Long Choreographing Poems
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Written: September 30, 2023
Sponsored by: Silent One Pick a Colour Contest
"There is my body, in it an ocean formed of his glory, all the creation, all the universes, all the galaxies, are lost in it. Rumi"
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In the scenic scope of a sparklingly stained sky.
Brushstrokes by a dulcet master, sky-high
An exhibit of azure splendor, a masterpiece.
Exquisite works of nature, why must you cease?
A cyanic cerulean, cavorting and courageous
Paints a tale that is both untold and tenacious.
Azure colors dance with genuine happiness.
All day long, hearts are captured by sappiness.
Wispy wetness, whitening whisper wreath.
With complete pride, wrap the sheath
Clouds of cotton candy wander nearby.
Adding elegance and grace to a sunny sky
A golden orb, the sun, sends a brilliant light.
Exudes a svelte and diaphanous gaze bright.
A radiance of soft light through the universe.
Fluttering formulaic fascination is fluminous.
Flowers fields in fabulous fonts of Forebay
Akin to a painter's palette, they thrive and sway.
Delicate petals, akin to brushstrokes fine,
Creating a tapestry is so divine.
The ocean waves have a turquoise hue.
Crash upon the shore, in shades of dew.
Symphony of mellifluous vibe, a rhythmic song,
As the creator elixir flows swiftly along,
Seagulls whiz by with wings wassail wide.
Their graceful flight was a sight to abide.
They elapse through the canvas with elegant ease.
Adding zest and zeal to an ephemeral breeze
As the day gyres to dusk, the sky transforms.
Brushstrokes of indigo chart various forms.
Mahogany and navy, fete the felicity of the scene.
Choreographing a fugacious, halcyon, and serene
Furtive stars twinkle, akin to gems so bright,
As the divine fulfills the tableau for the night,
Brushstrokes of cobalt in the glamor sky,
A marvelous feat that yields hearts to sigh.
The splendor of nature's marvels can't be denied.
A canvas filled with hues, so bright and defied
The creator is inconspicuous, yet his aura is felt.
It's clearly blatant in the cyan smudges knelt.
She is nervous say beads of sweat dripping from her brow down to the floor.
She is scared says the worried expression on her glistening face.
Although she has a million butterflies swarming in her stomach, she is confident says the pile on pointe shoes in the corner of her room, all torn and teared like rags.
She is going to be okay says the warm and reassuring face he sends her.
It’s time says the stern and stiff voice of the people that stand before her and her fate.
The performance has begun says the taps of her pointe shoes on the rubbery ground.
She is a ballerina says her gorgeous legs and long feet.
She’s a fighter says her talent.
He is determined says his spirit and strength.
He has worked hard say the years of sacrifice.
He is hiding his nervousness says his face, hiding the feeling of worry and fear by replacing it with a smile as bright as the moon.
She is scared says the anxious face she gives him.
She will be okay says the face of a true fighter on his face.
The time has come says the turning on papers projecting from the tables to the wings where they stand.
The dance begins says the chime of the piano that sings the tunes in a perfect melody.
They are prepared say the hours of painful classes spent in a studio.
They are passionate say the hundreds of programs that spell out their names in big, bold letters.
They are persistant say their piles of rejection letters that landed in their mailboxes one to many times.
They must do this says the days spent choreographing and correcting that led up to this moment.
They are beautiful say the awed faces on the judges.
They are dancers say the perfect movements that shoot back at those tough judges.
The dance has ended says the final tap of the piano keys.
They are exhausted say their gasps for breath.
They made it in say their acceptance letters.
They are dancers.
specified such so as to issue a rhyme,
but proceed as this scribe
doth git linkedin with the cutting crew
yet not the least whirlwind will offset
my b52 Hair style,
or hirsute shellacked beehive type do
no matter from what literary website,
an unsuspecting reader will accidentally
stumble upon a ewe
fo' mystic impression
wilt ache shape about myself
some accurate ledge gin dairy horsesense
about me will ensue,
especially if I sheepishly admitted,
this beastie boy iz a genuine foo
fighter toward this former
stone temple pilot, wildly whizzing,
gurgling in age inappropriate burbling,
dribbling, flickr ring for a goo goo
doll to dare buffer end me, hub bee of piggish,
ham handed, bay kin a poetic slop hoo
might at this juncture succinctly cease reading
prior to putting finishing touches on ma igloo
when the remaining portion of this dippily goofy,
slippery when whet, trippy treacle G.I. Jew
who would, more aptly
coon sitter himself hub
horn hug ken atheist, boot knew
not a whit about Judaism,
nor any other belief paradigm,
yet does get fixated (usually in the loo)
about philosophical ideas,
which yet to be revealed
abstract notion came to me
while enjoying a plateful of moo
goo gai pan, plus other Chinese food
(a favorite cuisine),
now aye will try to new
dill back to the initial pretext
found me drawing blanks
(no not shooting) – ooh
aah, this theme within guttersnipe noggin
more difficult to codify than one whiz
constipated and try'n might damn hard tip poo
anyway, the general premise alighted, and fired
mine gray matter cause a major cerebrum jam up
with sudden crackling star bursts forced
How we love our Global Positioning System for getting us to a place…and back
but what are we to do…when our GPS attacks?
First of all let me come clean…I admit with my GPS…sometimes I like to play
I’ll miss a turn on purpose…just to see what she will say.
After all it is my Global Positioning System…I am the consumer
Only I didn’t know my GPS didn’t have sense of humor.
The first indication I had that of humor she was bereft
was when in the middle of a bridge one day she advised me to ‘Turn Left’
But that was a few years ago…many times since then…together we have driven
However on our latest trip to the mountains I found I have yet to be forgiven.
I programmed in our route…and things seemed to be going smooth…until…
before we knew it instead of heading north we were heading east to Jacksonville.
I imagine before this happened she probably thought I persecuted her
When….for a fraction of a second…as a joke…I may have muted her.
The next thing I knew we had crossed the state in the completely wrong direction
So I apologized, reprogrammed her and waited for her correction.
And she did correct, at least I think she did…we seemed headed the right way
but some of the roads seemed desolate…one was even made of clay….
I finally had to turn her off…but speaking as the consumer…
I now believe my GPS has a mischievous sense of humor
Because it took us 12 hours to finally arrive at our hotel
on this madcap trip she’d been choreographing
and even though she was turned off…
I swear I could heard her laughing.
The sun’s sparkling streaks,
of sangria grace,
descend upon
the malachite verdant valley;
world of pristine mountains,
and evergreen tales of
rainbow hued meadows.
Where medieval castles
are guarded with a fragrant
fortress of blushing flowers,
enveloped in topaz gold beams.
She walks along the
fields of redolent reveries,
where hope sprouts
like the rising moon-
whispering secrets to
the whimsical wind,
in mystical musicality,
whilst butterflies
rest upon her ebony hair,
choreographing a
three dimensional
ballet in ethereal delight,
cradling and mirroring the
dancing spirit in
emerald elegance.
Her chrysalis heart
nurtures their sanctuary
with sanguine serenades,
for she is the queen
of azure wings,
dressed in timeless mists;
her mind is wrapped
in kaleidoscope clouds
draped in pearl crescent dust,
fluttering and twirling with
twinkling stars between
fragile thin veins,
like delicate petals
woven from a tapestry
of thriving dreams.
Yet the sound of
unsung songs drift
along shadowed skies-
of champagne and
rosemary rays,
fleeting like waning colors,
longing to spread floral arms,
to sketch watercolor
paintings from
dandelion desires-
to be heard and seen
beyond the creek of thorns
and thistles,
as peacock feathers soar
amongst petrichor leaves swaying
to the celestial tunes of her life-
amidst raining regrets
a devoted warrior never lets
eclipsed spheres dim
their light upon her sight.
Thanks I would say for the chance to create,
Dreams to elate, and fantasies to stargaze;
Recalling fondly the fun themes of contests
Which frequently I set free on butterfly wings
In gardens of spring on scented ruby winds
Endearing sunrise in dawn’s golden appeal
Having kissed doting night’s blushed reveries.
To verses of ballad I would offer my thanks
For blossoming words in passions of romance
Choreographing dance of nocturnal moths
As love floated freely amid millions of stars
Warbling in rhythms of nightingale’s songs
Cuddling “sensuality” through “poetry and me”
Humming to the tune of “I dreamed a dream”
Saying sincerely: grateful for the memories.
Shedding “one last tear” for “one that got away”
“Poems that paint a picture” I would elevate
Refusing to entertain, “if there was no poetry”;
Contest or not, I must continue my odyssey,
So much yet to see, so much yet to gleam--
Traversing life’s glee, sailing deep blue seas
Climbing high mountains, exploring green valleys
Seeking words that cogitate depth of artistry.
Nostalgic for poetry, life would miss a beat
Echoing a violin strumming dissonance of lyrics--
A disharmonious chorus longing for harmony;
So, neither a new frontier, nor “the last goodbye”
My humble aspirations shall continue to vie
For one more verse of joy, one timeless lullaby.
July 19, 2020
Placed 1st: If this was my last poetry contest poem
Sponsor: Silent One
Prior contest names are in quotation marks
Strange Fruit choreography
speaks to me of seeing
and smelling
this strange evil fruit
of hatred
and bigotry
and fear
and straight white man
perpetual menace.
