Countless Cosmic Constellations
Colossal Combustible Clouds
Confluences of Chrysalis Crystals
Collectives of Choreographed Colors
Constant Creation Collisions
Corrective Course Corrections
Cosmonauts Crashed Craft
Countless Cosmic Consternations
INDIAN SUMMER
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Autumn comes as a chariot of nature's flame. From woodland browns are born reds and golds to warm heart and soul. The leaves, like flags waving in every sweet breeze, swirl in a wind-choreographed dance. Soon they rest upon the forest floor, embracing their destiny to feed each earthen wintry root.
seasonal trustees
summertime takes final bow
fall heeds her calling
starry autumn night
season brings artistic hand
harvest abundance
I have one special memory
Lying with you on the lake shore
Watching the sun twinkle
As it flickered between the tree’s leaves
A gentle breeze makes the weeping willow magical
Dancing movements choreographed long ago
Never copied by anything else
To me, they are signs of unending love
Given to me and my future wife
To cherish as long as we both shall live
© Poem XXVIII/VIII/MMXXV
LRET
Art brings creativity, depth, evokes feelings,
connects people, reflects historical events,
preserves cultural values and traditions.
Art conveys aesthetic pleasures, one of its missions.
Choreographed dance expresses fluidity, grace highlighting
the dancers’ technical skills and control, ease and elegance.
Dance, an art form under performing arts focuses on connection
appealing to the senses of the dancers and audience is perfection.
Blues, classical, disco, electric, funk, gospel, hip-hop,
and rock, the influential one, are genres of music, another
art form and the most universal under performing arts
for it is a universal language that touches hearts.
Abecedarian, ballade, couplet, diamante, elegy, footle
are types of poems and poetry, an art form under literary
art, uses chosen language for meaning or words artistically to
connect to the reader’s emotions and imagination too.
submitted into Brian Strands 1397 Poetry Contest, July 2025
MEMORABLE BALLET
her thoughts pirouette, twirl, and spin,
a choreographed ballet across the blank screen.
her words harmonize and blend
transforming them into beautiful poetry.
her soaring imagination rises and leaps
like a grand jeté, the poem takes flight.
imagery and rhythm create a melodic verse
like well-orchestrated music, her poetry fills the air.
meter is the measure that governs the pace,
as her passion finds her poetic voice.
in a delicate dance of love and creativity
like a pas de deux, the words entwine.
a crescendo of emotions her heart doth express
like a grand finale, the poem reaches its peak.
her soul dances wild and free
like a memorable ballet is her poetry.
My wallet is empty of cash
When it appears which is rarely
I usually give it away
Doesn’t really matter, not really
It’s gone as soon as I get it anyway
It never lasts but that's okay
Besides, I have plenty of credit
VISA, MasterCard, Discovery
And the more I “spend”
With that lending hand
The more trust I build
Upping my score. Score!
Up the stakes, wait, change the rules?
Now, it’s me who can’t trust, who?
Sky rocketing interest rates
A debt that’s out of control
Taxing me everywhere I go
The scam’s all decorated
Beautifully choreographed
Beautifully camouflaged
All alluring, so endearing
As I assume my plastic smile
At my recently installed
Big beautiful screen on the wall.
A triumph of artistic erudition,
a monumental, historic production,
played to houses hushed and full -
Aesop's Fables with real animals -
glorious choreographed interaction,
among creatures of all extractions,
audiences transfixed and beguiled
by kings and queens of the stage, self-styled,
discussed in every chic salon,
until, an unfortunate contretemps,
there was no hint of trouble or indication,
when a bit a player forgot his station,
and when the director fiercely drew a bead,
the resultant kerfuffluous stampede
was reported, sadly in Le Monde,
and the curtain dropped on the show across the pond.
I look on, reciting lines, reacting, responding,
the lights are dim, the stage is cold.
I dance across the scene, choreographed to my solitude,
hurt, tired, done, but I never stop.
Tears roll, screams echo, but I never stop.
I almost collapse, I can't go on, but I never stop.
I'm dead, my body rotting, but I never stop.
I look to my audience, my muse, my purpose,
I can't deny them, I have to please them,
Regardless of consequence, the show must go on.
I have been reduced to a corpse that has been revived,
revived for entertainment, for their amusement and amazement,
I can't refuse, I can't disobey, I am a slave to the arts.
I can still hear her, although I left her behind,
I can hear her, sobbing, pleading, begging me to stay.
