"gyrated" poems
(Should someone get inspired after reading this poem to compose one with a similar Title, at least she should have the decency to acknowledge the same!)
THE BELLY DANCER
BY RAJ NANDY
The sparkling dazzle of those chandeliers,
Transformed the night into an endless day!
And underneath its ignited glow,
The belly dancer's hips gyrated to-and-fro !
With her semi-veiled face and mesmerizing eyes ,
And the rhythmic quiver of those half-clad ******* ;
Her belly button a vortex of tantalizing desire ,
Hypnotized all those assembled guests !
In the smoke filled hall as the drinks went round ,
With eyes all glued to the central stage ;
The music echoing the Arabian Nights , -
Swept them beyond all clime and age !
The Oriental music raced their blood ,
And ignited the night with the heat of desire !
Who knows, before the night comes to an end,
They all may be consumed in that eternal fire ?!
-Raj Nandy, New Delhi.
Notes: I had painted in oil a belly dancing night scene
inside an Egyptian Cafe few years back. This poem was
composed by looking at that painting hanging on
my Study Room wall. If you like it, kindly recommend
this to your friends also. Thanks! -Raj
Sep 21, 2014
Sep 21, 2014 at 3:04 AM UTC
I hit the airwaves almost silently
Hoping out there, somewhere you'll hear me
Because it turns out radio time costs a lot
So here in the a.m., 3:13
I stop the easy going melodies
To tell you that last night you forgot your sock
Wait...
No...
I mean...
Yes you forgot it, but what I really mean
Is what happened last night doesn't regularly
Happen to me, like, ever. I swear
So, now that you know you're an innormality
In this life of mine that's not so lively
I think it's time that I clear the air
...waves
****
Wait...
I have as much time as information on you
And the ******** we did left me a little unscrewed
As I looked in your eyes and I struggled with your bra
And a one-night stand, I'm not likely to do
But we did... well... a lot, some old stuff and some new
As you gyrated, bit, moved your hips, kissed, and clawed
Ooh...
Wow...
Um...
Times winding down and I've said nothing right
Even if I did, chances are you won't hear this tonight
But all I have is your sock and that's not very fair to me
So what I'm trying to say under that "ON AIR" light
Is that I want to see you again, maybe for a quick bite
So that you might be tempted to leave a new piece of clothing
Well...
Yeah...
Goodnight...
Aug 9, 2013
Aug 9, 2013 at 5:34 PM UTC
On the stage she stood,
a sculpted image
With music,
she began to sway
With rising rhythm,
she gyrated in frenzied joy
Her body flowed like a droplet
on a slimy lotus leaf
As she revolved like a top,
I got lost
in the poetry
in motion!
Nov 3, 2016
Nov 3, 2016 at 7:53 AM UTC
As a Sports Illustrated model it's no secret that she has the ability to turn heads.
So as Hannah Ferguson marked day 30 of LOVE magazine's video advent she did so in smouldering fashion to ensure her debut was not easily forgotten.
Showing off her moves to the sound of Drake's Hotline Bling, the 23-year-old owned the shoot as she cavorted in a slashed corset dress.
Whipping her hair back and forth, Ferguson appeared to forego underwear beneath the daring form fitted number.
Becoming the definition of sensual, a pair of sheer stockings and Giuseppe Zanotti black patent leather lace-up stilettos completed the cover girl's look.
With her hair worn in its natural state, the beautiful blonde's striking blue eyes are lined with kohl liner while her pout is coated in a shade of **** lipstick.
Preened to perfection, the two minute clip is formatted in slow motion as the Texan beauty, who resides in the Big Apple, seductively gyrated on the floor.
In the film Hannah also displays her comical side as she flashed her pearly white while attempting to do the 'Stanky Leg' dance.
Ferguson's debut sees her join the likes of Kendall Jenner, Cara Delevingne, Rita Ora and Adriana Lima who all featured in the 2015 edition of the online countdown to the new year.
The LOVE magazine advent calendar, now in its fifth year, has seen an influx of 8.2 million views since launching on December 1.
read more:http://www.marieaustralia.com
www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses
Dec 31, 2015
Dec 31, 2015 at 2:20 AM UTC
The Drummer Brothers of Ikku Ukku
Heard from the bathers that-
The Princess had been abducted
By the Dark Beast.
A bounty of thousand gold coins was announced
If you brought her back alive and the beast dead
And Death if you brought the beast alive and the Princess dead.
