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Elegy Dance Poems | Elegy Poems About Dance

These Elegy Dance poems are examples of Elegy poems about Dance. These are the best examples of Elegy Dance poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Elegy |

Elegy for Michael Jackson (4)

You shimmering waves on the ocean blue
Dance not again, he cannot dance with you
You weeping forests where the winds wail too
Let your bright tears fall in the pool of dew
The world of pop will never be the same again
The king is dead, and life is a dream so vain.

               Do you ask me why does my sorrow flow so
               Endlessly for him? Is he not gone the way 
               Of men that many went before? O I do know
               My time may not be long, and lessons delay.
               Who do think was the man in the mirror? did
               You see us there, did you know it oppressed him
               When like wanton dogs drugged and rabid
               Went heedless along the callous way being dim.

Look at the dance videos again, tell me
You see the what he begs to beat it. Off the wall
Are shadows falling like an inner expose
Where he internalized the world, and yet did call
In many songs - his troubled world was us
But now the king's sun set to dust, and we
Remain to heed and weep the vanity of lust
The tangled truths of out tentacled history!

                  Michael was God's gift to our season, and how I
                  Wish he would dance for me across the tribal plains
                  Of Africa again, where warriors ride in the sky
                  Through the fire make us brothers without chains
                  A global oneness where dreams deny the child
                  Nothing again. O death, what oneness beyond this
                  Can we find? Treat him kindly there, be mild
                  To him who in this troubled life knew no bliss.

Michael I miss you; O genius, sleep now in peace
The storms of life are over, the lightning ends
And droughts will come again, but I'll never cease
To proclaim your virtues to foes and friends;
Sleep beloved. Your glory stream in summer's eye
And Harlem's street are filled, old men remember
And old women interrupt their planning to cry
Farewell, Michael ... the grandest star is but an ember.

Copyright © L'nass Shango | Year Posted 2009

Details | Elegy |

Elegy for Michael Jackson (3)

You shimmering waves on the ocean blue
Dance not again, he cannot dance with you
You weeping forests where the winds wail too
Let your bright tears fall in the pool of dew
The world of pop will never be the same again
The king is dead, and life is a dream so vain.

                  O day most callous like the callous world, how
                   Did you come about? By whose love designed,
                   Whose genius bore him, gave him life? O now
                   Do tell us of his human coming, since maligned
                   It's oft forgotten that he was somebody's child
                   Context in a world where his skin was reviled:
                   And yet some marveled that he parted from it
                   To build a world different from base to summit.

Genius is a gift and not a choice, and he was all
A moment's glimpse of earth's troubled paradise
For Michael was not mere mortal he was our tall
Selves transformed to art, so nuanced to the wise
That understood how his dance moves were silk
Syllables of protest and regret, a symbol cocooned
In loneliness, a man pining for the rare social milk
Of happiness against a material breast, festooned

                    With a race unhappiness. He was more than we
                    Saw with naked eye, Michael was an artist true
                    Context in all our history. And yet his mortality
                    Was not less not vulnerable due to fame, a blue
                    Note then sing for him, remember this day's despair
                    How the fickle fans in fragile praise came again
                    Away from the media's maddening glare to share
                    This moment of dark our universal deluge of pain.

O Indiana, this is your son, O America this here
Is your native child, weep here ye poets, weep
For him, the poet of the broken soul, Let no tear
Leave a eye that's dry for the lullaby of his sleep
Come ye world that felt his charity, beg angels
Hear us and welcome him; Michael, forever we 
Will keep our hearts beating for you, in citadels
Of shining peace when your songs bring memory. 

Copyright © L'nass Shango | Year Posted 2009

Details | Elegy |


"Daddy" the way I call my father
The man who loves my mother
The man who gave life to me
And the man who will risks his life to protect his family.

