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Muse of the many-twinkling feet! whose charms
Are now extended up from legs to arms;
Terpsichore!—too long misdeemed a maid—
Reproachful term—bestowed but to upbraid—
Henceforth in all the bronze of brightness shine,
The least a Vestal of the ****** Nine.
Far be from thee and thine the name of *****:
Mocked yet triumphant; sneered at, unsubdued;
Thy legs must move to conquer as they fly,
If but thy coats are reasonably high!
Thy breast—if bare enough—requires no shield;
Dance forth—sans armour thou shalt take the field
And own—impregnable to most assaults,
Thy not too lawfully begotten “Waltz.”

  Hail, nimble Nymph! to whom the young hussar,
The whiskered votary of Waltz and War,
His night devotes, despite of spur and boots;
A sight unmatched since Orpheus and his brutes:
Hail, spirit-stirring Waltz!—beneath whose banners
A modern hero fought for modish manners;
On Hounslow’s heath to rival Wellesley’s fame,
Cocked, fired, and missed his man—but gained his aim;
Hail, moving muse! to whom the fair one’s breast
Gives all it can, and bids us take the rest.
Oh! for the flow of Busby, or of Fitz,
The latter’s loyalty, the former’s wits,
To “energise the object I pursue,”
And give both Belial and his Dance their due!

  Imperial Waltz! imported from the Rhine
(Famed for the growth of pedigrees and wine),
Long be thine import from all duty free,
And Hock itself be less esteemed than thee;
In some few qualities alike—for Hock
Improves our cellar—thou our living stock.
The head to Hock belongs—thy subtler art
Intoxicates alone the heedless heart:
Through the full veins thy gentler poison swims,
And wakes to Wantonness the willing limbs.

  Oh, Germany! how much to thee we owe,
As heaven-born Pitt can testify below,
Ere cursed Confederation made thee France’s,
And only left us thy d—d debts and dances!
Of subsidies and Hanover bereft,
We bless thee still—George the Third is left!
Of kings the best—and last, not least in worth,
For graciously begetting George the Fourth.
To Germany, and Highnesses serene,
Who owe us millions—don’t we owe the Queen?
To Germany, what owe we not besides?
So oft bestowing Brunswickers and brides;
Who paid for ******, with her royal blood,
Drawn from the stem of each Teutonic stud:
Who sent us—so be pardoned all her faults—
A dozen dukes, some kings, a Queen—and Waltz.

  But peace to her—her Emperor and Diet,
Though now transferred to Buonapartè’s “fiat!”
Back to my theme—O muse of Motion! say,
How first to Albion found thy Waltz her way?

  Borne on the breath of Hyperborean gales,
From Hamburg’s port (while Hamburg yet had mails),
Ere yet unlucky Fame—compelled to creep
To snowy Gottenburg-was chilled to sleep;
Or, starting from her slumbers, deigned arise,
Heligoland! to stock thy mart with lies;
While unburnt Moscow yet had news to send,
Nor owed her fiery Exit to a friend,
She came—Waltz came—and with her certain sets
Of true despatches, and as true Gazettes;
Then flamed of Austerlitz the blest despatch,
Which Moniteur nor Morning Post can match
And—almost crushed beneath the glorious news—
Ten plays, and forty tales of Kotzebue’s;
One envoy’s letters, six composer’s airs,
And loads from Frankfort and from Leipsic fairs:
Meiners’ four volumes upon Womankind,
Like Lapland witches to ensure a wind;
Brunck’s heaviest tome for ballast, and, to back it,
Of Heynè, such as should not sink the packet.

  Fraught with this cargo—and her fairest freight,
Delightful Waltz, on tiptoe for a Mate,
The welcome vessel reached the genial strand,
And round her flocked the daughters of the land.
Not decent David, when, before the ark,
His grand Pas-seul excited some remark;
Not love-lorn Quixote, when his Sancho thought
The knight’s Fandango friskier than it ought;
Not soft Herodias, when, with winning tread,
Her nimble feet danced off another’s head;
Not Cleopatra on her Galley’s Deck,
Displayed so much of leg or more of neck,
Than Thou, ambrosial Waltz, when first the Moon
Beheld thee twirling to a Saxon tune!

  To You, ye husbands of ten years! whose brows
Ache with the annual tributes of a spouse;
To you of nine years less, who only bear
The budding sprouts of those that you shall wear,
With added ornaments around them rolled
Of native brass, or law-awarded gold;
To You, ye Matrons, ever on the watch
To mar a son’s, or make a daughter’s match;
To You, ye children of—whom chance accords—
Always the Ladies, and sometimes their Lords;
To You, ye single gentlemen, who seek
Torments for life, or pleasures for a week;
As Love or ***** your endeavours guide,
To gain your own, or ****** another’s bride;—
To one and all the lovely Stranger came,
And every Ball-room echoes with her name.

  Endearing Waltz!—to thy more melting tune
Bow Irish Jig, and ancient Rigadoon.
Scotch reels, avaunt! and Country-dance forego
Your future claims to each fantastic toe!
Waltz—Waltz alone—both legs and arms demands,
Liberal of feet, and lavish of her hands;
Hands which may freely range in public sight
Where ne’er before—but—pray “put out the light.”
Methinks the glare of yonder chandelier
Shines much too far—or I am much too near;
And true, though strange—Waltz whispers this remark,
“My slippery steps are safest in the dark!”
But here the Muse with due decorum halts,
And lends her longest petticoat to “Waltz.”

  Observant Travellers of every time!
Ye Quartos published upon every clime!
0 say, shall dull Romaika’s heavy round,
Fandango’s wriggle, or Bolero’s bound;
Can Egypt’s Almas—tantalising group—
Columbia’s caperers to the warlike Whoop—
Can aught from cold Kamschatka to Cape Horn
With Waltz compare, or after Waltz be born?
Ah, no! from Morier’s pages down to Galt’s,
Each tourist pens a paragraph for “Waltz.”

  Shades of those Belles whose reign began of yore,
With George the Third’s—and ended long before!—
Though in your daughters’ daughters yet you thrive,
Burst from your lead, and be yourselves alive!
Back to the Ball-room speed your spectred host,
Fool’s Paradise is dull to that you lost.
No treacherous powder bids Conjecture quake;
No stiff-starched stays make meddling fingers ache;
(Transferred to those ambiguous things that ape
Goats in their visage, women in their shape;)
No damsel faints when rather closely pressed,
But more caressing seems when most caressed;
Superfluous Hartshorn, and reviving Salts,
Both banished by the sovereign cordial “Waltz.”

  Seductive Waltz!—though on thy native shore
Even Werter’s self proclaimed thee half a *****;
Werter—to decent vice though much inclined,
Yet warm, not wanton; dazzled, but not blind—
Though gentle Genlis, in her strife with Staël,
Would even proscribe thee from a Paris ball;
The fashion hails—from Countesses to Queens,
And maids and valets waltz behind the scenes;
Wide and more wide thy witching circle spreads,
And turns—if nothing else—at least our heads;
With thee even clumsy cits attempt to bounce,
And cockney’s practise what they can’t pronounce.
Gods! how the glorious theme my strain exalts,
And Rhyme finds partner Rhyme in praise of “Waltz!”
Blest was the time Waltz chose for her début!
The Court, the Regent, like herself were new;
New face for friends, for foes some new rewards;
New ornaments for black-and royal Guards;
New laws to hang the rogues that roared for bread;
New coins (most new) to follow those that fled;
New victories—nor can we prize them less,
Though Jenky wonders at his own success;
New wars, because the old succeed so well,
That most survivors envy those who fell;
New mistresses—no, old—and yet ’tis true,
Though they be old, the thing is something new;
Each new, quite new—(except some ancient tricks),
New white-sticks—gold-sticks—broom-sticks—all new sticks!
With vests or ribands—decked alike in hue,
New troopers strut, new turncoats blush in blue:
So saith the Muse: my——, what say you?
Such was the time when Waltz might best maintain
Her new preferments in this novel reign;
Such was the time, nor ever yet was such;
Hoops are  more, and petticoats not much;
Morals and Minuets, Virtue and her stays,
And tell-tale powder—all have had their days.
The Ball begins—the honours of the house
First duly done by daughter or by spouse,
Some Potentate—or royal or serene—
With Kent’s gay grace, or sapient Gloster’s mien,
Leads forth the ready dame, whose rising flush
Might once have been mistaken for a blush.
From where the garb just leaves the ***** free,
That spot where hearts were once supposed to be;
Round all the confines of the yielded waist,
The strangest hand may wander undisplaced:
The lady’s in return may grasp as much
As princely paunches offer to her touch.
Pleased round the chalky floor how well they trip
One hand reposing on the royal hip!
The other to the shoulder no less royal
Ascending with affection truly loyal!
Thus front to front the partners move or stand,
The foot may rest, but none withdraw the hand;
And all in turn may follow in their rank,
The Earl of—Asterisk—and Lady—Blank;
Sir—Such-a-one—with those of fashion’s host,
For whose blest surnames—vide “Morning Post.”
(Or if for that impartial print too late,
Search Doctors’ Commons six months from my date)—
Thus all and each, in movement swift or slow,
The genial contact gently undergo;
Till some might marvel, with the modest Turk,
If “nothing follows all this palming work?”
True, honest Mirza!—you may trust my rhyme—
Something does follow at a fitter time;
The breast thus publicly resigned to man,
In private may resist him—if it can.