The Drummer Brothers of Ikku Ukku
Hung their drums around their necks
And drummed their way
Through the Forest Dark
When the Elder Brother drummed the sleep-inducing roll,
The storks that roosted in the trees
Dropped as if they were one big bunch.
He picked them up one by one
While the younger one,
Elated,
Shouted 'Pelicans!' and drummed the defeathering roll
Upon which the plumage came off
The Elder Brother drummed the roasting roll
And the birdflesh caught fire.
On the second day a leopard that looked-
More like a boulder in leopard's clothing
Lurched at the brothers.
The Elder Brother drummed the age-reversing roll
And the poor old leopard grew younger and younger
Until it became a watery foetus which-
The Drummer Brothers ate,
Dabbing crushed chillies, and sprinkling salt.
On the third day a bear of grisly proportions
Ambled, roaring, into their sight
The Younger Brother drummed an organ-enlarging roll that-
Stretched the bear's mammaries far too long-
They dragged on the ground like two pythons.
The Elder Brother drummed the light-the- candle roll
And the oily **** caught fire like wicks.
Having vanquished the two deadly beasts
The Drummer Brothers of Ikku Ukku met,
On the fourth day of their journey,
The Dark Beast.
The Dark Beast, as it turned out,
Was no beast as such
But an Outcast once expelled
Into the heart of darkness
Who wrapped himself
In the dark of the Dawn
And became one with All the Beasts
And rumbled.
The Princess' pygmy horse was impaled
With the stake coming out of its mouth
Grossly gory, its hindlegs missing
And the blood, coagulated, hanging like icicles.
Near it was the Princess herself,
Naked, except for the gold waist chain
And the anklets.
The Drummer Brothers of Ikku Ukku
Drummed a very ordinary roll,
Steady and throbbing.
The Dark Beast who listened to it
Was transported into his past,
His memory of listening
To the old drummers of Ikku Ukku.
Excited,
He spun on his heels and stretched out his arms
He gyrated and pirouetted-
And on reaching the peak of his frenzy
Exploded, like a watermelon
The pieces flew in all directions.
The Drummer Brothers picked them up
And licked
While the Princess, shaken out of her languor,
Rose and sauntered towards them.
Holding out her honey hands
She said, "Now I belong to both of you."
The Younger Brother came up with a plan:
The elder one would have her from the waist up
While he would have her from the waist down.
The Elder Brother approved.
Vain and coquettish,
The Princess rammed her fists into either drum
And said: "I loathe their sound- too unrefined."
On the fifth day,
The Drummer Brother drummed a jazzed up roll
On their new drumhead
Made of the Princess' hide.
Jul 24, 2020
Jul 24, 2020 at 6:15 AM UTC
Walking in the pitch black road
Anyting in the way were no light
I easily bump into both side
And didnt notice that there is a sharp object
There was love inside, gribbing for air
But bcoz of deep darkness the essence was gone
Everything was lost and wreck
All eyes were blindfolded
The shape of the normal heart
Was all the different and difficult
To comprehence and seems confusing
Where do i find the haven in this place?
Inside this gyrated ambition and hopes
Its really impossible for me to escape
They were wearing mask and camouflage
In fact, inwardly they were greed and pride
So search me in this room of sadness
Direct my senses to draw me to exit door
Everything in the dark has seen by You
Whether into a cave or in the deep somewhere
May 14, 2010
May 14, 2010 at 5:51 AM UTC
In the flat where William Butler Yeats
had ridden the Gyre of mind,
Sylvia, with son and daughter,
came to spend the last of her time.
An angel, Ariel, visited
and spoke such lovely lines.
Sylvia hastened to write them down
though her pen froze at times.
Her doctor was concerned for her:
Her depression was profound
Despite the drugs that he prescribed
Her soul gyrated down.
Her husband had abandoned her
and their two babes besides.
A darker angel came to her
and whispered “suicide.”
Three days before St. Valentines
in Nineteen sixty three.
Her nurse received no answer
there at number twenty Three.
Fearful for the children,
the nurse had to get inside
Police where called and
the door was forced, but
sadly, not in time.
The smell of gas, pervasive,
in the room where Sylvia died.
Her two little ones were rescued-
Her death ruled a suicide.
