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K Balachandran Jul 2018
Lizard’s tail twitch,twist
Poor bug’s wings reciprocate;
The deal is done quick!
Matthew Feb 20
Fly away
little butterfly
your wings
are moving
away from
my reach
farther than
I see
A two word per line poem collab with
Cné Mar 2018
I treasure those nights of unexpected surrender
when hands molded
caressed
and made me tremble
waking from slumber with body afire
as he inched gradually into me
bathed in my welcoming heat
one palm curled protectively
'round the weight of my breast
as finger and thumb drew on beaded peak
and breath caught in my throat
as his full depth was reached
unable to remain still
rocking back to achieve a deeper sink
his sudden hiss scalding my neck
teeth worrying my bottom lip
neither willing to move
afraid it would all end too soon
and as the flames continued to rise
groans replaced whispered sighs
no hurried pace or rapid ******
slow and sensual movements
dragging us ever nearer the edge
denying that final release
drawing closer but holding it back
sensation heightened beyond bearing
until that fraying tether breaks
causing walls to tighten and quake
drinking every last drop of his lust
clutching inside and out
desperately seeking his mouth
sealing the cataclysmic moment
heart pressed to heart
breath to breath
Justin Griego Apr 2012
The clouds move over the sun
as the stage is set, lights dim
Movements of dancers getting set
nervously watching as the clouds darken

Lightning flashes in the distance
as the dancers beat there chest
the rolling thunder reckoning its approval
as the lead pumps her fists

The first drop falls with pounding grace
as the dancers jump up with thunderous sound
The soaking drops rain its applause
as their collective feet touch the ground

The wind licks at the cloth draped around them
as they spin and flip as a choreographed group
And the wind yells in violent glee
as their movements express their vigilant youth

The dancers finish with their perfect end
as the elements smile on the energetic routine
And as the lights raise and the clouds move away
The dancers turn and bow to the future of We.
(AIP)
patty m Apr 2018
The far space is closing along a band of trees,
peelings of shadowy rind expose ghostly hues.
all around the air is flammable,
until the setting sun a burning bush turns ashen.  

Strange mood around this monolithic rock
that some folks fear.
Overlong we have waited presenting our sacrifices.
yet not a breath of wind stirs as we chant
and seeds take root.  

A strange spirit leaps into our midst
and all around there is a quick intake of breath.
Piercing movement collapses in upon itself as it whispers
though our pores.
Rhythms strange insistent beat, a driving force
whirls through our bloodstream,
its slow sensuous movements lead us into dreams.
Attached ghost,
your haunting aria spins in ethereal mist
transposing meditation.
Someone has put a hole in our language and now as we
look with hazy speculation upon the book
with tiny red stitches we remain baffled,
turning it round and round looking at all the foreign symbols,
                                   but it cannot be deciphered.  
Only the creatures of the forest remember;
Mid-Summer nights, the sound of magical flutes and the
bells of dancing nymphs.  
Only they understand  the gifts that Gaia bestows.    
Only they remember the Wisdom Of The Faun.
Can you determine the Cause of this Spite
By Twin Connections of Mistakes long past?
That which must be Forgiven; And Enlight
To soothe those Swollen Muscles at long last
I think there was a Page which left unread
Caused many Translations to poison us
That Philosophy: If Thoughts can be dead
Then reinstate that Puppet in a Bus
Who knew all his Movements were Concepts formed
And those Ring-Joints dictate his every Move
But this: Illusion and Concept conformed
Thinking these are actual Gifts from Above.
My Point, is that all these Frictions we had
Were Real Illusions; And Concepts bad.
#tomdaleytv #tomdaley1994
Olives, figs, dates and mastic, wyrd or oracles, fates and magic, wars and loves and all that’s tragic.


A Father’s lust, an Uncle’s hate, a puzzling labyrinth, through the gate,

A Cretan born, another covered, a starry symbol, placed in the cupboard,

Special place, where heroes meet him, mindless creature, murderous ******,

South in winter, man below with a bull above, placed in the heavens by two father's love,

A strangeness here, the seat of trade, in forbidden tryst, a beast was made,

Man of blood, tortured soul, stalks the maze, that stalks the pole,

"Stranger still, this wild pattern, revolving Seventh, Circle of Saturn?"