  O ye who loved our Grandmothers of yore,
Fitzpatrick, Sheridan, and many more!
And thou, my Prince! whose sovereign taste and will
It is to love the lovely beldames still!
Thou Ghost of Queensberry! whose judging Sprite
Satan may spare to peep a single night,
Pronounce—if ever in your days of bliss
Asmodeus struck so bright a stroke as this;
To teach the young ideas how to rise,
Flush in the cheek, and languish in the eyes;
Rush to the heart, and lighten through the frame,
With half-told wish, and ill-dissembled flame,
For prurient Nature still will storm the breast—
Who, tempted thus, can answer for the rest?

  But ye—who never felt a single thought
For what our Morals are to be, or ought;
Who wisely wish the charms you view to reap,
Say—would you make those beauties quite so cheap?
Hot from the hands promiscuously applied,
Round the slight waist, or down the glowing side,
Where were the rapture then to clasp the form
From this lewd grasp and lawless contact warm?
At once Love’s most endearing thought resign,
To press the hand so pressed by none but thine;
To gaze upon that eye which never met
Another’s ardent look without regret;
Approach the lip which all, without restraint,
Come near enough—if not to touch—to taint;
If such thou lovest—love her then no more,
Or give—like her—caresses to a score;
Her Mind with these is gone, and with it go
The little left behind it to bestow.

  Voluptuous Waltz! and dare I thus blaspheme?
Thy bard forgot thy praises were his theme.
Terpsichore forgive!—at every Ball
My wife now waltzes—and my daughters shall;
My son—(or stop—’tis needless to inquire—
These little accidents should ne’er transpire;
Some ages hence our genealogic tree
Will wear as green a bough for him as me)—
Waltzing shall rear, to make our name amends
Grandsons for me—in heirs to all his friends.
(After Lorca)

Now in Vienna there are ten pretty women.
There's a shoulder where death comes to cry.
There's a lobby with nine hundred windows.
There's a tree where the doves go to die.
There's a piece that was torn from the morning,
and it hangs in the Gallery of Frost—
Ay, ay ay ay
Take this waltz, take this waltz,
take this waltz with the clamp on its jaws.

I want you, I want you, I want you
on a chair with a dead magazine.
In the cave at the tip of the lily,
in some hallway where love's never been.
On a bed where the moon has been sweating,
in a cry filled with footsteps and sand—
Ay, ay ay ay
Take this waltz, take this waltz,
take its broken waist in your hand.

This waltz, this waltz, this waltz, this waltz
with its very own breath
of brandy and death,
dragging its tail in the sea.

There's a concert hall in Vienna
where your mouth had a thousand reviews.
There's a bar where the boys have stopped talking,
they've been sentenced to death by the blues.
Ah, but who is it climbs to your picture
with a garland of freshly cut tears?
Ay, ay ay ay
Take this waltz, take this waltz,
take this waltz, it's been dying for years.

There's an attic where children are playing,
where I've got to lie down with you soon,
in a dream of Hungarian lanterns,
in the mist of some sweet afternoon.
And I'll see what you've chained to your sorrow,
all your sheep and your lilies of snow—
Ay, ay ay ay
Take this waltz, take this waltz
with its "I'll never forget you, you know!"

And I'll dance with you in Vienna,
I'll be wearing a river's disguise.
The hyacinth wild on my shoulder
my mouth on the dew of your thighs.
And I'll bury my soul in a scrapbook,
with the photographs there and the moss.
And I'll yield to the flood of your beauty,
my cheap violin and my cross.
And you'll carry me down on your dancing
to the pools that you lift on your wrist—
O my love, O my love
Take this waltz, take this waltz,
it's yours now. It's all that there is.
In Vienna there are ten little girls,
a shoulder for death to cry on,
and a forest of dried pigeons.
There is a fragment of tomorrow
in the museum of winter frost.
There is a thousand-windowed dance hall.

Ay, ay, ay, ay!
Take this close-mouthed waltz.

Little waltz, little waltz, little waltz,
of itself of death, and of brandy
that dips its tail in the sea.

I love you, I love you, I love you,
with the armchair and the book of death,
down the melancholy hallway,
in the iris' darkened garret.

Ay, ay, ay, ay!
Take this broken-waisted waltz.

In Vienna there are four mirrors
in which your mouth and the echoes play.
There is a death for piano
that paints little boys blue.
There are beggars on the roof.
There are fresh garlands of tears.

Ay, ay, ay, ay!
Take this waltz that dies in my arms.

Because I love you, I love you, my love,
in the attic wherethe children play,
dreaming ancient lights of Hungary
through the noise, the balmy afternoon,
seeing sheep and irises of snow
through teh dark silence of your forehead.

Ay, ay, ay, ay!
Take this "I will always love you" waltz.

In Vienna I will dance with you
in a costume with
a river's head.
See how the hyacinths line my banks!
I will leave my mouth between your legs,
my soul in photographs and lilies,
and in the dark wake of your footsteps,
my love, my love, I will have to leave
violin and grave, the waltzing ribbons.
But why did I **** him? Why? Why?
In the small, gilded room, near the stair?
My ears rack and throb with his cry,
And his eyes goggle under his hair,
As my fingers sink into the fair
White skin of his throat. It was I!

I killed him! My God! Don't you hear?
I shook him until his red tongue
Hung flapping out through the black, queer,
Swollen lines of his lips. And I clung
With my nails drawing blood, while I flung
The loose, heavy body in fear.

Fear lest he should still not be dead.
I was drunk with the lust of his life.
The blood-drops oozed slow from his head
And dabbled a chair. And our strife
Lasted one reeling second, his knife
Lay and winked in the lights overhead.

And the waltz from the ballroom I heard,
When I called him a low, sneaking cur.
And the wail of the violins stirred
My brute anger with visions of her.
As I throttled his windpipe, the purr
Of his breath with the waltz became blurred.

I have ridden ten miles through the dark,
With that music, an infernal din,
Pounding rhythmic inside me. Just Hark!
One! Two! Three! And my fingers sink in
To his flesh when the violins, thin
And straining with passion, grow stark.

One! Two! Three! Oh, the horror of sound!
While she danced I was crushing his throat.
He had tasted the joy of her, wound
Round her body, and I heard him gloat
On the favour. That instant I smote.
One! Two! Three! How the dancers swirl round!

He is here in the room, in my arm,
His limp body hangs on the spin
Of the waltz we are dancing, a swarm
Of blood-drops is hemming us in!
Round and round! One! Two! Three! And his sin
Is red like his tongue lolling warm.

One! Two! Three! And the drums are his knell.
He is heavy, his feet beat the floor
As I drag him about in the swell
Of the waltz. With a menacing roar,
The trumpets crash in through the door.
One! Two! Three! clangs his funeral bell.

One! Two! Three! In the chaos of space
Rolls the earth to the hideous glee
Of death! And so cramped is this place,
I stifle and pant. One! Two! Three!
Round and round! God! 'Tis he throttles me!
He has covered my mouth with his face!

And his blood has dripped into my heart!
And my heart beats and labours. One! Two!
Three! His dead limbs have coiled every part
Of my body in tentacles. Through
My ears the waltz jangles. Like glue
His dead body holds me athwart.