Nov 19, 2011
Nov 19, 2011 at 10:24 AM UTC
Here’s to scrumptious nights.
cats and boots and cats and boots
We went clubbing last night, to recalibrate
ourselves on the dance floor, where magic happens.
cats and boots and cats and boots and cats and boots
To focus on sensory experiences, the beat,
and share in the fun and tangible sense of freedom.
cats and boots and cats and boots
Feel the wave, show your energy, be the wave
cats and boots and cats and boots
be disheveled, swing your hair like a weapon
abandon, silly, self-protecting vanities
cats and boots and cats and boots
flashing lights on dancing figures
make it all seem slo-mo and extreme.
cats and boots and cats and boots
It’s been too long since we’ve done it like this.
Work-worn, I’d lost my lucidity and stumbled badly on a quiz.
Lisa pushed my books onto the floor, declaring, “Get UP, we’re grabbing some bliss.”
cats and boots and cats and boots and cats and boots and cats and boots
failure has a reality, a gravity and pull all the more shocking in relief.
I’d started out the evening gloomy and ashamed - a figure of regret -
but I’m better now, buoyed and recharged and soon I’ll have a plan - hopefully.
cats and boots and cats and boots and cats and boots and cats and boots
There was a guy there, on the dance floor, who looked like a young Leonardo DiCaprio.
We made eye contact, nodding and smiling at each other in motion.
We gyrated, together, sort of, for a second, in our separate orbits - no conversation
I just watched him for a moment or two, sexualizing him like eye candy.
Just seeing him was sensual fun and I wondered what he smelled like.
He had a gritty, sweaty, idealized beauty, like a dancing ‘David’
that no Michelangelo could ever capture in stiff granite sculpture.
The music ended - momentarily - we knew it would start up again
and we were there for it - til 1 or 2 am anyway - then it recranked.
cats and boots and cats and boots and cats and boots and..
Lisa grabbed my hand, jerking me onto the dance floor almost
before I could set down my drink. Eeek! “Slow Down!” I yelled,
but my complaint was lost in the din and my involuntary laugh.
cats and boots and cats and boots and cats and boots and..
.
.
Songs for this:
Dance To This (feat. Ariana Grande) by Troye Sivan
Good Time Girl (feat. Charlie Barker) by Sofi Tukker
Sep 28, 2024
Sep 28, 2024 at 8:14 AM UTC
I am a third generation of ****** assault victims.
A third generation.
My mother before me had experienced assault time and time again.
I don’t believe I even know all the stories.
She experienced men who thought that because they can push your head where they wanted meant that she would not, could not, fight back.
Man, were they surprised when they felt the sharp ridges of her teeth sink into their shaft.
My mother is a fighter.
Her mother before her experienced a man who hid behind a medical license
He said if she wanted to be cleared to go back to work, she simply had to pull down her pants.
She was there to check on her shoulder.
She told him that there was no way and he could tell the company whatever he wanted but she was not going to be taking off her pants.
They later arrested this man for molesting dozens of patients.
A ********* under the guise of a medic.
My grandmother was a fighter.
And don’t you dare think that for some reason growing older gets you a pass.
At 72, she moved into a new apartment building with people of all ages and backgrounds.
One day, walking home, a man decided to press his naked body against a window while she walked by.
He gyrated his hips and touched himself as she ran by.
Sometimes I worry if he’ll step out from behind the glass.
Me though? I do not know if I am a fighter.
Maybe its because my assault took a different form, one they rarely talk about.
When my older cousin asked me to play a game I was thrilled to be a part of her world.
It took me years to realize that where she kissed and what she touched and the game we played was actually how women have ***
Years later I had a boyfriend, and for some reason when my lips said no, he heard ask again.
Ask again and again until she feels worn down. Ask again until she gives in.
Because that’s your boyfriend, aren’t you supposed to fulfill his needs?
How dare you be ***** or sick or not in the mood.
Men have needs, and can’t you see when they commit to just you, that’s your role.
When I was 21 I naively thought that I could make friends with a boy.
I told him before we ever met that I was not looking for love, nor *** just a friend.
However, he reached for the check. However, he reached for my neck.
He kissed me, big whoop, I can live with that.
But then he put my hand on his lap to feel his hardness and asked me to **** it.
I lied and said not tonight, knowing I would never see him again, and left.
Maybe I am a fighter.
Maybe every woman I know is a fighter.
When my mother, my friends, my sisters, my roommates, my cousins, and the stranger on the street has a story like mine, don’t you think that it’s time?
