Best Shimmies Poems
(Inspired by dance steps from a belly dancing class I once took!)
She rolls her pretty head from side to side
while, raised above her face, are slim curved arms.
Brief pose. . . . She’s readied to expose her charms.
Wrists twist, and serpentine, arms downward glide.
Her undulating silk-draped hips move round.
She churns them slowly, flashing bright green eyes;
then minces “Camel Walk” to tantalize
as ankle bracelets make a tinkling sound.
With bills in hand, men beckon with a glance.
She shimmies, jingling toward them in dim light;
then spins and thrusts her pelvis right, left, right.
Seduction of delight - her belly dance.
For Barbara Gorelick's "May I Have This Dance?" Contest
As the sun shimmies down blue skies and sets,
clouds streaked with pink, mauve, and grey pave its way.
And the night gets wrapped in a black silk shawl,
whose threads slowly snuff out the light of day.
As Mars and Venus arrive on the scene,
Luna rises to reveal a pocked face.
And twilight dims, setting the stage for dusk,
fixed within the fabric of time and space.
Clouds of bats swarm out of secluded caves
to feast on moths, snatched right out of the air.
And while ebony shadows shift and merge,
yellow eyes in the gloom seemingly stare.
And the haunting hoots of an owl are heard,
as the line between day and night gets blurred.
A spent sun shimmies down a sanguine sky,
into the ebony blackness of space.
And birds roosting in trees no longer fly,
while a full moon rises to find its place;
smiling down on Earth with a friendly face.
Chameleon clouds, crimson, and cerise,
graze the horizon like woolly pink sheep.
And as ruby rays of sunlight decrease,
slumbering stars awaken from their sleep;
while shape-shifting shadows stealthily creep.
Silhouettes merge, as dusk's darkness descends;
blurring the edges, where night's curtain drops.
And as the day's chatter silently ends,
billions of stars morph into backstage props;
while the show continues, and never stops.
A cricket's chirp announces the next act:
when nocturnal creatures take center stage.
And as moonbeams and fireflies interact,
owls and bats start to flex their wings backstage,
while the diurnal players disengage.
The millwheel will not turn again till spring
for Winter’s icy cold grip holds it firm.
She squeezes it like Her private plaything,
though Her crushing power is but short-term.
As shorter days subtly lengthened; the sun
slowly began to liquefy the ice.
And the waterwheel shook, and almost spun,
while the miller posted his asking price.
Whispers ran through the town from door to door,
the ice is breaking up at the millpond.
And housewives could soon buy flour once more,
for each village, and its mill shared a bond.
The millwheel shimmies free from Winter’s grip,
shuddering as the water level peaks.
And as pressure increases drip by drip,
the pond ice melts, and the wooden wheel creaks.
(Quatrain)
6/26/2018
Draped over the land like a ghostly shroud,
a blanket of morning mist
morphs into rolling banks of fog;
soft as an eider-filled duvet.
Dawn rebukes Night's claim to darkened skies
and armed with chisels of light,
sculpts ebony shadows
into shifting shapes,
sent scurrying into nooks and crevices.
Pink, indigo, and blue hues
expunge an ebony canvas of stars and moon;
as color emerges from first light.
While a bashful breeze blows silhouettes into disarray;
etch-a-sketching, a brand-new day.
And subtle sleeping sounds, slowly awaken;
giving voice to Nature:
while a scarlet sun silently shimmies up a crimson sky.
Sitting on this roof,
seeing the colored lights in neighboring windows
finding frosted panes in abstract happiness,
as winter’s wind howls about my face
Speakers blare in cramping holiday tones,
(What’s so wonderful about it - this time of year?)
Shingles damp and slippery,
still I hold on for dear life
Fingers numb but clinging,
for without my seated sadness
on this peak above chimney ash
watching streams finding the edge
how else would those muddied
tear drop icicles form?
-
Then I hear it on shivering vibrations
A voice from - out there - somewhere
A shadow beneath a flickering street light
Footprints in circles about the square
Moving in my direction
My silhouette on white cloud shimmies
A little to the side, for a better view
Wings - it has - she has wings
I blink a frozen eyelash - she is sitting next to me
A warm, feathery quilted wing about my shoulders
Chilled cheeks burn as I smile
and my heart melts as she whispers to me
“No more icicles”
Hot chocolate hot chocolate I like it sweet, at Yule time I'll drink it then take a back seat
beside the old tree where Santa I'll meet they'll be cookies galore for St Nick to eat
as he shimmies and jiggles on two booted feet and a face flushed like rubious beet
I'll be eager to meet him but I will not cheat as I wait for the daylight now isn't that neat !
hot chocolate hot chocolate with marshmallows too I'll watch the chimney as I quietly chew
I have coated the bricks with butter and goo so his belly will slide,
(wink) he'll know what to do !
Down in the manger the angels acrue waiting for Jesus to
make His debut
While the Three Kings are offering their three gifts on cue, dear Santa
I'm waiting, I'm waiting for you
Hot chocolate hot chocolate I like it sweet,
but when it comes to Jesus, I won't take a back seat.
