Best Leotard Poems
Every day with practice in tights and leotard
Her spring cherry lips sprout in the imprint of joy
A mind without fear...she was born to dance
A girl who can perform classical ballet,
long before she has learned to spell her own name
As a swan in graceful movements,
engulfed in the magic of movement and light
The emotions are pulled through her skin
with a flowing inspiration
exactly on the right technique
The eagerness, the curiosity and the wonder
in every tiny step
In a romantic white tutu with red sequins
Exquisite movements and the choreography divine
She could have been the swan princess in the ballet
Swan Lake with music by Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky
The wings of a bird that is still too young
the fire is burning in her future dreams
Tasty food passes my lips
Fat begins to show
Settling on my bum and hips
I am feeling low
Heading out towards the gym
Exercising hard
Work out done – I look so slim
In my leotard!
04~09~15
Contest: Andrea Dietrich Have you tried a 7/5 trochee?
~awarded 5th place~
Time to head off to the gym, for my daily work out session
Tummy bulging, thighs are wobbling, my body is in regression
Once I was toned and oh so slim
But the lure of sweets just sucked me in
Chocolate and biscuits are my downfall
A bag of ‘Minstrels’ I will eat them all
Here in the gym I am working up a sweat …
Sweets and chocolate I must forget
So I do my aerobics class and then have a swim
Do fifty lengths – oh I must be getting slim
Then off for a circuit class, oh I do work hard
For I want to look so sexy in my purple leotard
After all that exercise I’ve worked up a healthy appetite
Grab a bag of fries – no wonder my clothes feel so tight!
06~15~15
Sweats and Sweets Contest – Olive E Guillermo
Gracefully gliding, reaching you in sky,
Chasing all notes on air in sublime rhyme,
With shining leotard, my wish is to fly.
I feel every rhythm from time to time,
The sweet smiles lift every spirit so high,
My magic fingers draw a paradigm.
Tiptoeing on the ice, so cold and dry,
Most chilled pirouette, impressive in sight,
Everyone wishes me for one more try.
“My picture”, I look wistfully in sigh,
I stand with shaking knees, my dance is wry.
Aug. 17,2013 11.05pm
by Leonora Galinta
Note:
Terza rima is a verse form composed of iambic tercets (three-line groupings). The rhyme scheme for this form of poetry is "aba bcb cdc, etc." The second line of each tercet sets the rhyme for the following tercet, and thus supplying the verse with a common thread, a way to link the stanzas.
My first terza rima poem. This poem was late for the contest with the theme, "Picture Perfect" so I entered it in the other contest.
Third Place
Contest: Metrical Verse
Judged: 9/20/2013
Sponsor: Poet Giorgio Veneto
__HAIKU SLAM__
~
~
((**HAIKU GYM**))
~Haiku press~
one sweaty work out
spot me, and count 5-7-5
dumbbells all around
~ Sweat Garden~
drench of human lawn
leotard planting between
dew drops under chin
~Listen To Your Heart~
Wink of a smile
Healthy news, swallow up blues
Kellogg's Raisin Bran
--------------------------------
((**SWAT TEAM**))
~10 commandments~
Haiku me and you
So much for the golden rule
Whatever you say
~Rhyme Zone~
Test your might tonight.
Gonna rhyme it with so much fun.
Like the mid day sun.
~Broken Tablet~
It's five seven five
I'm a haiku rule breaker
using four six four
~Big Deal~
LoL contest
Sweet pretty haiku sunrise
Not a, limerick
-----------------------------------
((**WILD WEST HAIKU**))
~Lone Ranger~
This is Texas man
Rain dries before it hits ground
What stupid cowboy
~Howdy Partner~
Memory of Texas
Take me beyond shores
Let's become best friends
~Avatar~
Cold cactus desert
Warm coyote blood all around
New Indian fur coat
~Monsoon~
raining arrowhead
where are all the buffaloes
pretty pink tepee
~Acme~
Road runner meep meep.
Stupid coyote needs fix.
I ate a baby
------------------------------------
by;p.d.
You must have an exercise regime
My doctor advised me
But he said it is essential
To build it up very gradually
So for the first week
I am watching sport on TV
You must have an exercise regime
My doctor advised me
But he said it is essential
To build it up very gradually
So for the second week
I’ve begun to do a little more
I’ve started driving past
A sporting goods store
You must have an exercise regime
My doctor advised me
But he said it is essential
To build it up very gradually
But by the third week
It started to get hard
As that’s when I started trying
To put on the leotard
I know the five positions
(In ballet – don’t get all hot!)
Plus plie and pirouette
But all the rest I plum forgot.
I didn’t have a tutu
But a leotard? Perhaps.
My memory is dimming
And I’m left with just the scraps.
Most likely, I attended
Very briefly, very young,
So a few balletic moves
The only knowledge that has clung.
Was there really a Miss Ricky?
Guess there’s no way I could know
For my ballerina days were over
Many years ago.
My doctor says I’m overweight,
I’m in the orange band,
To make it to the yellow zone
I’ll need a helping hand.
So he’s cancelled Sunday breakfast
And sworn me off scotch eggs,
He’s drained my car of petrol
Chuckling ‘Learn to use your legs!’
But I don’t really buy it.
There’s alternatives to diet.
I used to have a ponytail,
So first I had that chopped.
I filed off my fingernails -
They didn’t do a lot.
I syphoned every orifice,
That’s ears and nostrils too,
Then shaved all up and down the stairs
And blocked my pores with glue.
I bought myself a leotard
All webbed and made of feather
And leaf-thin flip-flops filled with air
(I’m hoping for good weather).
So the morning of the retest came,
I wandered down the road
And got savaged by a pit bull,
Who chewed off all my toes.
