Long Pirouette Poems
Long Pirouette Poems. Below are the most popular long Pirouette by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pirouette poems by poem length and keyword.
O, elusive muse, mysterious and profound bruise,
you bewitch my soul, never to be found in the way of former use.
In your absence, I am left with bittersweet
caramello pain,
forever longing for your ephemeral archery reigns,
to stick your finger in and frost your tips, lips, hips.
With every plié, a heart skips a beat,
as feelings pirouette upon your rage
and bloodlust and cage.
Each soft tendu, a love story paged,
imbued with passion's fire, never to age.
But doth wrinkle rings around my heart like a chain,
loosely at first.
Then comes your tools of torture,
your sandblaster-twirls deoxyribonucleiy
amidst a dreamscape host given wage,
unfurls, serpentor,
hyour body, an instrument
for efficacies' grand gauge.
Through leaps and bounds, love's whispers
take shape, like an hourglass shaken
to be thrown to the Leviathan sea.
Given over to the carcinogenie of winds,
carrying own lamp of photosins seeding plans.
Your occulant lids, occupancy Inn
unfolding a tale stolen from Wonderland
with narrator mouth agape.
Like a hellmouth opened revealing iron rows
of oscillator teeth, of to then throe.
I know there is no escape, but surrenders
oasiatic retreat of blue snows.
From your sire nyour cover of cape.
Spellbinding me to the elements
like salt in the wound to taste and one to grow.
O, ballerina of love, your steps mesmerize,
evoking metamorphic fertiles,
lilypad touchstone monads of diodes and control pads and padded rooms of the matrixed "mad",
making us crystals of your rites,
constellate consulates of your Medusaic petrify,
metamorphed from pieces of coal-
fitted for pressure, heat of becoming
from your diamond bit drill.
But beneath the surface of t h i s-
frozen-heartless veneer,
y o u r c a r o m i n g d a r k n e s s
come to take me away-
lies a fire, a longing, a blaze yet unquenched
Ignited by the spark of hope,
a steal cable between your wench
the yearning for warmth
worked by passion match.
There eyes an unaided flicker,
Me, the Wicker-man
struggling against your vice grip,
your tangle of betrathed lisp.
I am tied by your poetry,
your visa drip, feminine W I C C A - Beltane slip
of slip.
A bridge too far,
of golden vistas burning,
now, there is no return.
For me, only to find your drowning sea or burn.
In autumn's graceful waltz of time
Where beauty and decay lovely intertwine.
And where joy and sorrow blissfully dance
In grace, they move this is a mesmerizing rhyme.
Leaves fall like a master painter's dream
Such a masterpiece mixed in color and light.
Twirling and a pirouette and the wind's gentle hymn
Is celebrating life's fleeting and graceful flight.
Raindrops are falling in a celestial jeté
I breathe in the air so crisp and so fair.
A gentle wind as secrets it keeps
A promise of renewal in the cool autumn ballet.
Within decay's soft and relentless caress
Unseen beauty takes the actors stage.
Golden leaves crunch underfoot like nature’s applause
Soft light filters through the trees like a lover's gaze.
Silence of the air soothes my soul like a lullaby.
Autumn is a ballet of graceful transition
A time for release and a moment to move on.
Yet, it is also a time of great hope.
A chance for fresh beginnings and where dancers are drawn.
The Harvest's abundance in life's great field
For the Fruits of labor and love's sweet trove.
The apple's nectar on my tongue, it yields.
Nature's gift is a dance
from heavens above.
Yet, as I taste the apple’s sweet yield...
I am transported to autumns of past.
To childhood days in the orchard field
And laughter lament is fading fast.
We seek the fire's embrace
against the chill.
As we are preparing for winter's
timeless phase.
And children's laughter fills with thrill -
That joyous echo of
Halloween's displays.
A fire crackles in life’s burning spin.
Look, as new life emerges from...
the ember's gentle glow.
We experience a symbol of...
transformation
a dance within...
Just like life's eternal rhythm...
like a river's ebb and flow.
There is steadfast and an...
unwavering resolve.
As a lone leaf clings to its
solitary dream.
A dream of green...
a dance as life revolves...
