Long Break dance Poems
Long Break dance Poems. Below are the most popular long Break dance by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Break dance poems by poem length and keyword.
(Continued from part one.)
Afire not his thoughts, the Devil sees,
He soars and roars, in his physical might.
His bears’ hug, his warmth, could melt you;
Into joys and tears, in willing submission.
Treat him not, to your portions of love.
He grows cold, is lost in erotic rage.
Wiggle not mermaid, in bouts of passion,
The dough you kneed, may turn love to hate.
Dare not the wile witches’ craft;
Lest he banish you to the earth’s folds,
To burn in hate, love and desire,
Forever and ever, in eternal penance.
Spurn not his love for the unknown,
With frivolous, eyewash camouflage.
He watches behind the scenes,
Your tremors in the curves and the lips;
You innocent, blooming seductress,
Holding the Mega-staff, letting reptiles sing:
You bore the man, the crowned lord of vice.
Rip him, Independence, to his natural doom.
Haven’t you learnt, you Hollywood menace?
Ever seen Javed Jaffery the Tellywood, Bollywood
Lollywood and Mollywood a few dozen like you?
Tent walk dove-eyed, bumps to the moon.
Kanjiwaram, the Casanova Frenchie,
Break dance in airs to the Eiffel Tower.
Red herring you to the Spanish bulls.
Joy ride Rolls on BMW’s track.
Con the Germans and the Japs.
You, wonder android, generations ahead.
(Forget the Merc-E, TELCO ties,
Or their Sumo-ing the Japanese pride.)
Take care you fool, Govinda could snare,
Rap tap the Seghal to his toe’s.
Golden Eye the double O’s latest dream.
Kung-fu Steven’s at his own game.
Anti-gravity NASA, with mental fields.
Stealth fly you out, from the Pentagon.
Biotech you back into American laps,
Genetically engineered, Gene cultured, wreck.
Brain-virus Microsoft, in config-trees,
Space walk you to the final frontiers in enterprise.
Dance away the foxes of your clan.
Ultra culture, the real London breed.
In knacks of, how to wink and blink.
Lifting eyebrows? Take care you oaf,
Run you goat! and don’t turn your head.
He is the cool cat, really looking his English best.
Flee, before the gambler, he is still there,
Smirnoff you to the Hustler`s care.
Toss you around, under Playboy’s thumb.
Floor you with his catwalk fun.
Cradle you, to the American roost;
Chickening out, not now KFC hen.
He is “She selling sea shells on the sea shore.”
In wizard glee, those Colgate teeth his real hope.
(To be continues in part three.)
There’s a soft glimmer of day on the horizon
As a vanquished sun is swept away by dusk’s dark flow
With a slender slip of a cloud stretched North to the South
That floats on the sweetness, the texture of marmalade glow.
Dark clouds above me are still catching last light
And the air is still fresh from a passing shower.
Overhead there are magnificent canyons of sky,
Clouds eroded by meandering rivers of air,
Untouched stars shining through,
And flashes of lightning that break dance further South
Reminding less attentive humans feelings are electric too,
Random flashes, like a child remembering how to cry
Without understanding when it is effective.
And the crickets are singing their harsh waves of sound
With combined voice that could wake up the dead
Or float lovers to their dreams with strange musicality.
What a chorus! It’s like they’re all suitors of one woman
Hanging out in the darkness under her window
Their legs resonating in an orgy of praise.
Is there anything alive that does not ooze sensuality?
I’m driving myself to a late dinner in Pierre
And there’ll be no one waiting to greet me,
But loneliness is not the same as being lonely
I even stop as I’m driving to write down these words
For when my muse speaks I almost always listen
For the music of the night is so fragile,
Though her words are my constant companions.
Like raindrops they cool me with their touch, to my senses glisten,
The thoughts she brings are flowers that follow mountain streams
And her rhymes, even when it’s cloudy, are stars in my night.
Arriving back in Blunt, the cricket song, seems somehow softer,
Though hardly less insistent, cries “Don’t you know we love you?”
I insert some extra lines and thoughts into what has come before,
Into an already flowing work, dollops of color added madly,
Just more cricket noise, hoping to touch your heart.
I wish that I had stopped once more beside the road as I returned.
“That was such a beautiful thought! What was it?” I wonder sadly!
Apparently the female that male crickets seek has not chosen yet.
But with this poem my day is done.
Brian Johnston
September 7, 2015
My Life is a song sung in a
series of repetitive inferior notes.
I’m unable to record mellow melodies,
as my violin strings continually play
with reckless violet villains.
