Poems

[MissAlyssa]

LIFE ON THE DANCE FLOOR

By: Tim Chapman



When newly we start we head for the dance floor with all of our heart.

The dancing begins, but the night's just too short We simply can't get enough of this sport.

There's leading and following those subtle cues. We waltz 'round the dance floor not knowing whose thoughts are whose.

The music, the moves - all track of time we lose. Then the lights go up and we see life's hues.

Leading and following in life we proceed like a beautiful mare and a virtuous steed playing and prancing through all of the weeds.

Then life has its bumps like on the dance floor, when he's counting 3 when she's counting 4. A natural right turn avoids a collision and more.

Now what do we do to recover our place? Cast a little blame and complete our disgrace? Unkind words can put us out of the race.

No just a smile, a wink and "You did that one well! Let's go on from here."






http://www.whimsies-online.com/dancingonair.htm



The Dance

Express your thoughts to me through sound
Take my hand and spin me round
Journeys cross the ball room floor
Like silhouettes from time before

To grace the stage of life again
And dream of days that might have been
The lights come up the stage is set
Repayment from a distant debt

And so the music plays for me
And lifts me up like on a sea
Adrift on waves of distant thought
Rehearsing all the steps we're taught

You wish to hold the future
In context with the past
The dreams and sounds before us
In you now they are cast



http://www.sacredpoems.com/death3.htm

[MissAlyssa]

Check out these other dance poems! (http://www.geocities.com/laylamoonstar/dance5.html)

[borikensalsero]

I shared this with SD when I first joined Dance-Forums and thought it would be nice to share it with the entire Dance-Forums community. I hope you guys enjoy it.

Mambo, A.K.A, Salsa, Is a life style, the burning of the blood when the sound of the congas turns into a descarga. Where the clave is the echo to a beating heart. Whether fast or slow, new or old style, the passion is always the same. Spending a day without it means the soul won`t be soothed on this day. A cry from el gallo, and un verano en Nueva York turn the darkest morning into the sunniest night. The perspiration from you and your other half is nothing but the expression left behind as mambo cools itself from within your bodies.

The Dance in Me:
Mambo dancing to me is letting the desire inside burst out through the pores of the skin, like the eruption of a 1000 years dormant volcano. "SI ESTO NO ES AMOR? PERO QUE ES ESTO?" Blood boiling, heart pounding as if it was the first time laying naked next to your first love. Blood flowing so fast through the body I can feel each oxygen molecule caress every ounce of my body. Body aching because lovemaking doesn`t require attire. The congas keep the beat of the heart steady, the trumpets and trombones cool the body, the bongos allowing the feet to glide on the hard wood, all together giving the body direction and purpose. Face portraying every faceless feeling carried within my body. Shoulders rolling, eyes closed, mouth slightly opened feet still but moving the body back and forth, side to side, up and down to come to a stop, glance over to my other half, and softly yet strongly guide her through a world of Mambo very few have come to understand.

[Vince A]

OK, when I was having trouble with fear of competiting, I wrote this poem, which helped me to recognize that it was all in my head . . .

Dance Because You Can
By Vince A

Woke up this morning and peered in the mirror,
Staring back at me, “Were those eyes of fear?”
“Certainly not,” I said, and stuck out my chest,
I’m looking into the eyes of one of the best.

You see, I’ve learned to be free,
Free of fears from having to compete,
No longer shaking in shoes as I enter the ballroom door,
Free from the phobia of being on “the competition floor.”

I’ve learned to be me and to take a chance,
Express me, myself, and I, when it’s time to dance.
I strut my way onto the floor, moving freely,
As if my name was the ‘one’ out on the marquee.

I’m dressed to the hilt in the best of fashion,
Ready to do the routine with emotion and passion.
I can do them without a hitch through the climax,
You see, while performing, I’ve learned to relax.

Don’t have to be perfect, because nothing is,
Don’t have to answer anyone, it’s not a quiz.
I’ve done this all before, and felt great after,
Listen to that applause, it fills the rafters.

Every event I enter is the best, all topnotch,
No longer will I be in the audience and just sit and watch.
For each dance is a performance that brings me joy,
So, here’s the pitch, for you to employ.

Put on that Waltz skirt or baggy swing pants,
I guarantee you’ll improve with every dance.
Get out there and do it, make it your plan,
To just “Dance Because You Can.”

[dancersdreamland]

Hey everyone!

These poems are all so inspiration and passionate! Thank you for sharing!!!

For a few additional poems, check out the "Fun" section of my site: www.dancersdreamland.com.

With permission, would it be possible to include some of the poems listed on this Forum on my site...with credit back to the authors and original posters. Please PM and let me know.

I will respect your wishes either way.

