There once was a belle in velvet of jade,
Whose gown swept the square — a grand serenade;
She slipped in the crowd,
Her skirt flared too loud,
She got up, laughed and danced, unashamed, unafraid.
degas' impressions
of a ballerina
~ light as a faerie
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
midnight dancer
the ballerina turned round and round
upon her pointed toes
to the gentle sound of the music box
before the lid was closed
i followed from a distance
watching
as she gathered cigarette butts
and paper napkins
the haze of yellowed streetlights
reflected onto her teeth
when she smiled
through shattered memories
her black wool coat
was more than she needed
and less than she wanted
when the scent of chanel no. 5
tempted her with memories
of wishes
where old dreams had died
i hated my tears
when i watched her
and yet i knew she would kiss them
if kisses were meant for a prince
i had become a pauper
in the presence of this midnight dancer
poking at empty pockets
where frayed cloth replaced pennies
she sat against bricks and stones
weeping
wondering why the promises of yesterday
were dropped into a bell ringer’s kettle
on a bitter december day
and salvation was non-refundable
leaving her with only cigarette butts
and napkins to unfurl before a king
tolbert
Blue butterfly ballerina offered herself as sacrifice
Because she is selfless, wise, and extremely nice
The butterflies used her as their stepping stone
To get to other destinations, some unknown
She was their inspiration, she gave great advice
Like I already said, blue butterfly ballerina was quite nice
The butterflies used her to bounce off ideas and such
Each liking her in a different way, but all very much
Arms outstretched, she glides like whispered air,
Gossamer dreams sewn in each silent spin.
In her stillness, storms of feeling flare,
Lilting through Tchaikovsky's aching hymn.
Ivory wings, her body bends, then flies,
Tears in the toes, yet poise in every part—
Yearning swan, both prisoner and art.
An acrostic on boy:
Born with wonder in his bright, bold eyes,
Over hills he dreams to run and rise,
Yearning for truth beneath open skies.
a lithe ballerina
pink dogwood blossoms
streaming tresses
on pointe april
To twirl like a dancer upon paper,
And execute the swirling pirouettes,
One needs to keep a balance of the pen;
So step by step the stage is swept in strokes.
Now left, now right, and two and four, the beat
Pulses, pulls the body up to the brink,
Draws back, recedes. Silent is the hall. Now,
The ballpoint tip toeing the lines of ink,
Building momentum, movement towards
Climax — the bliss of literature achieved!
On mine tippy-toes
The door would open shut;
The window was raised down;
On my pinky-toes;
Vertigo had me spinning so;
Simultaneously spinning on ceiling and floor;
Up above my head;
I am a urban ballerina
3/27/25
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr.2024
There was a girl named Trina
She was a Pearl thin ballerina
Then she ate
Chocolate cake
Her thighs are no longer leaner
Chocolate pools for elegant eyes
Language a tool devoid of lies
Satin skin no flaws like a dream
Warming voice speaks as if to sing
A ballerina could move like that
Much reflected in your laugh
Humble and kind so delightful
Past your prime but who would know
Hair like a halo defying gravity air
Flair I say so in the clothes you wear
You say so much with action no word
When you do speak always heard
You’re beautiful just as you are
I imagine you as a community star
One who looks up never seems far
But close to those who love her heart
Like a morning flower unfurling in beauty
One ballerina blooms in a graceful ballet
Of Shadows and light she flows in a delicate pastel dream yearning to greet her lover upon a wind stuck ridge of destiny
She leaps into flight as the setting sun calls the whispering wind to lead her through the
warm Summer night
Topaz blue slowly fades to violet lashes of ruby red wisps and golden silver blooms
Lost in a starlit fantasy she slowly spins to a garden of silken rose
Lying motionless upon a bed of wild baby's breath
The curtain falls upon a misty dream
She lit up my room.
No one remembers her
but me. Her grace
underneath a lacy shade.
She was ballerina-tall,
one hand behind her
head. Lavishly dressed
next to a quintessential pic
of Jesus and his sacred heart.
This old slide of mine
scratched and castigated,
but I found her
as if the doll was a cold case
and I surveyed the scene.
I eyed the evidence. She appeared
when I wasn’t looking.
I implore you to check out
your old photos. Just like
an old movie, there will be
finds. Time after time.
In silken shoes, she twirls upon the stage,
A whisper of the wind, so light, so free,
Her movements paint the air, a soft engage,
With every leap, she writes a symphony.
Dainty as petals kissed by morning dew,
Delicate lines drawn in the evening light,
A fleeting dream, with every turn she flew,
A fleeting glimpse of heaven, pure delight.
Her heart beats strong beneath the gauzy veil,
Grace woven through each arch and pointed toe,
In every spin, the world begins to pale,
And time suspends, as if it longs to know.
A ballerina, in her art, she’s bound,
In graceful dance, true beauty can be found.
orange bird invited me to watch ballerina near rainbow tree
she is a faerie and delightful, you will quickly see
I did not know if I should attend, as I am a cat
But I arrived and we actually had a lovely chat
Why do you not dance on a stage? I asked the miss.
Same reason you do not live in an alley, Mr. Hiss.
This suits me, and the country suits you, is that not right?
She was not only gorgeous and dainty, she was bright.
The Ballerina
Out on a limb, so nimble and quick, and so beautiful
and full of grace; a youthful ballerina who won’t quit
in this fleeting moment when she is the ‘Star’
and relies on her heart’s adamant desire
throughout this treacherous love affair on the stage
as her heart engages in a jealousy’s rage (as time flies by)
and she dies a thousand deaths, after practicing so hard,
fighting tooth and nail with the beast to be stronger,
and more energetic, and elegantly more than the rest,
while shunning the pleasures of life’s fruitless rewards
and tells herself, she’s better than that and gives her all,
and a little more (summoned up from the depths of her soul)
to win the applause, the audience responds with,
because ballerinas grow old, ever so quickly.
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