"choreography" poems
~
where clear blue sky meets water's deep
his sunbeams reach her waves to tease,
to warm her currents, foaming spray;
dawn to dusk when daylight fades,
till only afterglow remains,
an interlude of celestial stage.
he speaks to her on written sky
and in the mournful sea-bird's cry,
wraps sultry ribbons in her tresses,
his fingers linger in caresses,
and in soothing choreography
he gently stirs her ocean's breeze.
he sends her gifts of palm and dates,
wrapped on waves in salty sprays;
watches her with much delight,
he sings to her each eventide,
love songs with the calling gull,
and rocks her tween the gusts and lulls.
wedded at horizon’s edge,
devotion to her he has pledged,
to have forever and to hold,
his comfort to her storm-tossed soul;
his tender kiss on tear-stained cheek,
where clear blue sky meets water's deep.
~
*post script.
when one gazes
into the vastness
of sea and sky,
of what is from
height to depth
an endless blue,
one cannot but think
of eternal devotion,
of the relationship
between two who have
pledged their forever troth!*
*as i wonder from what recesses
this one came, i remember…
our 36th wedding anniversary
is fast approaching...
i’ve been thinking of what to gift her
that will make her cry anew.*
**thank you to Hello Poetry for
the tremendous honor bestowed
with their designation of this poem as the daily
and to all who have expressed their heartfelt
love and appreciation... your message
came through loud and clear...
there can be no denying it,
i am an incredibly blessed man
because of each of you!
thank you, truly,
from the bottom of my heart!**
Aug 18, 2015
Aug 18, 2015 at 4:41 PM UTC
choreography
is taking off
in rural areas
cows are moving
and grooving
fabulously
on hillsides
and in creek paddocks
you can see cows
shaking
their four legged frames
WOW
WOW
WOW
those cows can dance
their hypnotic steps
put one in a trance
Sep 8, 2013
Sep 8, 2013 at 9:10 PM UTC
<>
**”To dream by the oak and awake by the sea
when August has ripened and turned Jubilee
you must enter dominion of summer's delight
and live in the rapture of candescent light
Oh to live and to love one must first learn to kiss,
the kinetics of summer, with eternal bliss.”**
~from vienna bombardieri’s poem, “Kinetics Of Summer~
(with her kind permission)
<>
First verse pinpoints accurate, this,
my spot!
by oak and sea,
my precise longitude and latitude, where my summertime
eyes open to receive the gift of morning’s light, observing
the conjunction of land, hard by the sea, the land-ed avian gentry
and sea~sailor birds interacting, sharing the uprising currents,
for sport and observation, travel and pleasured sailing,
these “Masters of the Sky can fly for hours (or days), while barely flapping,” and this verse stuns, and
my shock,
at these, her words
my breathing is gasped and grasped
by oak and sea, for so it be,
this is where
my morning’s operatic scrum, ballet and dance hall hullabaloo,
my diurnal natural choreography is performed,
while slow sipping my very heated first coffee
it was here
that I learned to love more easily,
for the kinetics of summers trio of sun, sky, and moderate breezes,
lulled the turbulence of my disheartened lives into an easier
order, the world~surround, a living, breathing exercise that
warmed the spirit, cooled the soul, and spoke without uttering
a single word,
here dear person, is the where and the when,
the comfort of the natural-blanket
that enwraps, covers, cherishes the atmosphere entire,
containing the healing elixirs and protective ointments,
that remove the
plaque of life’s accumulated injuries, slights and scar tissue
simply put,
here I breath freely,
here I see with clarity
here the infusions of
living in nature, prolongs,
restore, remind, enliven
and enhances,
the intermixture of
body and soul
here in actual deed,
the kiss of summer bliss
upon
my tiring cell’s walls,
are resurrected even unto the nuclei,
by the warm breath of sun life and sun light,
and the breezes of salty sweet caramel air
and under their loving, combined-dominion
am I
resurrected and will yet sense,
one more Jubilee again
as I lay dreaming
by the oak and the sea…
Aug 2, 2023
Aug 2, 2023 at 4:05 AM UTC
I thought I might be a musician
Mom couldn’t afford my lessons
My eyesight wasn’t great
I couldn’t read notes fast enough
Practicing annoyed the family
I only managed last chair, 2nd violins
But still
I got to play in High School concerts
In shiny dresses with glitter in my hair
However
I haven’t held a violin in years
I loaned mine to a Bluegrass band
The leader died - and it was gone
≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈
I thought I might become a dancer
But my fingers can not touch the floor