As I sit and replay recitals of
bleeding love harmonies.
My soul is shattered and sunken
in silent sonnets.
I'm flickering through the tears of
tainted years of hexagon heartbreaks.
Unable to trust poetic phrases from a
cedar conductor whose musical agility
makes my saxophone eyes sing.
I conceal my sunrise hope in a
chaotic chorus of anguish;
which I play to my sympathetic
amber anxiety, to justify the
lonesome path I’ve chosen to hike.
I fail to embrace the serenity
of their light rap rhymes
in my erratic brain.
Instead, I reminisce
about my sorrowful pity puddle spells,
when countless deceptive trumpets
stole my musical directives
destined for classical charts.
I am forsaken in operas of
maroon misery serenaded by
these weeping, wailing windpipes.
I desire to awaken my
ancient pop culture life.
The sangria sunrise era
when only rainbow hits escaped my pen.
I recall I wrote reams of rhythmic sheets;
filled with halo heroes,
painting electrical euphoria
upon Harvard's crisp horizons.
A time when youthful bands sang of
everlasting devotion,
glowing glee upon my ebony core.
My fuschia feet are wounded and
depleted from my frequent falls in
my ballet of ruby romances.
I aspire to dance to all the Jazz
freedom beats and not break-dance
with soprano snakes.
As I’ve detected, they are thirsty for my
rhythmic rays for their
applause and accolades to reign.
Now is the time for my piano to
recreate my platinum diamond hits.
For my lyrical pieces to thrive,
I must retire my historical woes to the
rear of my Broadway sympathy show.
I accept this is the only way
to win my desired Tony prize.
It’s very difficult to start to write
as soon as inspiration come
that have done it
leading legions of others duties,
wants, desires, tricks and trifles
have occupied you around at all.
Suddenly you mad for cup of cave
or filling bit a hunger,
or preferred exercise, making yoga
or just want to scratch your left hear
with right forefoot.
Often you cannot sit at table
preferring rode on it
or break dance
on your head,
or crawling under table
and trying to write in such extraordinarily position.
You have to do much
other oddly things
before you starting work
and even after it.
As Richie Blakemore played hardly with guitars
In right position and backward,
turn it fast around body
plying so virtuously
eventually broke instrument on the stage,
as Gogol smashed the table
when he finished to write a page
as a Balzac
flooded room
chained himself to table
and put his foot to cold water.
before a start to write,
as Michelangelo
ready to stone everybody
coming to him at work
without his pleasure,
when he pained the marble celling of Sicts Chappelle,
As a God merciful
who created this astonishing Universe
with billions galactics
stretching billion light years to far
with Black Holes and Black matters
and abreast of times and efforts spent,
from larvae’s to dinosaurs
and mammals and human-like apes,
from Neanderthals to Homo-sapiens
before eventually emerging you and me
in this blue planet
as a top creatures and miracle of nature.
Yes it’s very difficult process
that so strong possessed
before you start to work
and able to do
something really valuable.
Like an eagle out of Egypt...flying faster than the wind
Leaving many shackles, chains and cages
Leaving sorrow and sickness and a multitude of sins
How, where or when? He really doesn't know...and really doesn't care
He only wants his freedom
Destiny awaits...he takes that dare
Super charged and scared soon he's chased by 600 chariots
Those vultures full of vengeance they want him back where he belongs
They sing their songs...he does not listen
He's only heeding Heavens voice
With force and fury out of Perdition he flaps his wings toward Paradise
Now his body is getting tired so he harnesses his hate
His fears they give him fuel as his feathers turn to flames
Soon he's a sole survivor...family and friends to him are dead
They still bow before the men with whips...to their wickedest of whims
He can feel their scars and stains still salvation keeps him safe
A double dose can't devastate
A triple threat can't cause him terror
Many arrows shot right to his soul...still his father takes him further
Finally he turns around and sees a special sight
Something so supernatural a mortals mind could not describe
The vultures they all vanish...swallowed in a sea of red
Still he flaps his wings much harder so he won't break dance with the dead
Far from harm he hears a voice so warm and full of love
He sees a nest with no thorns and he makes that nest his home
That eagle out of Egypt is told one final thing...