And thanks to that good fortune,
When I stepped on the machine,
The doctor said ‘I’ve got good news!
You’re one gram in the green.’
Listen to the school bell
Ring
Distant plaintive
Wail
Beyond anything the mind can
Comprehend
And return to a deserted field
Where spirited girls and boys
Once played
Before
Becoming mature
Women and men
When I hear the laughter
Childish screams
And ghostly
Cheers
I can feel a world at
Peace
Overcoming my
Fears
Of a future without
Love
And the solitude I
Chose
Of a future without
Birth
And the terminus
Imposed
Didn’t I hear a sprightly piano
Plinking through a
Window
Near that faded
School yard?
Reminds me of you
Bright girly radiance
Dressed in
Black
Leotard
Dancing all the time
We were carefree
Back then
Before the days of
Wrinkled
Women
Defeated
Silver
Men
Can I return to that time
With my old soccer ball?
Play with young spirits
Long passed away
Can I redo the errors
Stamped upon my life?
Recapture
Lost hopes
Yesterday
That’s a sharp
School bell
Ring
Distant plaintive wail
Beyond anything the mind can
Comprehend
But there’s no return
To a deserted field
Where spirited girls and boys
Once played
Before
Becoming mature
Women and men
There’s no return to
The beginning
No return
When you’ve
Reached
The
End
Superman was feeling mighty uptight
So he went out for a long midnight flight
Spotted two teens making love
Shut his eyes tight as a glove
But his blue leotard turned hard, alright
Le Cirque Bleu
The spotlight is aglow through the gloam
The light an indigo ink modifying color
She swings her body with agility thrusting backwards
upside down, with unseen wings,
an acrobat aerials amid the roar
She looks pretty with her fan in one hand,
long tresses flowing loosely
A circus horse made of jade below
makes eye contact and an interconnection
Without movement they are in an eternal trance,
In the deep dark yonder the golden helio appears
Fiddle and banjo play for the opening adagios act La Nouba
Her leotard tightly invokes, red with flower imprints
Statuesque, still in time showing off her physique
and impressing spectators from below the fliers' pedestal
From above the nets, with ease, she imagines a
world where gravity defies, and animals and objects fly
Flights of fancy within the flying trapeze
flights of fancy an indigo trapeze ~ from above jade nets, an ease
I watched her as she danced
her entire body
ached with artistic beliefs
and organised thoughts
fractals of light
shone
through the bottom seam of the tutu
as she looked down at her pointe-shoed
feet
she adjusted the edge of her tutu,
the part attached to the leotard
pulling it tighter before the next act
a black choker ribbon tied around her neck
kept her grounded
and the long ribbon stayed to her back
like a waterfall.
Her muscled calves quivered with excitement
of opening night
a blue bow sat gently on her waist
as she prepared for the first dance.
-‘The Girl With The Blue Bow’ was inspired by Edgar Degas’ painting ‘The Dance Studio’
Commingled human sweat permeates the atmosphere.
Grunts and clanging iron greet the ear.
Leotard clad women, without body fat, spring.
Pumped up upper bodies of tattooed men expand.
The smoothie bar dispenses recovery drinks.
Stationary bicycles travel miles, without leaving the room.
Joggers hypnotized by music turn treadmills.
The pulleys of the muscle machines sing.
The locker room calls after a brief and intense workout.
Does the fattest guy in the building have to walk around naked?
The jets in the spa remedy any muscle pain.
Relaxing, I watch an old woman pacing the bottom of the lap pool.
The heated pool is occupied by goggled children,
their swimming lessons taught by a woman in a sensible swimsuit.
They must conquer natural fear of the water,
and demonstrate proper swimming form, as parents look on.
A steam room awaits those who can stand the intense, wet heat.
The wooden walls of the sauna room smell of eucalyptus oil.
Water thrown over hissing, heated stones creates a wall of vapor.
They say the perspiration it induces cleanses toxins.
I am not so sure……but I will return next week.
“Is Fashion Modern?” MOMA* asks
And so, in its new show,
The items on display are there
To let us know it’s so.
A pair of Levi’s, baseball caps,
Bikinis and berets,
A Wonderbra, dashikis, kilts
And suits from prior days.
A Rolex watch, Adidas, Nikes,
Mao jackets, too,
A leotard by Danskin,
Polo shirts (but not J. Crew).
Lipstick, flip flops, saris, Speedos,
Ties, stilettos, Spanx,
Jumpsuits, hoodies, Snuglis
(For which new moms owed their thanks).
My friend and I did reminisce,
While strolling the exhibit,
About the clothes like those we wore
When age did not inhibit.
*Museum of Modern Art (NYC)
Trumpeting cauliflowers never blow eggs backwards onto a postal stamp. So never kick a cabbage to a kerb. Oh watch now. All drive safely. Harmonics in a queue are indestructible and indescribable too. Oh counting. Fun fun fun but not for an atom. They prefer to whizz around a jug. Or a used dish. Or a mop bucket. Take no acetic crow to a crown party. For feathers fly as the dresses are announced and who wishes to swim in thick tar or oil anyway. No a pointing stick says. That is quite right. And rights are righteous and righteousness is a right-angled visionary visualising rhombic robot. Dare to argue with GHQ? Or something that is said that is not paths? Tread light. Upon the grounds of carpets. Carpets carry carnivorous carnage. And a douchebag in a suit is neither a swimming whale nor a wallaby. Ok then. Good. Fantastic news for all who attend the operatic antics of the wardrobe sheaths.hahaha pickled melon meeting pickled lime. Hahaha leotard lion leapt. Hahaha swordfish sampling sailing seas. Xxxx Constantinople z. That was the p y q reporting in the afternoon from the aerial perspective of the debate about that apple pie. Z