I couldn’t kick much higher than my waist
Choreography was hard for me to learn
I had the stamina if not the skill
My partner wanted someone else
But still
I danced on stage in a college play
And Morris Danced at the Old Globe Theatre
However
I’ve forgotten how to keep the beat
And all the dance floor moves I made
I’m too self conscious now to try
≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈
I fancied I could be a singer
I knew the words to all the songs
And I could keep the melody in tune
But I had a voice with no vibrato
And the quality was thin
My range was very limited
But still
I sang Blueberry Hill at a talent show
In a black lame’ dress and surprised a few
However
I couldn’t get the hang of harmony
And found I fit best in a choir
My family wouldn’t hear my solos
≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈
I thought that I was born an actress
I practically got that one right
I had a lead in an Ibsen play
And toured the state with Macbeth
But Hollywood was one big casting couch
And I could see no way around it
But still
I got to be on TV shows
Winning games and merchandise
However
I sold the Firebird Convertible I won
I needed rent money more than a car
And rules allow you only three shows in a lifetime
≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈
I always thought I was a poet
I started young and never stopped
But family ignored and scoffed
Then I got trapped inside my mirror
And only wrote when all was beak
Somebody said my stuff was dreary
But still
I stumbled on the HP website
And found a group who like the words I write
However
When I read the others’ writes
I realize how limited my skills
And fight the need to run away and hide.
∞
It seems I dabbled in all the arts
Looking for the one that fit me
And finding they all needed alteration
And I never had the proper needle
∞
Still, a moment in the sun
Is better than a lifetime in the shade
I had a taste of everything
Though the banquet was not mine.
ljm
Jul 8, 2017
Jul 8, 2017 at 12:24 PM UTC
I fell inlove with the words,
not the writer
I fell inlove with the message,
not the sender
I fell inlove with the voice,
not the singer
I fell inlove with the choreography,
not the dancer
I fell inlove with the art,
not an artist
Yet I fell inlove with the solver,
but not the solution
You were the solver
And you solved me
- peanutbuttqn
Dec 29, 2018
Dec 29, 2018 at 2:27 AM UTC
You were hovering over me,
Violently yearning
You whispered:
“gummy bears can’t dance salsa”
Under us the ground broke.
And the choreography was immaculate,
As we fell on one another
Weaving our morals on the last door we passed,
Before we made that right and went downstairs.
The puddle fell under me— icing my back,
The fall silenced you’re moans,
while the silence started the quiver,
A treble in full effect.
You’re song was in windings as the prophetic tongue wandered.
Then they came to boast the steps,
But one after another their dance lay deaf
For gummy bears can’t dance salsa
When you’ve chewed off their legs.
May 7, 2013
May 7, 2013 at 6:33 PM UTC
where will they take me
this thick, whirling cloud
of birds?
I lower my shotgun;
my targets were to be
a skein of geese
(corpulent, impertinent
avian freaks I have seen
peck children's shins)
these smaller birds
perform a choreography electric,
black against blue
now I know the meandering
meaning of mesmerize--my eyes
glued to the skies
more agape than the hunter
in me--wishing to watch this wave
undulate an eternity
but alas, the flock turns
into a naked sun; I am forced
to shield my eyes
my hand blocks the blare
of light, with it, the whipping tail of
their liquid flight
when I lower it, they are
but a haze near the horizon, performing
magic for another audience
Jan 9, 2017
Jan 9, 2017 at 8:16 PM UTC
~dedicated to the old poets here~
the addictive pairing of certain words, a line,
a lyric, slap-snapping you to full attention,
unfailing decades of instant recognition,
an adrenaline + caffeine shot that powers
a chance, a tensile injection that causes
the lips to commence a new choreography,
the fingers to tap, a jumbled, hurried, embattled
disorderly mess that regenerates, reformulates,
concords into agreement, a harmonic consistency
a geometry of many differing angles that equate
a hard physical, a soft mentality in a singled work,
coexisting in a sacred state of singed confluence,
though imperfect, satisfies mathematical boundaries
of a random outpouring, crowning the stripe inspiring
the spark that finally satisfyingly silences an ignited
filament a-glowing for years, that holy happens
to cross your antennae, fulfilling the need to honor,
the sacred geometry of chance, the honor to need,
the joy of saying, at last, this unwritten debt, paid!
————————————————————————-
(1) a favorite of many years, a lyric from “The Shape of My Heart” by Sting
(2) Dec 3 2020 2:53pm NYC
Dec 3, 2020
Dec 3, 2020 at 2:59 PM UTC
When the morning came up
I woke up
Facing that holy dead body of yours
I looked over myself and blushed
I was only wearing the smile that you gave me
Remembering what happened last night
Couldn't handle it, so I held you tight
Oh God!
You smell like heaven
Your aesthetic shape just turns me on
No philosopher, no scientist, no religionist, no therapist could solve my issue
Staring at your pale skin
Oh god I just wanna sink in
The way you shrink in
When you sleep
Makes me wanna stop time
Just to enjoy this visual masterpiece for a lifetime
The way I feel
In every holy step you make
Discovering every inch of my body
Sculpting blue love marks on the borders of my neck
The touch of your lips
Mesmerizing me as if I'm watching an eclipse
The movement of your fingertips
Dancing the smoothest choreography from my chest running down reaching my hips
Your husky deep voice
Eargasming my ears
Oh my God!
I'm lying down next to my treasure
Wake up and give me that painful pleasure
I love to suffer
Attach me to your bed with a tie made of a fancy leather
**** me slowly
Heal me
Take me to your world
Fill me in
Stick with me
Make our bodies as if they are one
Let's hear our hearts bumping our hot blood
Harmonizing the beat in the same rhythm
Creating our own beautiful symphony
And that when I finally moaned
" Wake up! You are my sweetest agony "
Oct 23, 2018
Oct 23, 2018 at 11:45 AM UTC
**Of all known phenomena
Birth is the most wondrous
And the most miraculous
In the assortment of life’s stunners
So you always are a miracle
One readily celebrated each year
As the sparkle of your smile
Dazzles the world
Like sunshine after a dark tunnel
And the fire in your eyes is a smelter
To melt iced hearts and smelt rock faces
So dance maestro dance
And never once forget the choreography
Of the poetry in your fervent heart
Where hopes and dreams are a lovely duet
Happy birthday mover of the spirit
You who creates joy in moments of magic
When configurations of rainbow futures coax your heart
To beat intricate rhythms from life’s score sheet
Happy birthday to you, child from eternal vistas
Let your dreams carry you forward to fruition
Till life is oozing and dripping with honeyed dew
And each early morning walk is capped with shower bliss
And that promise of tomorrow and the day after the feat
Of never giving up on the business of living, no matter what
Happy birthday to you; you of stardust and moon glow**
Apr 2, 2016
Apr 2, 2016 at 6:05 PM UTC
I always found freedom in movement
In the midst of steps
Whether from music
Or from the occurrence of those around
In moments of reflection,
I liked to think I was dancing
I moved in between these sequences
Fixed in the rules of performance
Unable to think past this choreography
Never able to make my own
But I felt it only appropriate
To move as others did
One step forward
A slight sway to the left
Another turn to my right
And back
And back
It was under this prison of routine
I found myself in
As in every other time
But something changed in these steps
As in now when I moved towards the next
You stood in my wake
I knew how different you were, placed to my standing
You worried nothing of such structure
Taking these movements as yours
Away from those who claimed their fluidity
Why you would ever take an interest in my polarized side
Quite the oxymoron; I still can’t fathom
Yet there you were
Everywhere I moved
Forcing me to look past these fixtures
Stepping past their simplicities
To find aspects I had thought foreign to me
You showed me how wrong I was in this definition of ‘freedom’
One step forward, now two
A sway left, although now with your hand in mine
A counter to the other side
Now with the opposing hand