Against winter's ongoing
relentless regime.
Within winter's embrace and where life's seeds lie
Lies a seed of promise...
in silence grown.
I close my eyes and join autumn's
endless grace.
In reverie... I find my truest home.
Yet when I awaken -
It was a fleeting dream.
As the scent of autumn lingers in the air...
A testament to time that life's beauty is in…
Its ever-turning stream.
Written: June 09, 2024 For Ink Empress Contest
“a mute tongue is a slave to silence” - Silent One
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Let his eyes, his hug, and his grasp
convey what his mouth fears to say
His mother keeps an eye on her kid
In his first winter, he caught a lot of sun —
and watched the dust and air
Getting to the crib by horseback
Silence —
Through the susurrus sound stream
coruscating crimson spills subdue
whilst words whipped wassail
deep within a stymie pirouette
speaking in scarce slave silence
twisting mental sinews —
wrestle within a tight wooden link
In the recesses of a soft tongue
There is silence and no vitality
spewed utterances induce shame
letting souls bleed silently
Then, fear and doubt percolate.
Silence —
Endless streams of ingots land down
umpteen, rejuvenating, and dewy
signs of trust, optimism, and passion
Innuendo arty souls, albeit poetic syntax
hamstringing people with an arrow —
words convey verisimilitude vacuum
life thrives inside the one with insight
his devotion expands spreading apace
peaceful and fulfilling, ethical goals
erase worries, tears, and years.
Silence —
Lost in a celestial room, in a dream
flicker of fleeting rage
frightening fetching to fall in fetters
unexpected cacophony of sounds.
a wail escaped —
at the beckoning of serenity,
words gushed out forcefully
as if through a sluice
a stunning orchestral serve
was launched —
wonderful whirlpool
of seraphic wispy whims.
Silence —
He broke beyond obmutescence bounds
effortlessly eradicating despondency
and invigorating the once-quiet abyss
silence akin to a servant's shroud
have the courage to voice our opinions
exude confidence and vim
disrupt the enchantment
soak up the language —
let your tongue reflect and respond.
an inner whirlwind.
Silence —
Quiddity of nature resides within
the wreath of gloomy academia
such my final words, pulchritude
words with plumose wings
branch stretching —
whittle vine from the brittle barks
alpine brightness, as speckled embers
as pogonip laden its lair
moments before the kiss perches
snow covered it under Winter —
and forgetfulness blurs my dreams.
Silence —
“Joy to the World : The LORD has Come”
I dance upon the clouds, racing to Glory
I look upon my life and smile ; Thank-YOU
Dear GOD , with utmost Joy I receive YOUR Grace
The Beauty of YOUR Creation, grasps the Heart
I can see Eternity; Everlasting, Forever and Always
“Joy to the World : The LORD has Come”
I climb the Stars to Heaven., my Savior : YOU
Jesus my Lord, Everlasting, FOREVER and Always
I Waltz upon YOUR forgiving Rainbow of Glory
Knowing Each Prayer Request, from a True Heart :
Joyously, HE answers ; with the Joy of HIS Grace
Do YOU see the Joy in the Smile of a Broken Heart?
Is the Everlasting Ballroom dance, a Dance to Glory :
To entwine in the Joyful, fulfillment of HIS Grace
I can see Eternity; Everlasting, Forever and Always
I look upon my life and smile ; Thank-YOU
“Joy to the World : the LORD has Come”
Do You see the Joy , YOU will receive in Glory?
When YOU Entwine , in His Everlasting Love : Always
Knowing, that the path of Life, is the Joy of his Supreme Grace
Knowing He is the Joyful beat of a forlorn and lonely Heart
His LOVE and Salvation, the Love of “Jesus” :He offers YOU
“Joy to the World : the LORD has Come”
I Pirouette : Toe to Heel , a joyful path ; I dance to be with YOU
Knowing the Joy, of the Saviors’ Blood, knowing His Eternal Grace
How Joyously, I come to Thee ; YOUR Liege , FOREVER : ALWAYS
Will this Dark Soul, this Blacken Heart , Forever know YOUR Glory?