One! Two! Three! Give me air! Oh! My God!
One! Two! Three! I am drowning in slime!
One! Two! Three! And his corpse, like a clod,
Beats me into a jelly! The chime,
One! Two! Three! And his dead legs keep time.
Air! Give me air! Air! My God!
Michael DeVoe Oct 2012
I want to live on a beautiful island
Where it's warm all the time
And on this island I want it to snow
Three months a year
And I want those three months to be
November, December, and March
And when it snows I need it to be seventy seven degrees
And I want the snow to stick
Here I imagine Jack Johnson, Jason Mraz, and Zach Gil will sit around playing music
They'll play from noon to around ten
That's when Kwali the local pool boy ends his shift keeping the oil out of the ocean
Kwali he plays the Ukulele and sings about beaches no one's ever been to until around midnight
When the perpetually burning bon fire dies down and the island falls asleep
As for the rest of the music here on the island
Every morning there's this old steel guitarist
He's from just south of New Orleans
A place called Under Pressure
Really it's just the hull of the broken fishing boat he was born on
But he calls it home all the same
And a kid who used to play trombone for the high school jazz band
But he picked up the harmonica after he found out chicks don't dig trombones
And the two of them sort of play old dixie
With a steel drummer who never seems to find his shirt in the morning
But you never really mind that
And on Sunday mornings this really old woman
Ssays her mom was Harriet Tubman
Which we all know is a lie
But she's got scars from head to toe so you might as well believe something
Man she wails
For two straight hours
She wails
Wails to God, to the heavens, to Jesus, Georgia and the first row of church
And when she wails her tears are a lost language from the tower of babble and we all understand it
And on Wednesday
We waltz
We waltz to really old records
That we play on the only turntable on the island
That Mr. Lee drags all the way from his house to the community center with no walls
And the whole island shows up in summer dresses and Matthew Mcconaughey shirts
Even the one we call grandma
And her husband who everyone calls Uncle for some reason
Come dressed to dance
And we all leave our slippers at the door this place doesn't have
And the sand warms our feet while we waltz
Sometimes it's the Tennessee Waltz
And sometimes it's the Viennese Waltz
But most of the time it's just the waltz we all learned in eighth grade
Either way
Every Wednesday there is a beautiful girl
She's five five, maybe, five eight I don't know
I've been lying on my drivers' license since I was sixteen so I don't know how tall people really are
She's got south pacific features
But with my track record by the time I actually make it to my island she'll probably be a red head
We waltz
We waltz until the records skip
And our legs turn to Jello and all we can do is collapse in each other's arms
While the ocean tickles our toes
Our finger tips tickle each other's palms
And we let that guy in the moon do the rest
So when you see me set sail
If you can catch me you can climb on board
And if you can't
Wave goodbye
A collection of poems by me is available on Amazon
Where She Left Me - Michael DeVoe
Jude kyrie Oct 2016
Waltz me forever

Waltz me through life
For now and hereafter
With glitterball  lights in your eyes
Waltz me through children
With joy and with laughter
Though love and million soft sighs

Waltz me through  sadness
and the joy that comes after.
With your kiss as my golden prize.
Waltz me through the partings
With the joy of returning
To see the sweet love in your eyes.

When I am old and I'm faded
And so tired and jaded
And the clouds are all heavy with rain.
Take my hand and dance with me.
And Waltz me again and again.
Just for you my love
Keep us waltzing
All my heart
For You
Have you ever walked into a room and felt  you've been there before?

Your body feels electric as you stand inside the door

You know this room and know this space

But, you've not ever seen this

You take one step forward

And then you step back

And you step forward again

You all know you've done it

You're not quite sure why

But your'e doing the Deja Vu Waltz

Have you ever met a person who seemed so **** familiar

You know all of their interests, for you both are so **** similar

But, you know you've never met him

And the lights are going so,

You take one step forward

And then you step back

And you step forward again

You all know you've done it

You're not quite sure why

But your'e doing the Deja Vu Waltz

Have you ever heard some music that you know you know the words to

But the problem that you have is that the song is something brand new

It just hangs around your brainwaves

But your mind just won't,

You take one step forward

And then you step back

And you step forward again

You all know you've done it

You're not quite sure why

But your'e doing the Deja Vu Waltz

I know you've watched a movie where you know you know the ending

But the movie has just come out and it starts your mind to bending

You're sure your'e going crazy

But the movie still seems hazy, so...

You take one step forward

And then you step back

And you step forward again

You all know you've done it

You're not quite sure why

But your'e doing the Deja Vu Waltz
I'm dancing with my darling
To the New Covid Waltz
She looked up and she said to me
"I can not see you"
"You're so far away"
For now, that's the way it must be

I remember the time
That we danced until morning
Watching the night turn to day
Now, when we're dancing
I can't even touch you
You have to stay six feet away

I'm dancing with my darling
To the New Covid Waltz
She looked up and she said to me
"I can not see you"
"You're so far away"
For now, that's the way it must be

I remember when we
Would dance in  the moonlight
Cutting a path 'cross the floor
Now with N ninety five masks
And gloves to your elbow
We cannot do that anymore

I'm dancing with my darling
To the New Covid Waltz
She looked up and she said to me
"I can not see you"
"You're so far away"
For now, that's the way it must be

So, remember this
Keep your distance while dancing
Doing whatever you please
Don't get too close though
Please keep your distance
In case one of you happens to sneeze
Emma Livry Jan 2014
Temptation came in sliding on his knees asking, “Will you dance with me?”

He didn't say “hello”, or “wow it’s been a while, hasn’t it?”. Just a simple question. He stayed on his knees waiting for an answer, but he didn’t get one quickly. After I stumbled on my words for what seemed like forever, I finally managed a yes.

The band just finished playing. The owners turned on a CD for people to waltz to, and the floor was already crowded with smiling couples and stumbling beginners.

“You are going to lead me the whole time, okay?” I asked him, but it was more of a demand. I remembered talking to him about this place and I knew he came here a lot. We had never danced together, but I had always wanted to dance with him.

“Do you even know how to waltz?” he asked.

“I do ballet. Of course I know how to waltz.” I managed to say with more confidence than I knew I had. The memories from last summer were unfurling inside my brain and I thought I was about to explode. I didn’t think I could manage another word but I surprise myself by asking how he was.

“Oh, I’m pretty good. I ship out in June. You can’t believe how much I want to leave this place,” he said. I tried looking into his eyes, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. He was holding his gaze directly on me, but when I tried looking into his eyes, I had to look away. After all this time, I forgot their color. He then said, “Loosen up, darling. You’re so tense.” he flipped our arms around and twirled me quite a bit and I was getting lost, but he is a very good leader. He was holding my hands firmly, yet it was still gentle and we ended up with our hands over our heads. “Bend backwards,” he instructed, so I did. He lowered me down into a dip and I finally looked directly into his eyes. How could I forget that they are exactly the same color as mine?

Our faces were only but three inches apart; about a year ago, we were at a place where those three inches wouldn’t even exist. He lingered there for only a second more before I broke our gaze and he decided to briskly raise me back up and continue the waltz.

“You are really tense; loosen up,” he said again. It made sense, I have a habit of holding my breath when faced with temptation, but he just continued smiling at me.

“Sorry, I’m used to holding myself all the time.”

He just looked around the room and then dipped me again and whispered in my ear, “I’ll hold you.”

I wanted to hit him. Did he forget what happened last summer? Because I did not. I flashed back to where we were. Sitting on the rocks next to the creek that leads into the larger river. He was playing his guitar and singing me the song he wrote for me. It was cliché, but at the time it was a sweet gesture. His voice was always angelic to me. From the first time I heard him sing until the last time, which ended up being this day.

When he finished singing the song, I couldn't find any words to say. I just sat there and then he leaned over and kissed me. This wasn't the first time he kissed me, but it was different from the first time. The first time was at church and was really short. This kiss was, well, not short at all.

He brought me back up to standing and whisked me across the floor. He kept leading me and twirling me and switching our arms around. The waltz still continued and so did our conversation. I looked up at him occasionally and he was still looking at me. Throughout the dance, we drifted closer and closer together. I didn't notice when it was happening, but in this moment I realized that there was almost no space between us.

“You know, I bet my boyfriend’s pretty mad,” I said. I looked over at him. He was sitting on a bench glaring in my general direction, so I turned around abruptly and then my dance partner got a peek at him.

He laughed at the fact that he was glaring at us and then leaned in even closer to tell me something through his smile, “My girlfriend is watching too, but them watching us just makes it more fun.”
Marian May 2013
Like a gazelle she ballets with gracefulness
Like a ballerina
Dancing to Dance of the Little Swans
With beauty and grace
Oh let me see thy fair face,
Sweet sister of mine
Let me watch you ballet gracefully
Through woods, fields, and meadows
She sleeps soundly in a bed of ferns
Oh sweet sister of mine
With the most prettiest satin wings you ever saw
And a pretty pink flowing gown
And soft pale pink ballet slippers
With the most pristine pink ribbons
Tied around her delicate ankles
She ballets, Oh sister of mine
With a crown of baby rosebuds on her
And rosettes on her gown
She dances with delight, Oh, fair sister of mine
She dances even more beautifully
And gracefully
Than the yellow sunflowers
Of gold that waltz in fields and meadows
Dance for me, Oh fair sister of mine
Dance to me on hills of sublime green
Dance, Oh, beautiful sister of mine
Ballet for me gracefully like the
Lotus ballets upon the sapphire lake
Ballet Oh, sweetest sister of mine
Waltz for me in a field of dancing flowers
Waltz for me, Oh, dear sister of mine
I love you, oh, graceful sister of mine

Written for my sweet sis, Adreiska Moonlight!!! Ballet to Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata played by piano in the Moonlight which dances through my room. But you, dearest sis, can ballet much more finer than Moonlight!!! Because you are those rays!!!! :) ~<3
first step

when he looks at a woman he searches for qualities that attract him because he wants to desire her yet this tendency creates an imbalance or disadvantage he is rendered weak to a woman’s beauty or whatever traits he idealizes self-realizing this propensity he looks away from women years of disappointment neglect change him he becomes afraid of women gynophobic


when she looks at a man she searches for qualities she is critical of because she wants to be impervious to his power she is suspicious of all men their upper body strength penchant to be in control misperception of women as property misogyny emotional immaturity neediness to be mommyed selfishness insensitivity or over-sensitivity depending she wants to be treated with equal respect a loving nurturing relationship she is suspicious of all people their alternate realities passive aggressive behavior co-dependence craziness


he sees her then looks away she suspiciously notices nothing happens they go back to their separate homes alone always home alone grown calm in resignation yet disbelieving of this destiny saddened by this fate both worry about future she looks at her face naked body in mirror her stomach churns feels sad sickening remembers time when she was more carefree he puts one foot in front of other then walks tries to remember who taught him to walk how many times did he fall who taught him to laugh where did his sense of humor go


he sees her thinks she is lovely resists the urge to turn away he smiles says hello she notices nervously smiles her shaky voice articulates louder than a whisper hi

Tucson 2-step

they are standing in line at a café on 4th avenue he is directly behind her she is lanky wearing white background faded colors patterned summer dress thin straps over bare shoulders long brown hair few gray strands small unfinished tattoo on left calf leather slip-ons 1 inch heals he is at a complete loss for words thinks to make remark about the weather decides not to overhead fan stirs hot humid July air barista girl asks what she would like her eyes scan blackboard menu behind counter she hesitates remarks help him i need an extra moment to decide he steps up to counter money in hand orders small to go Arnold Palmer half black current lays $3 on counter mentions change goes in tip jar thank you barista girl moves fast he lifts cup from counter glances at woman still deciding then at barista girl says have a wonderful day turns walks out door dawns on him woman grows hair under her arms his 2nd most compelling female physique adornment fetish oh god he thinks to himself should i wait for her to make up her mind then approach try to craft conversation at least find out her name no i’m too weak in this moment she is so lovely let her go


she orders double Americana in small cup to go room for soy milk thinks to herself he did greet her perhaps their paths will cross on street why did he run off so fast she glances toward front of café notices window seat changes her mind instructs barista ******* 2nd thought make it for here digs through purse realizes she left wallet in truck explains to barista girl she needs to run out to her vehicle to retrieve wallet forgotten under front seat the air on the street is heavy dense she smells her own perspiration looks north then south does not see him walks to truck feels exhausted appetiteless almost nauseous wishes she did not order a drink thinks to get behind wheel drive home go to sleep

Tucson 3-step tango

she feels disappointment by her recent writings as if she is reaching a more sophisticated audience and setting a higher standard for her work yet she is not living up to her ambitions her recent writings smell of her past writings too emotional the damaged woman wounded child she wants to write more introspectively with detached humor that only comes from keener intelligence she slams her laptop shut decides to go to Club Congress for a ****** mary or margarita but Club Congress is haunted with small town cretins losers wannabes she considers Maynard’s decides Maynard’s is too safe suburban yuppyish finally gives in to thought of glass of pinot noir at Plush next comes what to wear jeans in mid-July desert heat is unacceptable perhaps loose fitting thin cotton white summer dress thin leather belt ankle high indian moccasins hair in ponytail no pigtail braids no ponytail no makeup maybe little ylang ylang oil no she thinks about her recent writings


i am one breath away from crying in every moment one breath away from flying m.i.a. in every moment one breath away from destroying everything there is beauty in ugliness beauty in decrepitude disease beauty in harm hurt suffering beauty in greed injustice betrayal beauty in corruption contamination pollution beauty in hate cruelty ignorance beauty in death we spend our whole lives searching for a good death we spend our whole lives searching for eternal love this modern world is too much for me over my head the horrors of this place are beyond words unspeakable voice inside maybe mom yells quit your whining or dad hollers stop complaining i am trying to smile through tears one breath away from giving in one breath away from becoming stranger to myself winter spring winter spring there is beauty in nothingness we spend our whole lives searching for ourselves learning who we are not finding grasping secrets from dark paths light trails winter spring winter spring i am one breath away


she sits alone at bar at Plush glass of pinot noir glass of ice water in front of her 2 bearded older men eye her from other end of bar she ignores them glances at her wristwatch tries to look like she is waiting for someone music from speakers antiquated rock standard it is early friday hours from dusk moderate middle aged crowd mingle wait for local jazz trio to begin she thinks about her recent writings wonders is it too late for love considers lesbian affair from 5 different perspectives 5 woman’s voices each describing same lesbian affair in 5 opposing accounts hmmm she sips dark red wine from glass chases it with ice water she considers a story about a gang of female bikers who ride south to Mexico


the Americans came through here last night crossing border illegally climbing over our fences digging tunnels beneath our barrier walls littering along their trail they travel in packs of every skin color carry guns knives explosives wear leather boots some are shirtless tattoos dyed hair mischievously smiling conceitedly stealing when in question murdering they rob our homes slaughter our chickens ransack gardens loot our harvest you can still smell the stink of their fast food breaths


she swallows the last dark red wine from glass chases it with ice water local jazz trio begins to play as bar fills with more people she decides to walk home one foot in front of other wonders who taught her how to walk how many times did she fall she laughs to herself

Tucson square dance

TPD 10-18 unconfirmed data report

7 post-University of Arizona female graduates go to Cactus Moon for several drinks and dancing then drive to Bashful Bandit for more drinks and dancing 2 women get into scuffle victim Brittany Garner female 23 years of age race #5 (Native American, Eskimo, Middle -Eastern, Other) 5’ 2” long black hair cut-off blue jean shorts clingy light blue top falls hits head on side of bar dies of fatal blow to skull forensics report crushed occipital lobe assailant Stacy Won female 31 years of age race #4 (Asian) 5’6” black jeans black leather jacket red helmet Honda motorcycle still at large

witness accounts

Jess Delaney female 33 years of age race #2 (White) 6’ tight black pencil skirt white sleeveless undershirt no bra 3” heels blond ponytail “that squirting little **** deserves everything she got she lied told Stacy i’m a ***** i never cheated on Brittany i don’t understand we were all having a good time getting buzzed and dancing we should never have left Cactus Moon **** Kerrie thought some biker dude might be hanging around the Bandit hell maybe the Bandit was a biker bar once but now it’s just a college sink hole full of drunken frat boys when Monique flashed a little *** they went crazy cheering and buying us shots it just got out of hand never should have happened the way it happened Stacy didn’t mean to **** Brittany it’s ****** up i want to go home please let me go home”

Sabrina Starn female 29 years of age race #2 (White) 5’8” trendy corporate gray suit black pumps red shoulder length hair “i have to be at work at 8 AM Stacy was drunk out of control she gets crazy when she drinks Brittany was trash talking pushing all Stacy’s buttons then Stacy accused Brittany of sleeping with Monique and all hell broke loose i didn’t see what happened i was in the powder room it’s a terrible tragedy unfortunate accident can i please be released i need to sleep this is madness”

Kerrie Angeles female 27 years of age race #1 (Hispanic) 5’ 6” black pants white shirt black hair cut stylishly short silver crucifix around neck red fingernails “when we got to the Bashful Bandit i was ***** soaking between my legs thinking about a cowgirl at Cactus Moon ready to **** anyone i saw fantasized pulling a train with those frat boys Monique had been kind of quiet at Cactus Moon but when we got to the Bashful Bandit she lit up dancing wild unbuttoning her top jacket Sabrina went to the ladies room to snort coke with biker dude Kerrie wanted but he wasn’t into her then Brittany started saying crazy stuff accusing Stacy of stealing Monique from Jess Jessie goes through women heartlessly she doesn’t give a **** about Monique Jessie knows if she wants Monique back she can simply fiddle a finger my guess is Stacy is half way to Argentina she never meant to **** Brittany i’m going to miss her real bad she was a good kid”

Ann Skyler female 28 years of age race  #2 (White) 4’ 11’’ green white red Mexican peasant skirt black t-shirt black high-tops hair in messy bun “i’m confused i saw them dancing laughing grinding up against each other Rage Against the Machine came on then Nine Inch Nails the room felt quaking dizzy claustrophobic then they were pushing each other shoving yelling frat boys cheering the next thing i knew Brittany was supine on the floor blood pouring out maybe she just slipped hit her head i don’t know what to think i feel real sad confused sick to my stomach scared”

Monique Smithson female 24 years of age race # 3 (Black) 5’ 9” blue jeans jean jacket cowboy boots nose ring braided pigtails “Stacy had it in for Brittany from the start i saw it in her eyes at Cactus Moon she made several clever toxic remarks they snapped at each other i never thought it would escalate to ****** poor sweet Brittany was always so susceptible i was looking down adjusting my jeans over my boots when it happened i heard felt a big thump glanced up Brittany was lying there lifeless blood spilling everywhere Stacy ran out fast i heard her bike engine take off in a hurry”