He's not showy about his feelings
But I know he loves us unconditionally
He gets angry when his siblings were hurt
And he makes us laugh the way he dances and tells us jokes

Now..he left us already
His silly jokes,crazy dance moves now were gone
Coz he went to a far away land
In a place where  hurt and sorrow has no place in man

I miss my daddy a lot
His voice,
His jokes,
His crazy dance moves
And his being father to us
I miss everything about him!

I know God has a plan
And I give everything into His merciful hand
Pls.take care ofmy daddy in heaven
Coz someday we'll see him again
And continue the sing and dance with him again...

Copyright © Jerica Sanchez | Year Posted 2013

Details | Elegy |

last dance

Last Dance
It was a beautiful day A day of celebration, a day of thrill It was the day of my sister’s 18th birthday The most waited day of a girl to be a lady and I? I was a girl that time and all I have to do is to Observe and cooperate And it was our most anticipated moment To witness that celebration and to witness our dear father as the first dance of my sister who was missing us for many years because of separation. Yet we didn’t know that, that would be the first and very last day of the year that we’ll see him His body was so thin His face looks sickly and heartbreaking He looks so different But he remained calm and at ease Michael Gan the first rose, He stands and overwhelmingly danced for my sister They turned and sway They dance like it was the last He was overjoyed Filled with different emotions Happy, touched, sad, missing us, and regretting His heart jumped over him He tries to catch his breath touching his own chest We hasten him to the nearest sickbay To salvage his life His precious life, my father Battling from death, loses his fight His eyes wide open, no air No movements, no smile because... It was his last dance

Copyright © Ana Mae Gan | Year Posted 2013

Details | Elegy |

Jamaican Elegy For An Intellectual (Rex. R. Nettleford) Part II

Tirelessly rising, like cerosee tea to them, and apple to me
Tell them I am the Sankofa of the morning, shall we dance again
I was the Nightingale Midas could keep in the cage, the new sea
To sail, the festival beyond the extravaganza of old pain
           Trim sail and bottle torch, but never weep with dry eyes
           Bring flag and Mframadan down the pole and skies
           Tell them the river journeys on, it comes for me
           I am its harvest, I am its fruit, I am its Gethsemane.
You young ones must away from your rage to my age tree
Take this stick of light, this magic of wisdom, this bright sage
Carry him like an argument to Pharaoh’s face and so see
Deliverance from the bloody seas of dumb guns and carnage
          Let us dismantle the sorrow of ignorance, the need that chains
          Us to the deaf ears of our broken and eternal complaints
          For this native son, this black beautiful scholar was our wage
          And from this griot and dancer we take the lessons of our age.

And always may I remember I am only a branch, I belong to a tree
Bigger than my baobab of dreams, I drink from where roots draw
The sweet water of revival, and quenched my thirst for history
And boons of culture. Always I now write for us, I write our law
           Yet tongueless tongue-ing in Babel’s callous kingdom
            Belly grinder, I rise to dance in new sheaves of freedom
            The whip crack on black backs the sun could not dim
            Cannot stop the clutchie smoking memory of him

Copyright © L'nass Shango | Year Posted 2010

Details | Elegy |

MaryAnn Sage -- part uno

MaryAnn Sage

Approximately one and a half score minus seven years ago
this then naïve and innocent early twenty something, 
   now a middle aged, diamond in the rough, jaded
   two plus decades slavish married male did not realize 
   his fare maiden perfect form, she a capricorn 
   (who also shared same January 13th birthday as myself,
   though a half dozen years Mycenae senior 
   hovered in mine immediate proximity,     
   a mere hello kitty whisker away, 
   which accompanying cat’s eye soft nose a pet smart appetite    
   saw me weight tool screwed up 
   to revere mother of pearl opal mate ideal beau 
now ex post facto finds yours truly ruing foregone soul mate to crow
in vain, though I cannot help pining and lamenting where art thou – dow
ting she (MaryAnn Sage, a young whirled, wide webbed childless divorcee, 
   a couple of years shy of thirty)
   ponders whereabouts of this contemplative, furtive 
*         *         *         *          *        *          *          *        *        *

Copyright © matthew harris | Year Posted 2017