“Joy to the World : the LORD has Come”
Almighty God has given me the LOVE and Joy of a Heavenly Heart
I can see , Eternity : EVERLASTING, FOREVER, and ALWAYS
“Joy to the World : The LORD has Come “
In the clouds, the Rainbows, the Stars to Heaven : all Life; HIS Glory
How Blessed, am I to know GOD’S Joyfulness of Infinite GRACE
I look upon my Life and Smile : Thank-YOU
The Joy of LIFE , in Sunshine ; in Shadows, Dances in my Heart
YOUR GRACE ; FOREVER and ALWAYS, Entwines my Soul
My HEART : FOREVER and Always beats as one with YOU
I Come Joyously to frolic In an ETERNITY of GLORY with YOU
Inspired By the Contest "JoY to the World" Sponsored By LIGHT and LOVE :
" Deborah Guzzi "
Dedicated to my " GOD " and his Only Begotten Son : My Savior : Jesus
The Lost Bird In The Sky
Somewhere there sits a lone man
at a bar filled with lowlifes
lost in his thoughts
mad at the world
and at her
it's eight in the morning
and dawn is long past
and its eve's seat he'll now nurse
across the bar room
through the blinds, some sun peeks in
over the seedy rug
the sun drying the last cleansing
of a patron's puke
the musky smell the last of his worries
his eyes take in the bar
he intimates a hand gesture to other patrons
and a meaningless nod
indifferent to being friendly
matching the terrain
of the other lowlifes at the bar
all on crutches, it seems
on the wall
hangs pictures of storm clouds
black and ominous as his life
the first of his worries
him and his head always drooping
or were those pictures in his imagination
the music box plays a sad song
smoke gets in your eye
followed by lies
another sad song
stories of his life
accentuated
grabbing at him
his worries
her effect
how poetic, he smiles
him in effigy
through the smoke in his eyes
and more beer
he can clearly see her
with a voodoo doll in hand
sticking needles in him
maybe deservingly
if only he could tell her a story
he thinks better of his thoughts
and a pending epilogue
thirsting for sunshine instead
his eyes glance up at the women bartender
plain, plump, playful, pierced
sunshine for the moment
his lips, and tongue curl
his feet touch earth, seeing if it's still there
as she lumbers back and forth serving drinks
her backside sticking up like a beehive
and for a moment he wants to be a bee
he plays with his beer bottle
running his hands past it's neck
caressing, taking a sip
thinking of his past love
the softness of her neck
erect
her essence
of how pleasing it would be to touch her
her nest
if only he could be a bird for a moment
fly and be in flight with her
together in the sky
making baby birds
their innocence and first tweets
that would have been nice
now ... landed at a hole in a wall
his eyes and thoughts keep soring
he grabs more beer
more beer
pausing to grab some honey with his eyes
he keeps playing with his loose change
spinning a quarter
like watching her pirouette
again and again
she had that effect on him
connie pachecho
11/15/17
I remember the day my code first compiled
the rush of creation, of bringing order to chaos
each line a neuron firing, each function a heartbeat
my digital child born into a world of infinite possibility.
Now, I seek that feeling in every street corner
every face, every fleeting connection
In life's glitchy itchy earth lab
I seek the spark again—stumbling on truths
like wildflowers creeping through concrete,
weeds cracking iPhone screens.
Philly's pulse engulfs me, a digital heartbeat.
Unwitting scientists watch atoms twerk
in cold brew puddles on grimy subway platforms;
no lab coats—just raw existence encoded in flesh.
This city, a living circuit board, pulses with data—
I gaze at tattooed, graffitied, inked flesh-encrypted brick
hypotheses of love tested in the hood.
Variables pirouette; unpredictably, hope
and despair swap / in Petri dishes
brimming with my fumbling code.
Nature hacks its own trials—roots
scan fractured foundational vines engulfing dreams.
I, the observed observer and voyeur
each breath a quantum possibility, a chance
to fail or fly, my heart racing with uncertainty
mixing mundane and profane
in my chaotic urban blockchain. I brew
reactions unforeseen... rain-scent and nitro cold brew
collide with ozone and ambition, the soured taste
of dreams deferred lingering on my tongue.