Rodeo Drive Tucson

matt’s hats tom’s tools & tobacco lou’s liquors fred’s beds frank’s planks bill’s drills jane’s drains & panes chuck’s check cashing cheryl’s barrels hank’s tanks tina’s trucks & tractors walt’s asphalt sean’s pawn rick’s rifles mom’s guns terry’s tires charlie’s harleys rhonda’s hondas jim’s rims art’s parts gus’s gasoline mike’s bikes frank’s feed gwen’s pens ann’s cans nancy’s nursery joes‘s clothes jess’s dresses bert’s skirts steve’s sleeves paul’s shawls michelle’s shells & bells al’s pails & snails sam’s hams & jams patty’s pancakes phil’s chili don’s donuts betty’s spaghetti bob’s burgers alycia’s quiches jean’s beans jerry’s berries anna’s bananas andy’s candies cathy’s taffies tony’s ponies roy’s toys kim’s whims marty’s parties jill’s pills rick’s tricks alice’s palace debbie’s disposal dave’s graves

Quinta Waltz de Tucson

she is definitely displeased profoundly disappointed in her latest literary efforts she dreams aches to create deeper discourse higher insight more thoughtful philosophical inquiries about life’s challenges beauty a better world overpowering love inspiration instead she writes paperback television trash stupid inadequate answers to solemn questions she wonders if she is too scratched dented to find love her ******* are definitely changing she is deeply disturbed not ready for menopause too young for menopause she wants to remain a fertile woman with smooth skin wet ******


her neighbor Leslie awoke to horrible morning Leslie’s 6 chickens were assaulted overnight precious Mabel dragged off feathers everywhere trail down the street other hens cowering slumped together with wilted necks 3 of them with puncture wounds Leslie carried them one by one inside washed their wounds hugged them cried who did this terrible act a neglected abusive neighborhood cat or some desert predator why didn’t Leslie wake to sounds of savage marauding now this creature knows hen’s whereabouts when will it return for more massacre what modifications need to be enforced to ensure their coup before nightfall


she wants to remain a hen keep producing eggs does not want is not ready to enter the next **** stage of this **** existence it was fun being pretty for men inspiring them to say do whacky things she wants to remain a hen she is definitely displeased profoundly disappointed in her latest literary attempts “Tucson square dance” (self-referential) ****** bit about Americans came through here last night in “Tucson 3-step” ****** "Rodeo Drive" tepid perhaps the pinot noir lowered her standards everything is becoming nothing she cannot sleep tosses turns thrashes sheets in humid heat of her lonesome bed is she is too scratched dented to find love she worries for Leslie


tomorrow is another day they say the rain will come last year’s monsoon never came the baking sun smothered her garden died one by one sleepless she will miss tomorrow’s pilates class the infrequent delightful chatty breakfast afterwards she dreams aches of deeper discourse higher insight with detached humor that only comes from keener intelligence more thoughtful philosophical inquiries about life’s challenges beauty a better world overpowering love inspiration she crossed the line tonight her ******* are definitely changing

Tucson 666

he decides to shave eighth to quarter inch length salt and pepper beard a.k.a. unshaven look he has worn for years and grow full mustache the whiskers on his upper lip are darker with sparse gray at first no one notices after weeks the mustache gradually fills evoking many contrasting remarks several women loath it several men admire it girl at grocery store suggests he grow Fu Manchu so she can tug on it shopgirl says he looks like Charlie Chaplin downstairs neighbor from Turkey explains most Turkish men traditionally wear mustaches he read mustaches masculinize and empower men especially men in authoritative positions he thinks back to the 1960’s when many hippie males grew mustaches then in the 70’s gay men fashioned mustaches then in the 80’s cops adopted mustaches he wonders why a swatch of hair beneath nose is so provoking examines his visage in mirror discerns the mustache confers a Pepé le Pew quality or European accent to his appearance he remembers when he was young hippie with many amorous episodes how his mustache preserved the scent of a woman but there are no women in his life for many years do post-menopausal women possess scent? he feels indecisive whether to retain it or be rid of it


she observes her figure in mirror thinks to herself maybe her ******* are not changing perhaps it’s all in her head she inspects the little lines forming near her eyelids studies her features for signs of aging hardly any silver strands in long brown hair she examines neck ******* arms elbows fingers tummy hips pelvic region thighs knees shins calves ankles feet detects subtle changes thinks to herself my ******* are possibly slightly changing turned 40 in March married briefly in late teens no children a 15 year old dog beginning to suffer veterinarian promises to warn her when the time comes she wonders why it is so difficult finding fitting mate men sleep with her several times then move on maybe she is not such a great lover perhaps she would be better if one of them stuck around perhaps she is a lesbian the whole ide
My heart writhes of pain, in the chilling fire
The fire for which she gathered, tinder
My quill and his ink froze, in the chilling fire
The fire which she gathered for my pyre.
My vellum sits bone-dry, in the chilling fire
Her fire, which burns my voices to cinder

Every fortnight, I see her glistening eyes
Reciting a monotonous sonnet of grey
That sonnet would never ever suffice
In sheathing me from her stagnant voice
As she smothers my final embers of life
As she “graces” me staleness from life’s fray

Her brushed hair, smooth in bronze.
Her florid face, baroque and supple.
Her lips, curled to a fluttering smile
Her gait, silent, steady and subtle
Her eyes, icy daggers skewering my heart
Her fingertips, flames freezing my breathe

I await in void as her hand rests on mine
Glaring the gloaming sky with heavy eyes
She drained my soul into a dead mine.
But... she birthed my precious Daphne
A shallow stream began from my dry eyes
“I miss our waltz, I always did, Ania.”

The ink on my quill began its flows
My heart repose, as my Ania mellows.
But sorrow, clutch me, she was my Ania
I shall see her very soon, in our meadows
We will have our Final Waltz, Ania
Yes, Ania; Our joyous waltz to Follia.
Identify the hidden virtue of the character, the character's identity. The answer might be in her name. Anyway, enjoy this lovely little creation of mine.
Cyrus Gold Apr 2016
Eleven Fifty.
I see a nifty reporter fixing his tie,
Sipping in a teacup, drinking Chai.
He surveys the room for that moment of magic,
Not forgetting that the nature of his story is tragic.

He tells others that the invitation was a welcome gift,
Providing him the chance to debunk a particular myth.
The castle halls were filled with chatter and laughter
Spills of wine from wine glasses were happy disasters.

Eleven Fifty-two.
Night sky projects its color downwards,
Painting the city blue.
Stars mysteriously align with illuminating glow
As the chatter dies down, readying for a show.

With midnight approaching, beautiful words begin to appear,
engraved on the castle walls;
“you are the stars that ignite in the darkness of night.”
“…to where we stood.”
“I wish it was me.”
“I wish it was me.”
Recorded history of infinite love is all that I could see.

Eleven Fifty-Four.
A certain “Morty” is devouring shrimp to my left.
Ordering forty more, he's clearly satisfying his heft.
Our eyes meet for a second, my head nods
As if it’s a secret of his that I’ve already kept.

Eleven Fifty-Six.
It’s raining, a condition for her to “be”.
“Ooh’s” and “Ah’s” in the crowd but I can’t really see.
Time has stopped as the dance floor clears,
Anxious about this myth as midnight nears.

Eleven Fifty-Seven.
It’s not a myth at all - there she is! A living angel from heaven
Gracious in presence, magnificent in beauty,
We're staring at the star of a wonderfully vivid movie.

She’s wearing a silk-woven concoction of a crimson red dress,
A mask covering her face, necklace bears a family crest.
Legend says the people will witness her choice, hence
Her index finger points with a high-pitched voice.

Deafening silence for a moment… and then…

She picks a gentleman. That lucky *******.
Envious women are criticizing her; “Husky. *****. Witch.”
The man looks honored, almost intimidated
With her by his side, he clearly appears vindicated.

He takes her hand, and presses her body with his
And stares deeply into her eyes,
But what he saw staring back
Was a tragic tale he didn’t realize.

The music brings the Midnight Princess to life
As their spirits move in unison, like husband and wife.

They dance, and in that small infinity, I'm lost in awe
Her lovely waltz on the floor moving without a flaw
Beautifully elegant art in motion
Is all that everyone saw.

Eleven Fifty-Nine.*
*This man is running out of time.
He needs to convince her to stay
Before she vanishes away.

The myth supposedly goes like this:
If rain continues to pour past midnight,
That gentleman hopeful would be futile in his fight
For her heart, blinded by her gracious and kind sight,
Not wanting to regret his actions in hindsight.

He holds her tight, their union a great show,
But he only had a minute, forty seconds ago.
The ballroom rallies in hope for this man to catch her by his glove
As he promises her tomorrow, and proclaiming his love.

The rain is heard from inside the castle corridors
The clock strikes midnight, chiming in three sets of four
And she fades, with the audience awe-struck by the gleam
Convincing us all she was naught but a dream.

We wished it were him.
We wished it were him.
Hoped he would lift the curse.
She left him feeling worse.
They looked perfect together, but
She deserves forever.