Begging me to stay with her, to leave the cult in which I am trapped
I can still hear her, haunting me,
"The theatre is dark, the seats empty, the stage silent- so why are you still acting...?"
"Lingering leaves of gold frolic / frolicked in the autumn wind"
Quote by the sponsor
A crisp chill in the air, not being warmed by the sun.
I hear rustling, a sure sign that autumn has begun.
"Lingering leaves of gold frolic / frolicked in the autumn wind"
My love of Autumn and its gold leaves will never rescind.
Green turning golden far and wide across the country side.
Autumn’s beauty is truly Mother nature’s glorious pride.
As tangerine and bright ochre leaves, gracefully dance,
The carpet they form as they come to rest will enhance.
The pleasure they bring floating through the crisp air,
A kaleidoscope of colour is forming most everywhere.
Tiny leaves joyfully twisting and turning to do an arabesque,
As if they are performing a choreographed seasonal quest.
As the Autumn wind strengthens the performance takes flight.
Leaves dashing and dancing and spiraling, it’s a wonderful sight.
Caught by a whirlwind, small leaves rise and flutter about.
Larger Autumn leaves soar as if with wings, not to be left out.
Harsh asymmetrical contour following dislocated noncontextual departure.
Roaming, haphazardly choreographed with precise misaligned determination.
Mindfully staggering indistinguishable purpose, consistently in linear circumnavigation.
A matter of process, a state of perpetual traversal, saves from permanence.
The ad infinitum of specificity is quantum, the superposition allowing consistent continuity while indelibly transposing by observance.
Redundant to its operation, yet necessary in its function.
Leaving spaces unfiled by way of impetus, whilst evidently consiquential.
Paradoxically self referential, pertinently inescapable ever presence.
It’s one thing to be senile
and lie in your own drool.
It’s another to be President
and be that droolin’ fool.
So ask yourself, America,
of all the President’s men…
who was runnin’ the country
signin’ with Joe’s autopen?
Note: To those who have eyes it was obvious that Sleepy Joe wasn’t just sleepy but in cognitive decline before he was even elected President by supposedly receiving 80 million plus votes. He wasn’t fit to run a lemonade stand but the media convinced you he was on top of his game lol. Joe wasn’t physically or mentally up to the job and so his Democratic masters and media overlords set about carrying out the great subterfuge that he was in charge. They stage managed every event and choreographed his every utterance until he inevitably went off script and his handlers (carers) had to shut him down.
So the next time some loony tune tells you that Elon Musk has too much power for an unelected member of Congress just remember the White House for four years under grifter Joe Biden was run by unelected bureaucrats. Yep, the country was ruled by President Autopen. Let that sink in.
Spring time finds butterflies
Dancing in a garden of flowers
The gentle breeze is the music
They flutter on for hours
They are all costumed
In their finest dresses
Softly colored by petals
Each tiny wing caresses
Their movements are graceful
As they glide through the air
Everyone of their steps
Choreographed with great care
But spring time is fleeting
And summer is too
They dance their finale
When the seasons are through
Now the dancers are gone
Their costumes grew jaded
No more music in gentle breezes
Spring and summer have both faded
When I have filled your brain to orgasmic capacity
The music fades the worries, of another day
Softly, let me slip back into the depths of your mind
We slowly flow to the rhythm of the beat
To hauntingly linger for an eternity
When I'm four hundred, thought years from your mind
The feelings we have, will meet someday, until then
A vision from a distance, our kisses are precious memories
We were not strangers, having met somewhere before
And choreographed this perfect dance
Author: Floyd Neal
Date: May 2014
Inspiration: Dreams
The sun wakes up with a golden yawn,
Stretching its rays across the lawn.
The birds hum soft, their melody clear,
Whispering secrets for all to hear.
Clouds waltz gently in skies so wide,
A painter's brush on the world's blue slide.
The trees sway softly, their leaves in play,
Choreographed by the breeze’s ballet.
Streams giggle down their rocky course,
A bubbling laughter, nature’s force.
Mountains stand tall, wrapped in mist,
Guardians of the morning’s twist.
Each moment hums a quiet song,
A rhythm where all belong.
In this grand play of earth and sky,
We’re the watchers, letting life fly by.
what does it mean?
five birds swooping together in tandem
under the arm of a hickory, upward in unison
gliding as if they are fingers of one hand
are they headed toward a celebration of life?
not a sound is heard as they disappear over the ridge
five birds in sync, flying in an choreographed line
not making a big deal about it
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