The most complete connection
At least that’s what it felt to me
Now that I think of that time
There were changes greater than I could focus on
Besides those most immediate
I realize I never did step back
Perhaps the most significant change
As I haven’t since
Oct 4, 2018
Oct 4, 2018 at 10:33 PM UTC
#
This depressive choreography
of flames
f i k r n
l c e i g
consumed in the geography
of bodies
b i c k e r i n g
Tongue's embers licking
the innocent cheek
words like poniards
P R I C K I N G
leaving this dance at its
pique
Now left a s m o u l d e r i n g
soloist on the stage
a dance so sobering
watch this fire's rampage
burn his own pyre
I gave into the rage
burn his own desire
another illegible page
tossed to fuel the bellowing fire
the end of our golden age
#
Aug 15, 2018
Aug 15, 2018 at 10:52 AM UTC
I am not an artist
I cannot paint a beautiful landscape that makes you believe you're looking at the real thing.
You will not stare in awe as you wonder what compelled me to paint those lines so uneven
And I can't make my color choices dance in your eyes like sugarplum fairies
Off of the canvas and into your mind
For you to transpose the choreography
To your own understanding
I am not an artist
I cannot capture a single moment in time with the simple click of a camera.
They say a picture is worth a thousand words but every shot I capture seems to be silent
Mute
But they're beginning to be heard
Screaming millions of words
Hoping someone will just hear one
I am not an artist
I cannot make your skin shiver as my lyrics echo through the room
Your emotions will not crescendo as each note burns nostalgia in your memory
And I will not leave you wanting to hear more
I am not an artist
And I can't create a masterpiece in two hours
I can't write words that will break your heart as they enter your ears and fill your soul with the emotions I'm feeling
I can't make you believe that I'm actually the character
I tried so hard to become at rehearsals for the last three months
My movements on the dance floor dont flow with ease or grace
And you will never give me a standing ovation
Or shower me with roses as you cheer for the art I've created.
But
With every step that I take on this earth
I am leaving brush strokes in the dirt and in your memory
Every laugh
every sob
every word that I speak
Is going through your ears for your own musical enjoyment
My eyes are like cameras capturing every moment and every face each time my lashes flutter
And even though most of we don't have photographic memories
We still remember the precious moments our personal cameras caught on film
I am not an artist
I am art
May 8, 2018
May 8, 2018 at 11:41 AM UTC
A well-rehearsed dance,
the waltzing waitress tosses The Times
on table 1 as if she’ll actually finish
the Sunday crossword this morning.
She won’t.
Grease lined lights flicker on one
by one.
Like spotlights on a stage.
It’s show time.
Twostepping while taking down chairs,
she flows to the rhythm of ritual,
across a worn checkered dancefloor.
No applause.
In a dining room of Astaire’s and Rogers
she is the coffee choreographer.
Pirouetting to the ***
then a sidestep, quick! Quick!
Slow.
Warming up now, she stretches.
Switching on the metal machinery.
It grinds and growls as if it prefers
decaf.
Rings from rusted bells
hanging from the door chime
to the beat. This is her
cue.
Oct 14, 2016
Oct 14, 2016 at 10:09 AM UTC
Have you tasted jealously ?
its like a misshapen stomach
that swallowed jellied biros .
Are you lacking in choreography,
where your own walk
should be the more significant dance
rather than the musings of a foolscap fanatic.
Oct 30, 2012
Oct 30, 2012 at 5:11 PM UTC
Dust to dust...makes tangible the blondish
breakdown of sun.
The choreography of neutered marauding...
ever amicable to rondure of skull.
The seeping pull of an ever foreign wind...
dust to dust.