Unholy corridors made of granites, trace out the movements of the planets!

Life of horror, a soul of pain, terrorizing, with no refrain,

Smells their fear, scents of sin, raging actions, threshing men;

“They call me Moloch! They call me Baal! Tear your body, festoon my hall!”

In trepidation, to gatekeeper sent, a ****** start, for your punishment;

“I collect the hearts, I eat the eyes, I eat the liver, before he dies!”

Olives, figs, dates and mastic, wyrd or oracles, fates and magic, life and death and all that’s tragic.
The Minotaur is the constellations of Orion with the "bull's head," or "bull at/as his head," -Taurus inside the, "labyrinth," created by drawing the lines of the celestial motions, planets and stars, inside a circle or spherical graph. The Bull is the Apis Sun God of Egypt and the Man is the Orion-Aryan symbol of the harvest in Sumer-Persia therefore Minos was the ruler who combined the two kingdoms into one. Most likely the second to do so since Narmer/****** was his father.

In Greek myth each myth contains three celestial items found in the heavens and they are combined in story as, "Heteroclitic," according to Plato meaning assigned by the author as the author sees fit to tell it. In short, the myth is put together by the teller in any way in which the storyteller wishes to convey it.
grace Jan 29
Let me paint the constalations over your heart darling
Let you hear the stars on your skin
Your moans the words of a thousand suns
And your movements the blazes of light

Let them see the power I give you
How the burning embers glow
And let's hope as you come down
Down
Down
The fire between us will still continue to grow
The hopes of something other than a one night stand
laura Sep 2017
got a condo in manhattan
but it's empty unless i want to be
cold in the winter
and alone; comfortable

used to call an old flame up around that
area and just vibe
no words, pure concentration on
the movements of our energies

and how they connect to the stars
above or maybe we were just high
out of our minds and being warm
next to each other watching the rain

was something we both could take
home with nostalgic feelings
silence so comforting and numbing
Chris Chronister Jun 2015
Movements become sensual while we dance
I am feeding my addiction again
Consistent eye contact creates a trance
Intoxicating escapes will begin

Our bodies act as if we are alone
My fingertips gently touching your cheek
Physical neediness is what I've shown
Sexua1 tension I actively seek

A continual hunger consumes me
I ache for clothing to cover the floor
Ice completes my gratification plea
As emotions are chosen to ignore

Ero+ic pleasure occupies my mind
Fighting the love my heart attempts to find*


© Christopher Chronister. All rights reserved.
Terry O'Leary Sep 2014
Sweet Butterfly, with wings now dry 'tis time to break away
and light upon the leaves of dawn while weeping willows sway,
not reminisce 'bout chrysalis discarded yesterday,
but treasure life, with colors rife in nature's cabaret.

Sweet Butterfly, you sometimes sigh "terrene so strange and new”,
but take a chance, with winged expanse of fairy-like bijou,
to taste delight in random flight, to drift beyond the blue
and then collect her naked nectar, sipped in morning dew.

Sweet Butterfly, you question why the breeze is seldom soft
when swirling you, your wings askew, while floating free aloft.
Some seem to find their peace of mind believing gods have coughed,
but others, downed, have often found more freedom when they've scoffed.

Sweet Butterfly, you needn't cry, the fields are full of clover,
and meadowlands bare braided strands that winds in waves flow over -
but if you fear that, more than here, another mead is mauver,
just flutter by, beneath the sky, unfettered flitting rover.

Sweet Butterfly, farewell, goodbye, you've left this world behind.
I oft gaze back along the track of flowers that you've mined
recalling days of light sashays and movements unconfined
that complement the firmament where beauty lies enshrined.
Nylee Nov 2018
It is seasonal
limited time period
Your smile, his frown
My car, her scar
A small episode by far.


Tiny twinkles
Cloudy atmosphere
Pull push
Open and close the door
Then sit on the floor.


