once again, allow your thoughts to sculpt a hand of past flesh and stroke the palm of her history with you. O gentle jack-of-hearts backrub lover, you must dance the steps your true soul choreographs for you.
Let’s put an end to future ills with patience for this all too familiar unique smile of affairs. Where are you true love of mine a second time?
With gentle paws upon your heart landscape. The day must allow your conscience to paint like a fox. To love like brunette blades of hair reveal emotion. O precious style of moonlight lights up a secret drama.
Aug 7, 2015
Aug 7, 2015 at 1:45 PM UTC