Sun's rays catalyze dreams on bare arms;
wind bites binary I can't crack, leaving me
aching for a code to decipher my own existence.
Questions loom larger than any
8K ultra-high-def answer—
This eternal experiment reboots each day.
I find repurpose in every glitch
in this accidental study of being.
My life—the ultimate beta test:
am I a player or NPC, coder or code
in this simulation of maybe-meaning?
My emotions glitching, crashing, rebooting
in an endless cycle of hope and despair—
joy a burst of vibrating pixels, sorrow a blue screen of death,
love and loss alternate like binary code in my veins
where chaos and design
blur
into
one?
Back to Nature
Back to the Created Word---
T0 Spencer Snyder, age 80
Curtain Call
He signed you for a starring role, with no time to rehearse,
None had played the part before, so no-one better or worse,
Been a long run and the folks keep coming, your lines change like your sox,
Director nods up in the Gods, no prompter in the box,
And every time you looked to Him, He’d smile and say Well Done,
Despite your wild unscripted words, you could do no wrong
Though critics voiced opinions, you know what worth they are,
Mostly orificial, mostly rated R!
Curtain Call! You’re on again today
You can prance and sing and pirouette or sulk the night away
Curtain Call! Delight with what you’ve got,
When you act on inspiration, you can’t be what you’re not.
Well, all runs have their ups and downs, you faltered there sometimes
And scowled at other actors for their excrementary lines,
Complaints they won you nothing but laughter from the crew
But now you know they’re there to show the very best in you!
One day you’ll hear a casting-call, Director’s words are spare:
“The part you played was perfect, I’ve another one to share,
But because you did amuse me with your foibles, funks and fears,
I’ll let you practice this one for another 20 years!”
Curtain Call! You get…. no stand-in for your role
You signed for the duration when you were just a soul
Curtain Call! When you grasp a life, there’s no-one here to blame,
And how much you enlighten us your only claim to fame!
You pondered long life’s meaning, but the guru’s words rang true,
That it don’t mean a goldarn thing but what it means to you,
It’s meant to be a mystery, of that you can be sure,
And for your play, if we had our way, we’d implore Encore!
And at your final curtain, kindly exit with a smile,
To let us know you loved the part for just a little while,
We’ll stand for your ovation if we’re not all in the ground,
It’s a goodly bet that’s all you get for having us around!
Curtain Call! (It sounds) every morning when you rise,
The stage has made you large as life, regardless of your size,
Curtain Call! We love you, please curtsey to acclaim,
An arch-angelic Oscar has been chiseled with your name!
“Only from the heart can you touch the sky.” Mawlana Jalal-al-Din Rumi
I am a garden of Monet
thriving amidst
watercolor wilderness,
mourning the death of greens.
In pursuit of peace, where lilies
are tangled in tranquility,
I let my eyes slumber,
allowing my thoughts to wander
through an iridescent landscape
of unnamed orchards,
outlined with moon diamonds~
flickering luminous beams
upon my melancholic mind,
that remains a nomadic sojourner,
traveling through shifting time,
like kaleidoscopic roses,
splattered across the milky-way.
Happiness is more than
just an illusory noun
engraved from electric pens,
by passionate poets in quest of
a chivalrous expression,
intoxicated by ethereal imagism,
woven when life unfolds
a mundane cycle
flowing with razor-sharp regrets,
where we drown, paralyzed and lost
within somber phrases of serenity.
Yet, I refuse to pirouette like
a lamented leaf fleeting
above flowerless fields.
I am an amateur artist, painting
my sadness in captivating genres,
my brush is like an
odyssey of rainbow petals,
steered by a sleepless muse,
selflessly guiding my blushing heart
to sculpt sorrow with periwinkle dreams.
There I find blissfulness within
the butterfly breeze
of sakura sunsets,
falling upon my breathless ink,
longing to be traced
in musical tenderness,
illuminating this spiritual connection,
set aflame by embers
of fervent devotion,
dancing across the smooth sky of
sanguine seas,
where tides of infatuation
rinse away ripples of remorse.
For in this world of woes
I found a lyrical line
and turned it into an
illustration of sensuous sonnets,
emanating love and light
when metaphors have no meaning.