It’s an experience witnessing magic without a fault
And she sadly hadn’t been seen ever since.
I pray she returns to dance an endless waltz
With her one and only fairy tale prince.
Dedicated to a fellow poet friend.
Jacob Moslund Apr 2019
We arrive at the same conclusion,though the journey was never the same

Always drawn to the light, but our darkness kindles the flame

Hope powered by fear, love sweetened by tears,

And every song in four just wants to be a waltz

The rat in the sewer is just looking for a house

Even the snake in the garden was just looking for a mouse

In peace we´re are building walls, to protect from human faults

But every song in four just wants to be a waltz

Governments will fall, laws be over turned,

riots in the street, violence will burn

Greater is the sage, who just won´t to understand

But every song in four just walts to be a waltz

I wish there was something else between us, between you and

I I wish your face wasn´t clouded and obscured by the sky

Wisdom when we fail, the dark shall not prevail

But every song in four just walts to be a waltz
starshinelove Aug 2013
Dance gypsy soul
in the garden of your imagination
Gypsy lady free your spirit
sing the songs of your individuality all night long
caress our spirits with the magnificent powers of your captivating intriguablity
gypsy princess how us the steps of your mystical life waltz
Paint the colors of your rainbow across the hearts of the bleeding
Dance gypsy soul
Gypsy lady sing the song of your idividuality
gypsy princess waltz around mysery
waltz it til its gone
Oh dance gypsy soul
don't give up now
gypsy lady you can survive the fight
GYpsy soul, Gypsy soul
Dance, dance the pain away
free your spirit
Gypsy lady, Gypsy spirit, Gypsy Princess
dance harder than you've ever dance
dance us you rgypsy dance, sing us your gypsy song,
gypsy soul
dance gypsy soul
Heather Mirassou Oct 2010
Good morning rooster
How do you do?
It’s the crack of dawn
You ****-a-doodle-do
You sit on your perch pride fully and woo
Standing mighty and bold you call your brood for food

Sleek and graceful you do the cockerel waltz
Strutting vaudeville statuesque
Crowing to proclaim your territory
You stand protecting your roost
***** and brave
Watching for predators coming your way

The alpha male
Your earlobes and crown are blood red like a bird of paradise
Your steel beak as strong as a saw
Your feather mane chestnut drapes over your back
Your breast fuchsia and emerald quill
Your silken tail an extended fan

You run free reign on my ranch
A thousand chickens roost in my barn
You rearrange my garden while pecking for nourishment
Eating up all the insects and brown recluses in my yard
In dust you and your flock bathe
You even watch over the hens eggs

Your calls distinct and powerful
When you are still and content sweet singing rings
You are friendly to humans
And can even be domesticated
Stay here Roo
We will protect you
Copyright Heather Mirassou
Frieda P Jan 2014
Fundamentals of madness
    wraps the skin around my brain
miter'd head splits wide open,
        like blue skies wanting to thunder
dark heart leapt out from under
          blinded burnish'd eyes
world looks annihilated
       from the validity of upside down
birds have severed vocal chords,
butterflies shed their wings
          there's no dance left, aside from
   ghost steps of a psychotic menacing waltz
          & one dark raven hauntingly swaying
Micaela Tennis Sep 2013
The sun beams across the horizon.
Today is a new day.
My feet hit the ground, awakening the enemy.
I feel a pull on my legs
I fall to the ground
Crushed under the foot of the enemy
Today is a new day

I pick myself up, brushing the settled dust from yesterday’s battle.
Each step is taken in agony.
He stalks  me wherever I go.

Every turn, every step you are there.
Breathing on my neck
I turn and run to my Lord.
The chains stop me and I fall.
Grabbing my hand, you spin me around.
Catching  me and lifting me.
We dance.
Left right, left right.
Heel, toe, heel toe,
Spin, spin, sway.
You pull me away.

The chains keep the beat.
For I am under his subjugation.
He pulls me back by the chains.
Straining my every move.
He is the puppeteer of my life, staggering every step.
My bones ache, my faith quakes.

Bruised, broken, weary and lost am I.
Being walked by chains.

Every turn, every step you are there.
Breathing on my neck
I turn and run to my Lord.
The chains stop me and I fall.
Grabbing my hand, you spin me around.
Catching  me and lifting me.
We dance.
Left right, left right.
Heel, toe, heel toe,
Spin, spin, sway.
You pull me away.

I stand in God’s house, defined by my religion.
“It’s all a show you see? You are my marionette.
Hypocracy lies in you, you’re a fraud in Christ’s name.”

Escape I try escape I will.
For my help comes from the Lord.
The enemy cringes at The Name.
The ground shakes, and the chains shake.
For there is power in the name of my Lord!

He stands before me.
Taking the chains in his posession.
He said it is done, take up your cross and follow me.

Jesus breaks the chains.
Jesus set me free!

No more addiction.
No more pain.
No more shame.
No more guilt.
No more sorrow.
For He holds your tomorrow.

You are not defined by the rules of religion.
For my spirit has

The motions bind you in chains.
For I have broken every chain.
You are free to dance in my name.
Never again will you waltz with Satan.

My child may I have this dance?
Dance with me wherever you go, and I will never leave you.

God takes me by the hand.
We dance.
I cling to his garment, never letting go.
Lifting me and catching me.
Left right, left right.
Heel, toe, heel toe,
Spin, spin, spin.
God your presence carries me away.
lea Nov 2014
Filter the perfect shade of the forenoon sun,
Not too bright, not too dull.
For with ease and carefree thoughts,
You let the sunbeam-drizzling fairies play
As the beauty reflected in your retinas.

Capture this scenic view:
Where the burnt chestnut colored oaks
And mudstained sweetheart sundress of yours
Dance in three-four beats of waltz.
The Crayola strokes of the skies
And the watercolor streaks of daydreams and nightmares
Paint the canvas of your disquited thoughts.
This is the peripheral view from your suncrashed irises and corners,
This is your world.

Let your knees down to your sore feet
Be engulfed by the chasms of the bewildered grass,
As the smile makes it way to your plump spring lips;
Callused fingers from guitar strings
Twirl and twist the blades,
Cutting through flesh
And green and red and blue and yellow,
All sorts of color came spilling from your playful bruise.

From this panoramic view of yours
Of a wonder wonderland,
Where the ticks of clock
Follow the sunflower throughout time and forever,
This is the beauty of that stem:
A key to escapism
To a well-dreamt lovely world.
Mary-Eliz Aug 2018
in synergy of sky and sea
shadowy clouds bestow the rain
the gracious sea accepts
then gives it back again

filtering through the clouds
sunshine warms the scene
dancing on the ripples
creating a resplendent sheen

endless sky and water deep
all but a seamless view
who gives color to the other
which one is more blue

allies in a great expanse
their grandeur is sublime
their waltz remains unchanged
as they measure out its time
Inspired by a landscape/seascape in which clouds over the sea in the distance appear to either rain down or draw up mist.
-elixir- Apr 2020
The tubes go in and out,
of me.
The machines bleep to the
the rhythm of my heart,
which is disrupted,
due to a waltz.
The waltz of my soul,
as I watch it swirl into
the splendid abyss.
I rewind, on the edge;
of my life's glories.
Oh! I lived.
I think of my future,
on Earth,
As I venture deeper,
into the abyss
This is dedicated to all the souls lost to this pandemic and to all those who grieve their loss. May they rest in peace
Gaffer Apr 2015
Would the happy couple like to come onto the floor for the first dance
Do you take this woman
Would the man in the crowd like to join them for his last waltz
I now pronounce you
The last waltz
No words to be spoken, he promised
Instead, he watched as she danced out of his life forever
She couldn’t keep his eyes from talking, not now
Does he catch your tears and build an ocean
Does he touch your face when you are sleeping
Does he know your spot of misadventure
Does he, does he, does he
The night drinks to life that should have been
The last dance
Would the happy couple come onto the floor for the final time
Mr and Mrs
Would the man in the crowd like to die now
The final goodbye
You look
She presses
Something Blue.
Paula Lee May 2014
I. Song of the Beggars
"O for doors to be open and an invite with gilded edges
To dine with Lord Lobcock and Count Asthma on the platinum benches
With somersaults and fireworks, the roast and the smacking kisses"

Cried the cripples to the silent statue,
The six beggared cripples.
"And Garbo's and Cleopatra's wits to go astraying,
In a feather ocean with me to go fishing and playing,
Still jolly when the **** has burst himself with crowing"

Cried the cripples to the silent statue,
The six beggared cripples.
"And to stand on green turf among the craning yellow faces
Dependent on the chestnut, the sable, the Arabian horses,
And me with a magic crystal to foresee their places"

Cried the cripples to the silent statue,
The six beggared cripples.
"And this square to be a deck and these pigeons canvas to rig,
And to follow the delicious breeze like a tantony pig
To the shaded feverless islands where the melons are big"

Cried the cripples to the silent statue,
The six beggared cripples.
"And these shops to be turned to tulips in a garden bed,
And me with my crutch to thrash each merchant dead
As he pokes from a flower his bald and wicked head"

Cried the cripples to the silent statue,
The six beggared cripples.
"And a hole in the bottom of heaven, and Peter and Paul
And each smug surprised saint like parachutes to fall,
And every one-legged beggar to have no legs at all"

Cried the cripples to the silent statue,
The six beggared cripples.