Tired
And rest
Blooming rose
And the bleeding thorns
Leaving the pieces torn.


All it begins
And ends
We live and die
Nothing remains
No entertainment.


Replaced fractions
Divided notions
Agreed and discarded
Lies filled in truth
Because life gives no proof.


Ten steps, eleven jumps
Crawling there
After a huge fall
In between few moments
A sad sentiment.


A vacant headspace
It came and went away
Nothing stays
Good bad ****
All too early
A thought left
Distant.


Rough days
Cold nights
replaces warmth
tight shoulders
Stiff movements
Aching muscles.


The bitter taste
Sweetened in spring
And the autumn leaves
Winter is coming
The ages pass
Just like that
.
jenna Jul 2018
dear you,

i’m in love.
yes. you were
waiting, i
bet, for this.
this time, though,
it is not
what you would
think. it’s me
this time, not
you, although
it’s still you,
but not in
the way it
used to be
you. it’s my
fault this time,
my doing,
my painful,
pitiful,
suffering.
it’s you in
the sense that
i cannot
control you.

this time,

it’s your mind and your thoughts
the things that slip off of your tongue
the words you put, pencil to paper
the ideas that come out in your songs

it’s your eyes and your sight
the careful observation of beauty
the need to bask in warm, pure light
the stare you give me, rarely now

it’s your movements and your touch
the hugs where you grip my shoulders
the times where i’m drunk and playing with your fingers
the warmth you give off and your gorgeous smile

none of them
are mine to
have, to take
to keep, to
love, to break

i miss you
and to go
and detach
to break what
we have, that’s
the hard way
out. but i
am trying
to help me.

i feel the
same way i
did when you
said i was
wrong about
this. about
how i feel.

i try to
not panic
and quiet
sob in the
bathroom at
3:27 am
every night.

i’m hoping
disposing
myself of
you, means that
the dreams will
go away
too. but if
they stay,
i’ll give you
a quick call.
probably
a text, to
be honest.

i love you,
unhealthily,
with every
part of me.

keep in touch,
please.

love,

me.
it is better to regret doing something instead of not doing it at all.
Marie-Lyne Sep 2017
Nobody can make you feel unwanted nor sad
Because what you have felt this evening was sacred
Three souls playing, fighting, crying
As if I have witnessed a conversation of people
who understood how to make life a
living, a misery and a land where we could forget our differences
To become one in their little world of music
To witness magic
Endless shadows
To feel so happy
A sentiment of pure excstasy
To experience patience, rage , sadness in a second
Is  rare in our world
To experience pain, nostalgia and a piece of your
distant country
To close your eyes from all this madness
To see lights in Ouds
To witness a cozy litlle night filled with
nothing but candles
and people making you forget that your soul
is trapped into a body that constantly suffers
Our deepest selves have found a shelter
We have visited our loved ones
with our invisible wings
We've known what made us human
We've seen three persons merging
into one for the sake of music
We've seen them through moments of excstasy
but most of all hard and severe body movements
Giving life to a woodly instrument
Making the robotic and the technological a human for once
Kemy Sep 2018
Can you feel it
Shh, allow the galaxy to pamper your body, blanket the essence of your mind, bit-by-bit
Travel on a higher awareness to understand the galaxy’s gentle gift
Close your eyes and allow your mind to softly drift

Soft Moonlight Dust
Illuminating the night skies, given warmth of its inner trust
Centered in the sky, a star abates for its enlighten ******
Kindred minds to enrapture, as souls physically adjust

So gentle, as a touch to the skin
An inner space to conquer, there an exploring craving begins
Awareness of self stirring into the constellation
Bodies attuned beyond the stretch of imagination
Savoring on the flavor of the alignment sweeten taste
Desires igniting an inferno, the heat of its flames refusing to wait

Overheated friction surrendering without debates
Runaway yearning weakening in the presence of fate
The ecstasy of the moonlight’s dust felt, abiding to the crack of dawn
Emotions of the elixir slowly withdrawn

