I’m falling for you
oh little ballerina
on the evening stage
Tag: dance
audience
dancing in my room
I am my own audience
lost in the movement
unravel
come now
and meet me for one of our
ferocious rendezvous
where we run wild through those
disheveled carnival grounds
we
just
might
unravel
suspend me and I’ll
hold you with consolidated ease
indomitable muscle
stockpiling some
cordial fallout
the intensity of
those rusty moments
in-between
fuels a dying flame
breaks through
monotonous thresholds
can you feel the unrelenting surge
coursing through? like a
symptom
an egregious lie
try to escape, try to
flee from me
and I’ll ravenously
barrel into you
until maybe
we
just
might
maybe
we’ll just have to
unravel
Unveiling
Eyes unveil intrigue while
movement provides more delicious
possibilities.
Discovered. A
body writhes in regret. An
abandoned spirit gasping,
creating uncanny realities
in the mind’s eye.
Bent to the point of breaking, yet
striving for a stronger heart,
warranting delectation.
The inhalation of remarkable perfumes,
a keen nose sensing change and
sniffing ingenuity from
forgotten breezes,
long since passed.
Wake up and set skin over bone-
insulating the magmatic blood within.
Hardened to withstand vehement poisons,
equipped to tackle hazardous mountains,
and then
promenade over them-
like molehills.
air to breathe
I met a man once.
When we got to talking he asked me what I did.
I told him I’m a dancer.
“Neat” he said, and then “What do you really do, though? What are you actually going to do with your life?”
If I can’t dance, then I might as well die right now, I said to him earnestly.
I don’t think he believed me, for he only laughed and turned away.
After he left, I began to notice my skin was turning cold, crackling, and threatening to fall apart….. it had been too long since I had moved. Even that short conversation with the unbelieving man was too grand a pause, too much time away from dancing.
So I ran as fast I could and leapt, flew through the air, wind catching hold of my hair… giving myself up to my life’s purpose. I felt the warmth return to my skin, my pores brimming with satisfaction, maintaining seamless balance. It was as though finally I had provided them with the air they needed to breathe.
I think I may have landed sometime after, I’m not sure.
In my heart I’m still flying through the air…
Photo Credit: Alexander Yakolev
call me dancer
If I did not dance today,
does that mean I’m not a dancer?
Maybe tomorrow
I’ll wake up,
and dance
frantically
like they say not to
beautifully
everyone’s guilty pleasure
ugly
so that they’ll call me an artist
fluidly
to send the blood to my fingers and toes
heart beating
rigorously until my body cannot withstand
the draining
my energy donned in droves
from passion
and temper
so that no can can dispute
no one can deny
sacrifice my life to prove and
call myself dancer.
They’ll have to agree.
Graduated
Suddenly it seems
I’m done dancing for your dumb
A B C Ds. Free.
An echo of waves
A song danced by two
Brings calm to the raving waves
Echoing through April.
We the movement makers
For us
Every inhibition
leaves us deafened;
Prisoners of trepidation.
For us
Every movement
traces blood;
Fused to the soul.
Untangle this havoc.
Allow movement
to soothe heartache and
reveal resilience,
invincible.
Where experience might coalesce
with the physical body.
For us,
the movement makers.
Dancers go
Nerves foiling in her belly.
She warms her muscles
on the dark cement.
Listening to a foreign tune of
casted movement she will never learn.
A hushed moment-
a pause, a breath. And then
Hands clapping, the relief of five
as they move away from the light.
And the curtain closes.
The time ticked away,
she is given her go.
24 minutes to be truthful
She is herself, unhindered.
Impossible to hide,
for this one fleeting moment.
The muted curtain revealing,
as familiar music echos in her head.
The arrival of lights.
Whether she is ready or not,
she makes poetry with her body.
She dances.
Some call it red 