"Never use your freedom in a foul way or you'll soon become a slave"
Back in the Summer of eighty five thank God I was still alive
music was filling the streets as I chilled by the strip
here's the trip many girls were dressed with flames both were not ashamed
the innocence of the day as I raged in a cage
there was folks with love swinging on its sod
there he stood the radio man with stereo in his hand
would rap to his music calling it sonic fusion cause he knew what he was doing
Break dance pants and folks playing hacky sack gave me a heart attack
those were the days getting lost in a purple haze better to act your age
yet for the radio man he had a plan
started block parties to raise money for his ailing uncle Freddie who had cancer
Radio was quite a dancer and fine tuned romancer on the village block he was the king
then one day many had need to pray Radio man went away to a mental facility
folks got word and thought it was absurd
there was no one else to entertain many grew insane
until a little time had passed then the Radio man was back
free styling cause he knew what he was doing
back on the mic never giving up on the fight
he was the center of attention with his brand new invention
a beat box mixer on his radio taking him places he needed to go
bust up the beat to promote the tempo it was Radio the king with his flow
always cracking jokes and smiling cause he had fish for frying no he ain't lying
Why are u the only thing on my mind?
I'm trying to pay attention in geometry.
Why can't I be without u,
Without losing my sanity?
Why do I need u in my life?
Why must u be different than the rest?
I try to be happy on my own,
But your my biggest test!
Oh crap, Mr. G just asked me a question,
And I don’t know what to say!
I haven’t paid attention this class,
In fact I haven’t all day!
I was spaced out in geometry
And daydreamed through phys. ed
Now i'm supposed to answer #8
I need to start using my head.
I think the answer's 32
No, wait its 33.
When I answer everyone laughs
And I sink into my seat.
I’m not on the right question,
I’m not even on the right page!
Everyone is staring at me,
I feel like I’m on stage!
Should I sing a little song,
or break dance on the floor?
I look at the right question,
The answer's 64.
Thank God it's finally over,
Everyone looks away.
I look at the clock, and sigh in relief
Because there’s only 10 minutes left of the school day.
I blame this all on you
Because your always on my mind.
I can never concentrate
Cause I think of you all the time!
Yo Yo New York City make me crazy and i am cool man and i am rap and people think i am cool rap walk on street and i am deaf and i can show people of my break dance like rap in NYC is so crazy these people i like NYC that i have a new friend there it make me smile and girl think i am cute yo yo i am deaf rap in NYC people watch me i van dance like rap they can heard the beats bass of rap music so loud and they think i am cool man and people cheer on me yo yo and i said yo yo what up pimp my wild and i want to be famous rap star and deaf DJ in NYC and i can teach people how to be rap in NYC and dance on stage people can follow my dance style and i can collect money to donated to homeless people in street and i give them a coin or cash to them and they think i am cool and friendly and i have a riches family like Jewish people have and i am not poor rap and i not broken the money down on street yo yo i love to play crazy basketball player like i shooter 3 pointer yo yo i am talent and half court shoot the basket up and blown it down buzz and those black and white people think i am stronger and crazy people in NYC too
The rooster crows at the break of dawn.
I rise to write a poetic song.
A look through the window,
and I hear someone shout!
What brings' you to the Big Apple.
I say, I came,
by the way of the creator.
Then I replied with a night out on the town.
I look and observed all around.
I seen with my eyes',
even though I was deprived of sleep.
As the crowds gather in the streets.
The crowds begin to applaud.
I joined in and started to clapp,
as these talented brothers and sisters,
was chanting their art of rapp.
I continue to stand,
as the crowds' expand.
What a treat
it was watching
these brothers and sisters
break dance.
I observed and learned
knowing someday it'll be my turn
to express a poetic song.
These brothers and sisters
sure can chant the art of rapp,
and not only that by chance.
These talented brothers and sisters,
can perform the art of the break dance.
I look through the window,
at the break of dawn.
A rooster crows,
as I write a poetic song.
I hear someone shout!
What brings' you to the Big Apple.
I said , I came,
by the way of the creator.
Music is more than a passion I enjoy,
It is food to my very soul!
From the time I was a little boy on momma's knee,
It helped me maintain self-control and calmed my nerves.
Music kickstarts several passions inside me.
I love to sing and dance to a groovy melody moving.
R & B makes me wanna indulge in a steamy romance.
Hip-hop makes me wanna grab my girl and dance and kiss!
I can feel the beat, the bass booming from the speakers.
Like an athlete, I can show you some moves you wouldn't believe!
I can salsa, two-step or even break dance!
Music makes me smile and takes me over the rainbow.
My music must be played loud at all times.
The sounds put me in the mood to write some poetry!
Some lyrical content inspires my writing hand.
Music was heaven sent almost like a direct intervention!
I wonder without music where I'd be.
I enjoy ballads and even rock and roll.
But as long as I got a song,
Then it's food to live by....