Jun 25, 2012
Jun 25, 2012 at 12:15 AM UTC
Just as the horizon was at it's brightest yellow
Before the light began to really fade
I stood and watched the daily starling show
Staged it seemed just for me
How privileged I felt to see
Our very own murmuration
Circle, tightly in a group
Morph into a jet fighter
Then a fragile bi-plane
Direction changing overhead
I heard their wings a lovely sound
As they circled round
What perfect choreography
To soar and dive, flip and twist
And as they passed a clump of firs
Some filtered down
Dropping as if poured
Each new pass some more
The last few, five or six
Carried on just as fast
Until they too went down
The show was over for another day
Feb 1, 2014
Feb 1, 2014 at 7:02 AM UTC
Mockery forcefully tiptoes her way beyond the barricades of fiction, and confronts populated dunes where ambiguous legs protrude.
Are you a prisoner in this proclaimed age of democracy?
The branches of the trees are still, as we avoid the precipice of calamity in the name of upright citizenship.
Therefore, walk with me along the crumbling castle walls and you will learn that there is a familial bond which lies beyond vain constructs of presumed superior architecture.
I know that it is an altered state of consciousness, so it is important to share your perspective because it is a prominent feature.
It is the memories of the living who are tortured by unspeakable possibilities.
Tickle me pink with choreography.
Jul 26, 2014
Jul 26, 2014 at 10:32 PM UTC
when i was young, i knew
(with more belief than i had in my own name)
that i would dance ballet
and i danced ballet, attempting
each spin, each hopeful leap
gaining slivers in my knees each time i fell
and keeping them there, proof
that i had flown
but i fell more often than i flew
and one day, i just knew
(with no tears, only a firm nod of the head)
that someone out there would always fly higher
than i ever could
so i just turned the music up
and let my fingers tap out the rhythm
and to this day i close my eyes
and let the neurons dance inside me
electric current, steady pulse of a bassline
mirroring my heartbeat
inside my head, my feet are light
even to metal, or to some quiet, hollow guitar
i don't touch the ground
and now, still young
i know
(with more belief than i have in any concrete thing)
that in this silly metaphor
we can dance to choreography
or just make it up as we go
and me?
i let the music show me
where to step
Feb 22, 2014
Feb 22, 2014 at 10:44 PM UTC
She's the rhythm in my dance,
the reason for my choreography.
Everything I do is in her name.
No universe is complete without her
(she is the embodiment of all life):
I am not complete without her
(she is the reason in my mind).
Jul 5, 2015
Jul 5, 2015 at 3:12 AM UTC
My walls will cave in (just like placards stacked up horizontally fall back with the wind) along with every wave of anxiety-
Right then, I will fall short of words, or rather lose the intelligence of speaking-
Goosebumps, butterflies, shivers and my heart dipping into the cold Pacific won't just be defense mechanisms.
My heart will appear to jolt awake and then dead repeatedly by the society I put myself in;
I will feel electricity running around in my veins, often sparking out of my eyes as the salty tears that trigger short circuits
The ones they say could be caused by the heat-
Indeed- but it's also the cold, the wind, rain and the snow
Words like unknown, unforeseen and anonymous manifesting and getting under my skin- make my jaws quiver and heart dip.
Often my gut nudges me to stand and to speak and to, for once, not fear an omen before I deliver a speech,
But when I speak, though my mouth moves to enunciate what I remembered from the paper,
And as I attempt to collect and reflect my confidence through my features,
My fingers tremble as I try to fit them into my fists behind my back-
These legs shiver behind the pedestal, hidden under slacks.
For people think these mere trifles shouldn't ******* the silhouette that I bear,
Fear of the unknown? Don't be scared, scared!
My nerve ends nervously make my fingers dance as I attempt to provide them a temporary occupation-
'Cross your fingers, close your fists,
Pretend to text, you're better than this.'
So dear me, oh dear me I am sorry-
I am sorry for constantly holding you back;
Sorry for all the chances I did not let you take, all because
I sometimes tend to diverge my faults out as through a prism,
And have always been someone who can never jeopardize her pursuit for perfection.