[borikensalsero]

OK, when I was having trouble with fear of competiting, I wrote this poem, which helped me to recognize that it was all in my head . . .

Dance Because You Can
By Vince A

Woke up this morning and peered in the mirror,
Staring back at me, “Were those eyes of fear?”
“Certainly not,” I said, and stuck out my chest,
I’m looking into the eyes of one of the best.

You see, I’ve learned to be free,
Free of fears from having to compete,
No longer shaking in shoes as I enter the ballroom door,
Free from the phobia of being on “the competition floor.”

I’ve learned to be me and to take a chance,
Express me, myself, and I, when it’s time to dance.
I strut my way onto the floor, moving freely,
As if my name was the ‘one’ out on the marquee.

I’m dressed to the hilt in the best of fashion,
Ready to do the routine with emotion and passion.
I can do them without a hitch through the climax,
You see, while performing, I’ve learned to relax.

Don’t have to be perfect, because nothing is,
Don’t have to answer anyone, it’s not a quiz.
I’ve done this all before, and felt great after,
Listen to that applause, it fills the rafters.

Every event I enter is the best, all topnotch,
No longer will I be in the audience and just sit and watch.
For each dance is a performance that brings me joy,
So, here’s the pitch, for you to employ.

Put on that Waltz skirt or baggy swing pants,
I guarantee you’ll improve with every dance.
Get out there and do it, make it your plan,
To just “Dance Because You Can.”

Vince.... This poem is phat! hehe... Really really good...

[Vince A]

Thanks . . . I love to write poems. That particular poem was inspired by a lady, who is a Pro in the UCWDC venue. She has MS, and at times struggles just to walk, yet she is out there DANCING with her Pro-Am students in competition . . . because she still can! She has no idea who I am, but she is definitely my inspiration.

[borikensalsero]

Thanks . . . I love to write poems. That particular poem was inspired by a lady, who is a Pro in the UCWDC venue. She has MS, and at times struggles just to walk, yet she is out there DANCING with her Pro-Am students in competition . . . because she still can! She has no idea who I am, but she is definitely my inspiration.

Amen to her!! Wow, what a truly great accomplishment she has done.

I love writing as well, the stuff I write is on the prose form though, usually with metaphysical implications.

[borikensalsero]

Passion of a Dance
It`s late at night, we`re about to finish the last mambo dance at a local establishment. We are both dreanched. Our dance shoes no longer emulate shoes but Ice Skates cutting through ice. Your head snapping at your every turn. My strong hand leading you through a mase of twists, dips and turns. Your eyes and smile letting me know you feel safe. Your gentle hand on my shoulder awaiting to be let loose once again. The congas break the well known beat of the clave, letting it know that the show is now theirs. Eyes sparkling, you look at me, eyes deeply glued to mine. Our feet and bodies move but our eyes never loose sight of each other. Two spins, we are face to face. I can feel your breath hit my face. Your heart beating so fast you can`t help but to grab a hold of me. My hands at your waist thrust you onto my old standing place. Having full control of your waist I now force a slower movement. There is no longer 8 beats but 4. Two side to side and two back and forth. Your eyes closed, I attently looking at your face. The faster the congas beat the slower I make you go. We are suspended on a world of skipping beats. As if the heart needed not to beat because it had found its absolute point. Hands holding your small waist, thumbs pressed against obloquies, fingers quenching every motion from your back side. The congas readying to open your eyes. The trumpets take over, you open your eyes; we are one.

[Vince A]

borikensalsero,
Great . . . very intense! I caught myself reading faster and faster . . . "8 beats but 4" . . . "the faster the conga beat" . . . "found its absolute point."

I was nearly out of breath . . . then the climax!!! Good. Very good!

[borikensalsero]

borikensalsero,
Great . . . very intense! I caught myself reading faster and faster . . . "8 beats but 4" . . . "the faster the conga beat" . . . "found its absolute point."

I was nearly out of breath . . . then the climax!!! Good. Very good!

Thank you, Vince! Very much appriciated :D

[will35]

The Harlem Dancer

Claude McKay (1890–1948)


APPLAUDING youths laughed with young prostitutes
And watched her perfect, half-clothed body sway;
Her voice was like the sound of blended flutes
Blown by black players upon a picnic day.
She sang and danced on gracefully and calm, 5
The light gauze hanging loose about her form;
To me she seemed a proudly-swaying palm
Grown lovelier for passing through a storm.
Upon her swarthy neck black, shiny curls
Profusely fell; and, tossing coins in praise, 10
The wine-flushed, bold-eyed boys, and even the girls,
Devoured her with their eager, passionate gaze;
But, looking at her falsely-smiling face
I knew her self was not in that strange place.

[pygmalion]

Boy, that's beautiful! :D :D