A Cheshire moonrise
Always a sacred communion given in surprise
Masked feelings hidden behind the stars in our eyes
Sprinkles of pixie dust as the moon becomes full
Paired upon, as lace meets wool
Interwoven and tenderly spun on a galactic spool

Stars In Exile
Twinkling for eyes to glimpse beyond the earth’s smile
Canopus to Antares, oh how you make me shine
Closing my eyes, coveting your point as I’m making you mine

Settled and glittering as small diamonds binding in the sky
A wondrous elopement to experience in the blink of an eye
Soft whispers to the ones that shoot right before they fall
Such a beautiful and breathlessly cadence to wish under them all

The Gift Of The Sun’s Stroke
Umm, shooting stars kept me awoke
Relentless bodies bathing under the moon
Caresses, touches, entwined souls echoing the note of its weakening tunes

Sweeter and sweeter, deeper and deeper
Bodies fueled, hot as a heater, bodies climbing steeper and steeper
Heat consumes the interior of the temple
Sweat of life, as movements come together and then disassemble
Elated, sedated, dipping in a cool blue lagoon
Kisses under the sun on a beautiful afternoon
Temperatures rising not a moment too soon

June slamming into summer’s heat
A merriment of a sun stroke basking in the glorious feast
The galaxy and its spicy passion
A gift to the world to enjoy in any unbridled fashion
She would give them order. She would create constellations.
Thomas Pynchon
emily mikkelsen Dec 2016
i wish i could capture
the graceful movements.
you use to paint the earth.
Dan Filcek Apr 2017
In the search for greater freedom of movement.
new ideas began to emerge,
rebellion against classical forms and practices
in what is now called aesthetic
disregarded the limited set of movements that were considered proper
Artistic content morphed and shifted
for young people longed to dance.
Music and rhythmic ****** movement are twin sisters of art,
portrayed in movements what the master expresses in his compositions
bare feet, loose hair, free-flowing
a form of natural movement and improvisation
Presenting dramatic contemporary imagery,  
often revealing the full spectrum of human experience
reflecting the tension and alienation of the time
the truth of human movement.
introduce chance procedures and pure movement to the cannon of dance
focused on the physical tasks of overcoming obstacles
investigate the properties of physical space and movement.
having a heightened sense of awareness of being grounded to the floor
at the same time, feeling the energy throughout the entire body,
flexibility, strength, coordination, body awareness ,
and poly-rhythmic movement; strong dramatic works
free from the limiting strictures of the big monopolistic managements
National Poetry Month 2017 - source - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Modern_dance
Robin Lemmen Aug 2018
Sometimes I feel like a sunflower lost in a sea of roses. Drowning out my sunshine with endless streams of red. Killing my words with the poison of your laugh. Bleeding out my confidence, replaced by curious venom.

Sometimes I feel like a tree lost in the comfort of the forest. Handing out leaves to cover up bruises. Letting me die over and over again to bring me back around every fourth season. Roots deep in the ground, no way to escape now.

Sometimes I feel like a monster in a halo of angels. I am the reflection of your nightmares hiding in broad daylight. I am the devil’s daughter pretending not to care. Claws sunken into my back whispering words of despair.

Sometimes I feel like a book lost to a world of imagery. Words to give lost to the ones that don’t care about it. I am a song in a foreign language begging to be understood. I fight my mind with movements captured on a screen.

Sometimes I feel like I am screaming in silence. Begging, pleading, dying. All with a smile on my face for we only care about what others don’t know about us. What the world sees.

Sometimes.
CGW Oct 2018
When I am alone the dark thoughts return.
You don't know me.
Like parasites they rot me from the inside out.
Making me scream inside.
Death is my master.
Sitting on a storm playing puppets with my emotions.
Controlled calculated movements.
A darkness in my eyes.
I'm trying to grasp reality but only capable of
gasping anxiety.
I'm trying mother but the waves are too high.
Goodbye world.
I've seen enough.
"computer turn off."
This is made up.
Not based upon me or anyone else.
Inspired by Radioheads, Fitter Happier.
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