Time to teach men that women, we are fighters.
I am a third generation of fighter.
Jan 28, 2018
Jan 28, 2018 at 11:36 PM UTC
You said you were a loner
& they called you jail bait,
yet you
had the demeanor
of somebody
much older.
Bold & meaner than a viper,
your long hair flowed
between nice
perky high-points,
& you floated
on the raunchy-stage
like an angel,
wore a thong
& gyrated
for dollars.
It didn't take
a love-scholar
to see
the broken-heart-message
burning in
your lovely sad-eyes.
And,
I wished
I could have
saved the world
that night,
but you were working
on them soldier-boys,
wrestling their whole
monthly paychecks
from their stupid
drunken fingers.
Yes, your memory lingers
& I think often of you,
wondering
about your millions
& if you're still alone.
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 3:20 PM UTC
Playing on the Midnight Bridge
Gyrated at midnight.
Restless spirit.
Atmospheric, ethereal.
Vaguely visible through the smog.
Under the bridge of sighs.
He once cried.
The air infiltrated with wails of despair.
His pain cried louder than his voice.
Noble noose with its own perspective.
His treasured prize had gone.
Slipped as he blundered into night.
Forlorn.
A mistake not turning back.
Bridge became gibbet.
Dropped fast.
And he swung as he hung.
His heart destroyed by disloyal lover
Girlfriend committed greatest treason.
And he hung by Traitor’s Gate.
By ladylivvi1
© 2014 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Jan 16, 2014
Jan 16, 2014 at 3:22 PM UTC
People commit suicide when their soul is dehydrated
When thoughts outside a solid wall can not be gyrated
All embers grow cold and vacant like they've been sedated
Or maybe caved in because once inflated to a certain extent
There's no room to be sated when only knowing wicked intent
A body needs to be caressed and let a broken bone mend
To make it flexible and elastic -first shown how to bend
It's nothing fantastic but merely a lesson on how to cope
How to watch yourself rebound from any and all hope
How to break down and realign then redesign the entire mind
Seeing being beaming retreating
screaming at you
with NOTHING inside
And how that harrowed hole bores into how you're defined
And how time is the only place left to fill an empty space
So hollow at this point it feels like it can just be replaced
The following revolutions come one second at a time
If you can't find the courage for evolution
You're destined to rewind
It manifests as a habit building pressure in your mind
Until one day what's filled up has pressed your luck
Because guess what? it was the same as the last grind
The only healthy circle comes from an innate sense of being
When you reach within all you've been and all that you are seeing
And when you find the epitome of all that you have sought Remember all in practice & nothing that lasts is bought Overcoming tragedy found through glory and no retreat
While marching to the sound of your heart's personal drumbeat Will be lost to you over and again yet returns at a single thought It's no predisposition but practiced, understood, then conditioned When you open your ears and truly listen
Not all times do diamonds glisten.
No footprints are left behind without a vision.
No wisdom is borne without decision.
Nothing changes without remission.
No fault is known without admission.
No script was written without revision.
No skill ever mastered without precision.
So when you spend time wondering how things could have been different.
You'll do yourself a favor instead wondering what it all meant.*
Jul 13, 2016
Jul 13, 2016 at 6:23 PM UTC
.
*You dove into my passion's dew
oceans gyrated forcefully,
taking the breath from the shore
where pristine sands came to glisten
leaving behind sea foam footprints
on blushing dune’s desires
hidden from tide’s ebb and flow
for me to follow . . .to you*
Jul 10, 2016
Jul 10, 2016 at 8:51 PM UTC
I woke up early in the morning,
I bent,
I twisted,
I gyrated,
I jumped up and down,
After half an hour I was sweating,
At last I had my leotards on,
That was enough of aerobics for me.
13/11/2019
Nov 13, 2019
Nov 13, 2019 at 9:43 AM UTC
Underplayed or overrated?
In perfect time with his ****** her wanton hips gyrated.
Baring tooth and nail,
Like hungry wolves they feed.
Each the same agenda;
To satisfy their primal need.
He pulls her hair and bites her shoulder,
Binding wrists with which to hold her.
She offers up her body and soul,
Without a word he takes her whole.
With quickened breath and sweat on skin,
Need like no other rushing in.
As if their lust, till now
reserved on ration,
Unleashed to satisfy
..... a moment's greedy passion!
Dec 8, 2015
Dec 8, 2015 at 6:05 AM UTC