Choreographing trauma
only infrequently translates words
of DarkHole poems
Rhetoric hoping to carry carrion reek,
shock of evil awe
and dark timeless burdens
Terrifying wonder
as perceived
within this Strange Fruit DarkView
Rather than more interior unvoiced feelings
of profound inhumane disarray,
denial and division,
hate climates
monoculturing supremacy
Of straight white monotheistically judgmental,
capitalist movers and shakers,
commodifiers
and waste disposers
and arms salesmen
prepared to aim at
semi-domesticated talking animals,
defiant live stock,
breeding stock,
bargain basement slave labor
Too smart to be trusted
not to seek reparations
and revenge
Strange Dark Fruit,
the enslaving racist face
frantically encircling
straight white fascism
in full flagrant,
strange southern fruit,
industrially resilient horror.
Strange Fruit Anthropocene,
with polyculturally felt choreography
of ecopolitical
disempowering/unenlightened
monochromatic lack of appropriate appreciation for color,
spectral circling octaves,
and peak experiences of compassionate
bipartisan drama
Cooperative intent,
without so much
Patriarchal-Capitalist
monotheistic
StrangeFruit
xenophobic trauma.
*** Devoted - A Love’s Anatomy ***
(For Jim)
Let me lean into your eyes,
As they — in an instant of our meeting —
First embraced me, inviting, as warm
As your arms. I reach closer to hold
Your sight and its touch, which my wishing
would have last forever.
Let me dance in your story,
Choreographing my early years along by yours.
Let me help uncover your passions
From the layers of living —
The days’ traveling over you.
Let me sing into your meaning, sweetly,
To comfort your worries; and as I harmonize
With the whistling, passing streams of wind,
My sillier self sends smiles to your spirit
Along with blessing prayers to your soul.
Let me dream into your sleeping,
To send away disturbance and disquiet…Perhaps
To lend glimpses of God’s inspired landscapes
Or to see, as we stroll sub-conscious dimensions,
Vast cityscapes, with us pausing to enjoy a cafe.
Let me draw your presence: a portrait in
Contour lines, unwilling to be defined:
A mystery, all angles, all moods — painted
In all colors at last, in a picture’s telling
of many thousands of words.
Let me walk in your forever.
Let me walk along your yearning,
Sharing hope’s helium on a rise
Into your scan of each dusk’s sky ~
To show some claim on the leaving day
like the circling sparrows do..
—————————————————————————————————————-
(c) sally young eslinger 11/29/2022
Thanks be to God
To WiseElders
in whatever age you may be found
headed even further North
and South
as each full year
revolving passes,
Our shared yet wounded WinLose Adolescent
remembers your WinWin childhood dreams
of adult songs and dances outside
together by day
and riding magic cumulus dreams
by FullMoon
EarthSpin watching
starlit romantic
matriarchal wombed WiseElder nights
of wounded bright
WinWin holy nature-spirits,
PositivEnergy delight
in ecopolitical revolutionary Left with Righting
Trust in birdsong Truth
and dipolar bear dancing Beauty.
Now is your time
to remember Earth's warm lit
secular song
with liturgical dancing wombs
and unfolding seeds,
LeftBrain too dominant Wrongs
and RightBrain too passive
LeftWinged songs
and WinWin childhood silent slights.
You were more Right dominant
as a secretly singing
and image choreographing
child.
We were more yin dominant
as if quietly sacred and natural
RNA within DNA mysteries
of newborn ecologically dominant
thriving childhood still searching
for our First WiseElder memory
reincarnating organic healthy-wealth
of singing Yang 4D powers
dancing bilateral YinYin process
reverse WinWin fractal-squaring speed
of co-enlightenment
Bold GREEN dances
through FullMoon lifelines
flying magic matriarchal carpets
backward
through WinWin revolving Time.
Curving, swirling, in moonlit stance, butterflies merrily dance,
Undulating tenor of nocturnal music, beneath stellar expanse,
When celestial orchestra plays, occult notes of galactic tune,
As titillations of love croon, mystical lyrics of melodious moon;
Echoing doting rhythms, twinkling revelry of luminous stars,
In realms magical, scintillating thrones of Venus and Mars,
As longings of soul blossom, spurring reveries of romance,
Where I decode latent missives, glinting your esoteric glance;
Enamored in tones ambrosial, humming riffs of moon song,
Cherishing sweet promise of love, reverberating lifelong,
Exalting fantasies of awe, emanating from ethereal heart,
Edifying ecstasies of morrow, as shadows of bygones depart;
Enlivening themes longed for, in womb of romantic night,
As we embrace paradise of passion, desires ecstatic ignite,
Lauding refulgent beams of moon, glistening fervid space,
When ardent images of grace, memories beloved retrace;
Waltzing in airglow above, thrilling on wings of butterflies,
Attuning to sound of music, resounding in lambent skies,
Choreographing a ballet love, rowing aura of galactic stream,
Enchanting sensuous theme vying shores of utopian dream.