Spring 1935

O lurcher-loving collier, black as night,
Follow your love across the smokeless hill;
Your lamp is out, the cages are all still;
Course for heart and do not miss,
For Sunday soon is past and, Kate, fly not so fast,
For Monday comes when none may kiss:
Be marble to his soot, and to his black be white.

June 1935

Let a florid music praise,
The flute and the trumpet,
Beauty's conquest of your face:
In that land of flesh and bone,
Where from citadels on high
Her imperial standards fly,
Let the hot sun
Shine on, shine on.

O but the unloved have had power,
The weeping and striking,
Always: time will bring their hour;
Their secretive children walk
Through your vigilance of breath
To unpardonable Death,
And my vows break
Before his look.

February 1936

Dear, though the night is gone,
Its dream still haunts today,
That brought us to a room
Cavernous, lofty as
A railway terminus,
And crowded in that gloom
Were beds, and we in one
In a far corner lay.

Our whisper woke no clocks,
We kissed and I was glad
At everything you did,
Indifferent to those
Who sat with hostile eyes
In pairs on every bed,
Arms round each other's necks
Inert and vaguely sad.

What hidden worm of guilt
Or what malignant doubt
Am I the victim of,
That you then, unabashed,
Did what I never wished,
Confessed another love;
And I, submissive, felt
Unwanted and went out.

March 1936

Fish in the unruffled lakes
Their swarming colors wear,
Swans in the winter air
A white perfection have,
And the great lion walks
Through his innocent grove;
Lion, fish and swan
Act, and are gone
Upon Time's toppling wave.

We, till shadowed days are done,
We must weep and sing
Duty's conscious wrong,
The Devil in the clock,
The goodness carefully worn
For atonement or for luck;
We must lose our loves,
On each beast and bird that moves
Turn an envious look.

Sighs for folly done and said
Twist our narrow days,
But I must bless, I must praise
That you, my swan, who have
All the gifts that to the swan
Impulsive Nature gave,
The majesty and pride,
Last night should add
Your voluntary love.

March 1936

VI. Autumn Song
Now the leaves are falling fast,
Nurse's flowers will not last,
Nurses to their graves are gone,
But the prams go rolling on.

Whispering neighbors left and right
Daunt us from our true delight,
Able hands are forced to freeze
Derelict on lonely knees.

Close behind us on our track,
Dead in hundreds cry Alack,
Arms raised stiffly to reprove
In false attitudes of love.

Scrawny through a plundered wood,
Trolls run scolding for their food,
Owl and nightingale are dumb,
And the angel will not come.

Clear, unscalable, ahead
Rise the Mountains of Instead,
From whose cold, cascading streams
None may drink except in dreams.

March 1936

Underneath an abject willow,
Lover, sulk no more:
Act from thought should quickly follow.
What is thinking for?
Your unique and moping station
Proves you cold;
Stand up and fold
Your map of desolation.

Bells that toll across the meadows
From the sombre spire
Toll for these unloving shadows
Love does not require.
All that lives may love; why longer
Bow to loss
With arms across?
Strike and you shall conquer.

Geese in flocks above you flying.
Their direction know,
Icy brooks beneath you flowing,
To their ocean go.
Dark and dull is your distraction:
Walk then, come,
No longer numb
Into your satisfaction.

March 1936

At last the secret is out, as it always must come in the end,
The delicious story is ripe to tell the intimate friend;
Over the tea-cups and in the square the tongue has its desire;
Still waters run deep, my friend, there's never smoke without fire.

Behind the corpse in the reservoir, behind the ghost on the links,
Behind the lady who dances and the man who madly drinks,
Under the look of fatigue, the attack of the migraine and the sigh
There is always another story, there is more than meets the eye.

For the clear voice suddenly singing, high up in the convent wall,
The scent of the elder bushes, the sporting prints in the hall,
The croquet matches in summer, the handshake, the cough, the kiss,
There is always a wicked secret, a private reason for this.

April 1936

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crêpe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

April 1936

O the valley in the summer where I and my John
Beside the deep river would walk on and on
While the flowers at our feet and the birds up above
Argued so sweetly on reciprocal love,
And I leaned on his shoulder; "O Johnny, let's play":
But he frowned like thunder and he went away.

O that Friday near Christmas as I well recall
When we went to the Matinee Charity Ball,
The floor was so smooth and the band was so loud
And Johnny so handsome I felt so proud;
"Squeeze me tighter, dear Johnny, let's dance till it's day":
But he frowned like thunder and he went away.

Shall I ever forget at the Grand Opera
When music poured out of each wonderful star?
Diamonds and pearls they hung dazzling down
Over each silver or golden silk gown;
"O John I'm in heaven," I whispered to say:
But he frowned like thunder and he went away.

O but he was fair as a garden in flower,
As slender and tall as the great Eiffel Tower,
When the waltz throbbed out on the long promenade
O his eyes and his smile they went straight to my heart;
"O marry me, Johnny, I'll love and obey":
But he frowned like thunder and he went away.

O last night I dreamed of you, Johnny, my lover,
You'd the sun on one arm and the moon on the other,
The sea it was blue and the grass it was green,
Every star rattled a round tambourine;
Ten thousand miles deep in a pit there I lay:
But you frowned like thunder and you went away.

April 1937

XI. Roman Wall Blues
Over the heather the wet wind blows,
I've lice in my tunic and a cold in my nose.

The rain comes pattering out of the sky,
I'm a Wall soldier, I don't know why.

The mist creeps over the hard grey stone,
My girl's in Tungria; I sleep alone.

Aulus goes hanging around her place,
I don't like his manners, I don't like his face.

Piso's a Christian, he worships a fish;
There'd be no kissing if he had his wish.

She gave me a ring but I diced it away;
I want my girl and I want my pay.

When I'm a veteran with only one eye
I shall do nothing but look at the sky.

October 1937

Some say that love's a little boy,
And some say it's a bird,
Some say it makes the world round,
And some say that's absurd,
And when I asked the man next-door,
Who looked as if he knew,
His wife got very cross indeed,
And said it wouldn't do.

Does it look like a pair of pyjamas,
Or the ham in a temperance hotel?
Does its odour remind one of llamas,
Or has it a comforting smell?
Is it prickly to touch as a hedge is,
Or soft as eiderdown fluff?
Is it sharp or quite smooth at the edges?
O tell me the truth about love.

Our history books refer to it
In cryptic little notes,
It's quite a common topic on
The Transatlantic boats;
I've found the subject mentioned in
Accounts of suicides,
And even seen it scribbled on
The backs of railway-guides.

Does it howl like a hungry Alsatian,
Or boom like a military band?
Could one give a first-rate imitation
On a saw or a Steinway Grand?
Is its singing at parties a riot?
Does it only like classical stuff?
Does it stop when one wants to quiet?
O tell me the truth about love.

I looked inside the summer-house;
It wasn't ever there:
I tried the Thames at Maidenhead,
And Brighton's bracing air.
I don't know what the blackbird sang,
Or what the tulip said;
But it wasn' in the chicken-run,
Or underneath the bed.

Can it pull extraordinary faces?
Is it usually sick on a swing?
Does it spend all its time at the races,
Or fiddling with pieces of string?
Has it views of its own about money?
Does it think Patriotism enough?
Are its stories ****** but funny?
O tell me the truth about love.

When it comes, will it come without warning
Just as I'm picking my nose?
Will it knock on the door in the morning,
Or tread in the bus on my toes?
Will it come like a change in the weather?
Will its greeting be courteous or rough?
Will it alter my life altogether?
O tell me the truth about love.

January 1938
Anshita Mehrotra Sep 2015
i hate it;
i ******* hate the way you hold me in your arms
-and make me feel like nothing could ever matter more,
and so i sat in the rain for hours
until i went numb
felt anything but your touch;
dancing on the tips of my skin
carving courtesies in the pores of my heart
and every drop burnt like acid
-because the rain was an intruder beginning the tango
when i had only ever learnt;
the waltz
so then my bones chartered swiftly with the violin that was your voice and with the waltz that is this heart
this may be a bit confusing.
but simply,states that all of me was accustomed to him,and now the touch of anything but him,felt too foriegn to contemplate.
The dazzling lights
The music of the waltz
The shy boy who didn't want to dance
The shy girl who did
The outgoing girl who spoke to the shy boy
And all but forced him to ask
But the shy girl was dancing with the red head
And they were laughing
But eventually the song ended
And the shy boy came up
He all but growled out the invitation to the dance floor
The shy girl just laughed
And so together they learned the waltz
I realize this is incredibly lame sounding, but i wrote it awhile ago and reread it recently and I really like it alot actually.
John Prophet Sep 2018
Waltz of
out of the
goo. Landing
on our feet.
Look around
then organize.
Organize to
requires power,
power to
with controls.
Some telling
others what
to do.
Power to
The few
the many.
Always, controllers
Doing, saying
whatever it takes
to control.
Kneel and bow
do as you’re
Flaw, control
going viral
planet wide
technology enhanced.
Subjugate whole
with control.
Sad times ahead.
RL Glassman Mar 2017
A waltz, I dance, delightful
A second or so in song
A duet, I dance in nightfall
The Music plays on and on...