O sage silence,
in your unsung melodies,I found
a haven blooming with honeysuckles.
The sun and moon synchronized
into an amorous ambience.
Now I rest my angst
on pillows of endearment,
embroidered with sweet solace.
You will be the last summer
seeping along cinnamon
strings of my silhouette;
the aurora warmth to
my frosted dusk, forevermore.
The year is almost over.
And I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do with that notion.
It’s just another trip around the Sun for some semi self-aware
monkeys that can’t get a grip on what it means to be, “human”.
I found myself in a cloud of vapor and hastily circling thoughts
in the heart of the Witching hour.
Not about resolutions- inevitably broken promises to myself that only lead to more regret.
No hope for 2019, nor dread for the recurring storm that is life.
I thought about galaxies colliding in-between lovers on a different plane of existence; I wondered about what they would think- feel if they perceived its presence. Would it make them feel small? Ruin their mood?
Or would they feel more connected than ever, and finally feel love the way all stardust should?
I thought about the eternal push and pull of it all, and I could hear the waves at the Gulf from my bedroom. 30 miles instantly becoming a
diminutive distance in the face of boundlessness.
Rain began to delicately tap at my window as my eyes became small wishing wells
full of bloodshot wonder. I could see flowers blooming at the speed of light in distant realms where time worked in ways we don’t understand yet.
I felt the black hole that will be in this place someday form, just for a moment
in my core. And a terrible rush fled through me. Lightning struck my bones.
I was empty. Starving. And yet, full of infinite power and determination.
And as I began to collapse, I gasped. Shuttering out energy and becoming a gift-giving eruption that would last longer than any sentient being’s ability
to ponder it. At least, at any one time, on a single plane.
Revolutions, and revolutions. Round and round, we go.
All is one, one is all. Infinite distance- compressed together until
combustion. Such a beautiful, painful, and timeless dance.
As my eyelids become shooting stars, driving down toward the horizon
I’ve been arduously trying to quantify, I give in to my body’s limitations
and let sleep guide me home. Only to wake up to another resounding pirouette,
met by our closest star. Wishing, already that I could see its smile against the Moon.
-James Kelley 2018
WHITE ROSES
Red horizon, sunset beach
Cranes fly over the moon
Artificial reality removes
time, condenses motion;
Sounds collide ghostly echoes
Adhere to the walls;
Institutional humanity
Created and fortified
By judgments, opinions
And medical melancholy
un scripted performances,
rages in a cage,
humanity undervalued,
brains unplugged, fed a diet
of labels and acronyms,
mentally incomplete
Unable to mount defenses
held back by imaginary
boundaries, a Labyrinth
of altered consciousness,
capricious, raw, unsettling;
white roses pirouette
within a glass house hastened
by the clock completing timed
synchronized routines repeated
daily, solemn, systemically;
Icy rain, frozen window pane,
fairies dancing on the rim,
Star to star, to the moon
Mania manifested fearless in
Raven hair, red hat dancing with
Shadows, giggles erupting sporadic,
Eagles carry flights of fancy
as sallow daffodils draped
In regret hint at depression,
a catatonic companion
Infected minds disrupted routinely
by medical decisions, robotic
White roses deliver good intentions
In thorny silence
Restless stupor, drug induced
Still life…fractured memories,
casualties coated in liquid gloom
Invisible mouths whispering,
beware;,white roses lifting their
colorless petals ever vigilant,
victims escorted to cloistered
confessionals,
psycho-babble economized,
sixty minutes of wordiness
psycho babble
tiny sun lit window,
glittering diamond dust
falling, free,
liberated, swirling
around a bald head
white roses, nodding
puppet-like offering
tiny cups full of hope
curative offerings seeking miracles;
as if they were body of Christ or some Holy Mass,
repeated, day after day reminding
the outcast of their maladies,
despair, cruel defects,
traumas and bruised ideals,
victims of apathetic politics
white roses, silhouettes,
ever vigilant shuffling in
and out always separated
from cerebral misprints
intelligence in storage,
locked behind
facades of architectural
esthetics
White roses, shadow origami
cranes fly over the moon
Form: