Long Barre Poems
Long Barre Poems. Below are the most popular long Barre by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Barre poems by poem length and keyword.
A dream of you and me
A beach house by the sea
A stroll along the shore
Knowing we want more
But this gets better yet
Wait until sunset
Stars and Venus rise
Desire's in our eyes
It's still a little soon
Not before the moon
And then a night of bliss
Commencing with The Kiss
A waiting music stand
A blanket on the sand
A chair with one guitar
Four hands, I help you barre
Before long unrestrained
Passion uncontained
The song we make and play
Carries us away
The heights that we achieve
Are heights none could believe
And when all's said and done
We toast the rising sun
It's within her ballet studio!
Round and round the poetess goes.
Seeing herself in the sparkling, glass mirror.
And rainbow-tainted visions of her past.
Doing positions at the barre!
Yet a vision into her past, is truly a holy foray.
Times of great angst, times of ineffable joy.
Recalling her first kiss and oh, that boy!
Parents who took her on pony rides.
Where are they now?
Swept away by life's salty tides.
All her friends, she sees in the mirror.
Events, parties, glorious wedding dinners.
She longs to waltz through the mirror and to hug them all.
But stopped she is, by reality's wall.
Each one, in their way contributed to her life.
Of roses, ribbons, total goodness and more.
A grateful tear, splashes in gratitude, in silence.
On her poetic ballet floor.
5/12/2021
~5~
Dance for me now ...
Eyes of polished onyx pierce me like the keen edge
of a scalpel, deftly wielded ...
The blood of my black heart flowing in and around you,
warm and welcomed to your wings and wants ...
The aspiration of our spirits - air between us as still as ruin,
while the world spins outward, ever, a cacophony of color ...
Calm coalescence in a realm of chaos, airborne and harmonious,
sublime, if only ephemeral - if only once ...
I am your vessel, awaiting, I am your barre, to stretch and strain upon,
I am the adoration in your hush, and the dark feathers of your plume ...
I am rapt in awe by such immaculate and lithe form, destroyed
wholly by the feral, flawless grace of your movements ...
I am devoured by the ferocity and exquisite finish of
your line and flow 'en fouette' ...
It is the anger and complete abandon in your expression
that at once terrifies me and slays my spirit ...
That brings all that is demoness to your passion, and all
that is angelic to your erotic ire ...
Spellbound by the dance, I plummet into your shadow,
and let your black wings surround my delirium ...
An aphotic interplay of souls, a forbidden allurement of
figures, a carnal and concupiscent 'pas de deux' of fury ...
Dance with me ...
Now.
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "Contest Number 360" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "Obsession" Poetry Contest, Silent One, Judge & Sponsor.
( N/A'd on 2/28/20 in the "Free Verse On Love" Poetry Contest )
i'll eat your chicken
if you eat mine
but you don't cook
but i can rhyme
but i don't eat meat
even fried cast iron
but i'll eat your chicken
if you eat mine
now a dime ain't worth
a nickel these days
once said a Yogi
Barre was his name
he didn't have dreads
but dreaded all the same
that a dime ain't worth
a nickel these days
i once met a woman
as hairy as me
compared my beard
to her butt cheeks
i thought i found
what sought i seeked
when i found a woman
as hairy as me
i can't say what attribute
suited her most
her laugh or hirsute
like a bear compared
i'll be resolute
i metaphor
for her bare suit
Form:
~ PEEK INTO A POETESS’S SOUL ~
?
It's her own delightful ballet studio!
Round and round the poetess goes.
Seeing herself in the sparkling, glass mirror.
And rainbow-tainted visions of her past.
Doing practice positions at the barre!
Yet a vision into her past, is truly a holy foray.
Times of great angst, times of ineffable joy.
Recalling her first kiss and oh, that boy!
Parents who took her on pony rides.
Where are they now?
Swept away by life's salty tides.
All her friends, she sees in the mirror.
Events, parties, glorious wedding dinners.
She longs to waltz through the mirror and to
hug them all.
But stopped she is, by reality's wall.
Each one, in their way contributed to her life.
Of roses, ribbons, total goodness and more.
A grateful tear, splashes in gratitude, on the ballet floor.
9/7/2024
@ Panagiota Romios
Written: November 05, 2023
___________________________________________
Away from Earth, the sky is always hideous,
A whimsical sun made my dream obvious.
A deep redolent dream, moon, and scheme,
Ideal site for drifting ways of cosmic gleam.
I'm swaying in space, skeptical of the place,
Cool wind ruins the stars as emerald tunes trace.
Arms may be lifted in sync due to the breeze,
I breathe in even the peculiar air to appease.
Only musings glimpse through my icy hand,
A strange adventure with a translucent stand.
My first trip here, I couldn't decry the North Star,
Lacking solid support, the stars went barre.
I am clad by kaleidoscope matter and vitality,
As I cross space, black holes are a split reality.
A cosmic light kiss of life infuses my skin,
Lips of ash, frame stuck by whimsey within.
A billion stars cover each soaring nebula,
I'm an instant hit, as speculated by a fibula.
How I took for granted, thee!
Now, reaching an age, I began to ponder.
Their truly outstanding history.
Hands that once with grand wonderment
stared at crayon colors.
Tanned, dimpled hands of a girl
Who on beaches made sand castles!
Whilst the waters of Lake Michigan swirled.
And above her pigtailed head,
Clouds moved in tender dance, all
shades of pastels.
In her tutu at the mirror she stared
Her hands loved that Ballef barre
Mother has her costumes by a seamstress
made, because she cared!
The mini Swan Lake-star,looked in her
Mother's tear-filled eyes and with
thankfulness, stared.
In elbowed satin gloves at age sixteen,
she bowed gracefully.
She gave that hand to her proud
father to rise.
A very proud parent of his proud
paternity.
The same hands in schools, years
later covered with chalk.
She made a professional decision
to teach in the ghetto schools of
Chicago and walk her talk.
Not just to say that a "few friends
of mine are black."
But to contribute to black children
getting the best education, of that
there was certainly,a lack!
These same hands who pen this,
poem,not only went to the theater.
But became an improvisational actress,
a stand up comic who held a silvered-
microphone later.
And later,with a beauteous daughter,
by God was she so blessed.
She still remembers the smell of
that angelic hair,as Maria,breathed ever
so softly on her chest.
Now, look at your hands, that have their
own unique history.
God given appendages,,so strong, so rich
with your life's mysteries and histories!
12/30/2020
2:45am PST
Dreaming she is a ballet star,
Practicing delicate, ballet moves
before huge mirros and with ballet barre.
There's something wistful in her smile.
She knows not, these memories will
last more than a little while and take her far.
She will be unable to post a picture
with most poems.
Knowing her poetic words mean far more
than a picture can ever hold.
An art gallery? No, she will never be.
An artist with words only, she hopes to be.
To paint both stars and mysterious sea.
No shortcuts to true poetry for her.
Her words only hers, woven beauty,
Of her history and finely.finest words.
A long way to go, to be the poet of her
dreams.
No sell outs, no teams, just wants her
poetry ala delicious, like fresh whipped
cream!
9/18/2021
Bitter night
seventeen degrees
all is covered
in frozen white
comforters and blankets
piled so high
tugged up high
warmth to seek
Christmas time
just days away
my night is filled
with guitar dreams
there was a girl
in earlier days
when I was young
in velvet prime
I did sing
in choirs then
and did croon
solos sweet
she did dream
and did long
that just for her
I’d sing my song
she did seek
a music store
where she did buy
a steel guitar
a present then
she made to me
that I might then
for her sing
steel wires
so narrow they
strung so tight
for tender flesh
six to press
with fingers five
twisted to shapes
that hurt my flesh
books of songs
I did buy
and practiced hard
so many hours
steel too hard
and calluses too slow
I did sell
that steel guitar
classic ones
with nylon strings
my fingers found
to be easier be
and more hours
so many long
I did play
a classic guitar
so long ago
when I did try
and I did fail
to play guitar
in dark of night
at Christmas time
I do dream
of bass guitars
strings of four
and a lower pitch
that I could tune
to a open G
then to barre
with finger straight
then playing chords
would simpler be
and the pitch
much lower then
to match my voice
deep and low
I do dream
in dark of night
that I might play
a bass guitar
Blue, half sparkly bead,
on the seventh stair of the studio stairs.
I freeze,
right foot in the air.
It’s the bead I used
for me and her’s friendship bracelets.
her and i…
Class begins.
Zoning out into staring at the piece of tape lifting from the marley floors.
I see a what once was a gold, but now white bead.
I freeze,
left foot in the air.
It’s yet another bead
I used for me and her’s friendship bracelets.
her and i…
I look at her right wrist,
no bracelet.
I look at her neck,
no necklace.
I can’t believe what I’m seeing.
I can’t believe what I’m seeing.
what am i seeing?
“I’ll switch barres with you, Alicia.”
she hates alicia…
The barre spot she once had now belongs to a girl who she hates.
That’s how much she hates me.
She’s willing to change her spot to no longer be near me.
I tap on the metal barre 13 times.
13 times.
One for every week we’ve known each other.
She wont speak.
She won’t make eye contact.
She won’t hug me.
She won’t clap for me.
She won’t watch me when I’m dancing.
WHAT MORE CAN I DO?!?!
She’s dancing harder than she ever has before as I can see the tears forming behind her eyes.
“I think I’m seeing things.”
“I think I’m seeing things.”
“I think I’m seeing things.”
I think I’m seeing the events leading up to my last days on Earth.
november 4, 2026….