A smiles grows fast, inching
On careful and gentle mouth
Spin me, turning, falling
Oh, dare I say I laugh!

The memory lasts lifetimes
The moment lived just one
Alone I dance a duet
I Waltz with no one!

Hold me nearer, close
Music in my ears
I remember not how long it lasted
Months, minutes, years!

Listen to the voices playing
A skip in my flighty heart
I can't, I can't, I am unable
To leave, to be apart

I live within and stay
Here for however long
Days may pass by the moon
But the music still plays on!

A dancing hand touches,
Moves like a bird
In flight it bats it's wings
Dancing like spoken word

It casts a shadow on my face
Where hidden answers lie
I dance a duet with none by me
As days and lifes go by

In this moment, an eternity
Somewhere the music plays on,
And I am still dancing, happy
One of my favourites from 2017. So far.

Written Feb 2nd 2017
Brent Oct 2017
Limutin na ang mundo
Forget the world
And its intricacies
Your abusive father
Your good-for-nothing frenemies
Let go of the earth
Reach for the uncertainties

Nang magkasama tayo
I'll be here holding your hand
Reading your fears
In the lines of your palm
While feeling your taken risks
In the spirals of your fingertips

Sunod sa bawat galaw
Let me take the lead
Follow my steps
As we waltz off
From our consciousness
to the chains of the world

Hindi na maliligaw
We'll never be lost
When all miseries will be unknown
Or at least, we'll be lost
In all that is ours

Mundo'y magiging ikaw
*You will be my world
And I hope I'll be yours too
A poem based from the lyrncs of "Mundo" by IV Of Spades. They're a great indie OPM band, if you're not familiar. Check them out!
Trevor Gates Dec 2013
On the surface of those cheap sheets of skin
Our hungry heads next to the radio
Emerson, Lake & Palmer sing of that Lucky Man
While children of the candy corn eat the postman

Space Opera pirates courted by Tiny Dancers of Mars
Spiders, in fact, band mates to a lad named Ziggy
Like us made of Stardust, eternal and galactic—
Though not supported by a studio laugh track

So many images can flash by changing channels
On the Technicolor TV late at night, feral and ******
Passing ships, Hamlet, pigs in clothes, angels killed,
Mouths ******, mothers crowning and holes drilled

Babes crying in the street, while the heavens fall
An unreal reality that flabbergasts wet dreams
Shifting gears for the animals to rule the room
Orwellian motifs ensuring self-righteous doom

Nothing written is appreciated till the lesson is met
Charted, ridiculed, challenged, accepted, analyzed
By those who skimmed through blurred scribbles of lines,
Puking phrases of former failures for the modern times.

Vicious cycles of kids raising parents
Using TV and Internet as the windows to life
Fundamentally naïve, systematically retrieved;
Academically relieved, posthumously achieved.

All meaning was lost in making albums not worth buying
All reason was abandoned when making movies not worth seeing
All adventure was ceased in vain of endless rules and authority
All we have are gadgets, bills and jokes on conformity

My broken clock is still ticking like a mechanical heart
All veins and arteries lead outwards from the center hands
The red lights of traffic leading in and out of the metropolis
Of that homeless blues singer named “something Tatopoulos”

A Japanese couple making a tourist trip to Memphis, Tennessee
Along midnight trains where ghost of Elvis haunts Italian women
Most of the time my references don’t make sense to most
But it keeps things interesting as I’m your eccentric host

Absolute processions of White Queen marches
****-face jackals sporting Mott the Hoople Tees
******* & *******, filling audience chairs
Prophets & moppets, raising fists in the air

Ooze-dripping ******* flower creatures
Topping off mammary gland excretions
Unknown pleasures released by Factory records
Amidst the hysteria caused by deaf leopards  

Pink and orange clouds, reflected in golden hazel eyes
Her smile I can’t forget, just everything about her
You never forget your first love, with eyes like maple
Even in the middle of seeing these strange fables

In this waltz we dance to the beat of three
One, two….

Why couldn’t that love last forever?
Seeing you sitting there
I thought I'd take a chance
So I walked up to you
and asked you to dance

Old worn out shoes
my clothes are a mess
That's why I couldn't believe
you would say yes

I took your hand
to lead you to the floor
But to my disbelief
you went straight for the door

Leading me too your secret place
under the stars and moon
Gazing into your eyes
my heart is starting to swoon

Slowly your body is beginning to move
in a very suggestive fashion
I could tell right away
this is a dance filled with passion

They say this dance is called the lovers waltz
and a partner I desire
I want to be the one to have that role
and fill your heart with fire

So dance with me the lovers waltz
to our special song
In my arms being held
is right where you belong
August Apr 2013
Can we pretend for a bit,
                that every day is a bicycle waltz?

That every day is filled,
                filled with wine and whiskey love.

And skin feels like heaven,
               when no one is watching it touched.

That your body & my body,
               will never grow tired of the endlessness of each other's.

Everyday should be a bicycle waltz,
               With you my dear,
                                      *my immeasurable amount of intangible motion.
© Amara Pendergraft 2013
Alejandra Acuna Jan 2014
They were dancing a waltz to no song,
she counted the steps,
one, two, three, four,
he tripped once before,
kept trying but wasn't enough,
it didn't have to be perfect,
they just had to endure,
one, two, three, four,
he ended giving up,
it was time to let go,
but she kept on counting,
one, two, three, four,
and then she was dancing alone,
a waltz to no song.
This poem can also be found at personal blog
It’s when you notice the world around you while listening to that perfect song.
Everything unconsciously moves in perfect time, to a perfect beat, in sweet synchronicity.
In those brief moments, the universe dances such an elegant waltz.
All is intricately weaved, and dances solely for you.
I light a cigarette
and take a seat onto a damp lawn chair;
the smoke rises and billows
against the crimson colored shadows
like milk in water
and I watch as it goes up to the sky,
over my house where it leaves me to stare.
My mind is clear, eyes wide open,
ears dilate as cool droplets of water trickle down
with pitter patters through the leafy green stairs.
Some even skip from step to leaf top
as if to jump in a quick hurry toward its destination;
others fall in groups behind me
and morph into four legged creatures
that scatter across the moist ruffles
of old and weathered leaves.
Still, my focus is above.
This silent noise abounds from all directions:
a chirped song of a baby bird to my right,
the concerto soloist of a cricket in hiding below,
the bell whistle croak of a frog somewhere near by.
If my senses were a cup it would surely be full now:
Musky odors from a previous storm
that lie softly on the rich brownish-red soil
would rise like steam from its glass rim.
Inside, shavings of silver would gleam like diamonds in light,
and a cotton soft red wine would fill it
like the night does the sky.
And now as I sip from this natural perfection
I am reminded of your lips sweet interjection.
And as softly as the smoke had risen
toward the shadows of red light,
a kiss was lit and we both began to dance;
around your mouth mine had began to waltz,
slowly to and fro on tip toes being careful not to fall,
but you held me close and grasped me tight
like the red sky does the stars,
and like it and the wine that now fills my cup,
with you in that moment I was awe struck.
Deepsha Aug 2012
The moon was the sign
her lover had sent of his arrival
Sand knew her wondrous Wave would follow
in the distance, he rose, carefree
an adolescent charm he knew she couldn't resist

His eyes sparkled at her
his smile was chicane and she knew it
she loved him and waited for him
every night, with her velvety white body lying, still
glowing like tiny pearls, shimmering

He gently brushed her, teased her
she moved closer to him with a gasp
every second of wait felt like forever
she wanted to be completely immersed
in his elemental being, and become him

He couldn't resist her incandescence any more
their waltz began in the moon's silky illume
He came to her with all emotions overcome
she gave herself completely, undone
to his ego, to his raw curvaceous sensuality

He defiled every particle of her being
till she gushed in agony
she knew him, only him, his heaving body
her sweaty self, in denial of the rising light
she lived only then, and every single night

He moved forth and back, through the night
their dance divine, her purity blinding
their distance nada, their souls combined
she moaned with pleasure, her sound chimed
till the horizon to him, she was beauty defined

Her body diddered, he felt her shiver
He lay beside till dawn broke his dream
She suspired as he turned his eyes away
but she knew, that night he would return
one sighing glance and he surrendered to the ocean

Their dance would continue till eternity.

— The End —