Sorry, for the seeds of my anxiety have given birth to the roots of my skepticism-
For I paint doubt over every pretty scenery you etch in my mind,
My inhibitions and myself, thinking things over, rewind, rewind.
If I were Rapunzel my anxiety would be the tower that holds me encapsulated- a hostage;
With no demands whatsoever, only a plain, ruthless, endless need to cause damage.
Aug 5, 2016
Aug 5, 2016 at 9:05 AM 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
_As his feet moved even faster, and he twirled and whirled and cantered across the stage, it was as if he existed in an indeterminate space - blinded by the footlights, deafened by the orchestra, absorbed in his own rumbustious choreography. Beyond the pit, in the anonymous darkness, the audience rippled and flared appreciatively in response. So he danced on until, with a final rapturous gesture of his outstretched arms, he plunged to earth as dizzy as a snowflake. And waited.
The silence shifted. The soft rumble of engine noise played softly in the background, while the chain-link fence rattled in the squall which blew fresh off the harbour. He opened his eyes and watched the cars crawling across the overbridge above him; the empty basketball court littered with yesterday’s snack papers lay in shadow. In the middle distance, a familiar figure walked briskly towards him.
‘Matthew! Matthew! You come here this secon’ or I’ll whip your **** right off, already.’
‘Yes, Auntie.’
‘What you doin’ tryna waste good time?’
‘Nothin’, Auntie.’
‘Ain’t that the truth, boy.’
As he stooped to gather up his satchel, Matthew saw out of the corner of his eye the concertmaster lower his instrument, incline his head, and begin to tap his music stand with his bow. From the balconies the first of a thousand rose petals began to fall with the evening rain, the applause thundered while the lightning clapped, and there in the gods stood his mother waving and blowing kisses at him, as he followed his aunt down East Street towards home._
Sep 4, 2019
Sep 4, 2019 at 10:29 PM UTC
I watch my mother
Watch the colorful static buzz
Out of my television Set.
It was a show about dancing and synchronized steps
Bending bones
And malleable movements.
The screen was painted
With graceful bodies
And it echoed of
hip hop music
And I watch my mother
Scratch her head cause
She could never really get her
hips to hop
And she didn't know how that was different from
the pop
and the lock
and the shuffle
and the dougie
And I heard her murmur under her breath
"This is my biggest frustration"
I guessed that's what people say
When they just can't get something Right.
When
The feeling
The longing
The want is in them,
But their body
Still tells them to trip over their
Two left feet
When they watch
The way I watch my mother
Want to be a dancer
And I watch my mother
shake it off
and smile
and change the channel
And it is the saddest thing in the universe to me
That she could just forget
that one thing
she so desperately wanted to be.
You
Are my biggest frustration.
That no matter how hard I seem to try
I just couldn't get you right.
I swear, staring at you
Makes my eyelashes
Flutter a hip hop beat like no other
But you just can't dance
To music you can't hear
And you can't see
This amazing
Choreography
I have mapped out for us in my head
I know you're great at that.
You can
Pop
Lock
Shuffle and dougie
as far away as possible from me.
But just like my mother who couldn't get her hips to hop,
I couldn't get you lips
To talk about
Anything that wasn't her
And I know your mouth can speak
But why are you so at loss for words
When the lyrics come
Are my syllables not worth your breath,
Is my rhythm not worth your
step
Because
I promise you I try to catch up
But I trip over my two left feet
When I see your eyes glisten
When you watch her
The way my mother watches the dancers and I know you wanna be with her
So you finally hear my music
Or so I am convinced that you do.
And you shuffle
And take each graceful step
To the beat of
The wrong heart
But I just can't change the channel.
I can't smile and shake it off
Because I have to wait and see
If there'll ever be a time
You'd dance to me.
Jul 18, 2014
Jul 18, 2014 at 2:17 AM UTC
The simple answer is they were just stories masquerading as promises:
I love you, misunderstood application
Alcohol, induced honesty
Hands, need no prompting
Making love, choreography
Compliments, grammatical recitation
Place in your heart, the corner lining.
Feb 26, 2013
Feb 26, 2013 at 7:17 PM UTC