She Dances in Her Blue Dress
She stands beneath shimmering clear soft lights
in subtle beauteous of elegance.
A faint glimmer sparks in her eyes ignites
an idyllic aura anxious to dance.
She wears a flattering blue amorous
of the shoulder, flounce sleeves, body-con dress.
Adorned honey ankle strap, glamorous
rhinestone high heels; to show off and impress.
With the sway of her sexy hips moving
She shimmies to the drum beat and fast rhythm
leaving behind Chanel glance enthralling
fragrant in the crowded room dazzling them.
As she turns, walks away in her blue dress
Her honey skin purrs with weather's caress.
12/28/2019
Poetry Contest: Blue Dress
Sponsored by: Anthony Slausin
The glide of the plane almost in step with my rooftop.
Visibility of blue heaven low; lookout for earthwalkers.
My bland Toyota euphoric and banded by tight forest.
The span of an angelic chorus, a serendipitous psalm.
The predilection of dawn, a tributary hawk sails on.
The silver cross shimmies and shakes reflected in mirror.
I steady it with my heartbeat, my smile, my faith.
9/25/2020
Anti-Poem — “Snaking It To Venice”
(Poet’s Instruction: Play “The End” by the Doors loudly, while reading this anti-poem)
it’s you and me baby inside this gliding duster
this ’74 green plymouth cruising machine blasting
spit fire and gasoline grenades into the LA sun
snaking it to venice on the santa monica freeway
passing pillsbury billboards and green verdigris
doors music playing loudly on the duster radio dial
taking us past the santa monica civic auditorium
our rock pleasure palace under the ocean stars
fronted by the six high dudes straight as spears—
pylons of steel drum solos and marijuana memories
standing upward like skinny giants waiting to eat
hippie dudes and the bongo kings stand out front
polka-dotted chicks smile and pass running joints
we’re riding the snake babe riding on main street
looking for the rock gods behind beaming glass walls
looking to hear boogie music with the mind jive girls
the van chicks craving a bong hit of columbian gold
looking to groove on organ sonics that weaken you
kidnap you with handcuffs for a ransom of lost time
now jim morrison shimmies into view with a beer
the boys play the end again in 1967 with amps blaring
the vox organ humming out electric mind lacerations
as Ray Manzarek sits upright again on the melting stage
dig it baby, dig it there are no tomorrows no endings
it’s just you and me baby snaking it to venice beach
passing the dream palaces lit up with phosphorescence
the sun pole-dancing there doing the cosmic bend-over
the ’74 duster blasting spitfire and gasoline grenades
THE CHRISTMAS SPIRIT
Outside snow is falling on the ground,
And the temperature is tumbling down,
It's that wonderful time of year,
When family and friends gather
To close out the year,
There's a magical feeling in the air,
You can feel its presence everywhere,
It puts a sparkle in a little child's eyes,
As they look around in
Wonderment and surprise,
It twinkles on the Christmas tree
And shines in Santa's eyes,
It fills our hearts with wonder,
Excitement and surprise,
It shimmies down the chimney,
It sparkles in the air,
The Christmas spirit spreads,
Its special magic everywhere.
The worst day
To ever sprout
From the depths of Hade
Could not begin to express
How he made me feel.
Who would have guessed?
Sure,
He had follicles
That put even the most
Gorgeous
Flaming
Queen to shame.
And it’s true
I envies his
Soft,
Velvet smooth,
Shining skin.
I put my heart on the line
And to have it come back
With a letter of
Reject
I’m crushed,
Cold, and
Consumed with the dreams
Of the past.
Now, I watch
As he shimmies by
With his bedazzled
Ass.
the sun still shimmies up every morn
meanders down at days end
the moon fills the nights in various stages
morning streets are bombarded by struts slow and fast
cars sigh their usual obnoxious yells
sleep eludes me
tormented thoughts
you
occupy my psyche
brush stroke by brush stroke
and still never exactly you
your mona lisa allure
impossible to commit to memory
white flag in hand
surrender to your capture
trapped in the
the shame of my fragility
i hesitate
that jump off the cliff
i’ve walked the burning fields
where the smoke renders me blind
embraced my lack of sight
too many battles spun from steel
too many scars still not heeled
how does one exit this ride
this coaster of contradictions
i’ve found no path
A wisp of your outline
invades my sleep
how do i let go
how do I hold on
left in your hands
how do you find my where
if
i
myself
can’t find the starting line
Fri Feb 28
wind swishes the leaves
spring green shimmies and shakes
nature's belly dance
Rushing through lusty August towards
A vault of blue, a longing promise.
It is like waiting for the visiting moon,
The day when the silver light shimmies past
My bedroom curtains, and I will look up
And I will feel the burning of the heart.
Mist will pour down from the Sun
And the same mist will fall from my mouth.
I will no longer be in need and
It will all sliver pass me.