Long Pirouetted Poems
Long Pirouetted Poems. Below are the most popular long Pirouetted by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pirouetted poems by poem length and keyword.
Well done, she said.
Smiling her biggest smile.
I have never seen anyone else wear it like that!
There are other ways to wear a skirt?
On a head? Or a shoulder perhaps?
You should buy it! She sang out gleefully.
It looks great! Another stranger told me.
Turn around! The other one said.
I pirouetted, in front of the three-way.
A stranger had asked me to, after all.
It looks great!
It looks darling!
No one has ever worn it that way before.
I look at the skirt….
On my waist.
Wondering what that means.
They do not let me leave without it.
Telling me I have never looked better.
Nothing like shopping at a store
Where the salespeople are on commission.
I will have my mother bring it back in the morning.
A skirt I loathe, but I am such a people-pleaser.
They hip-hip-hooray me as they take my credit card.
And then the blunders of the past merged into serenity. Tranquility
ensued where wild storms had been raging.‘Safe travels’, they whispered
‘now you’re prepared and able to let go.’ The past became a beacon and compass when the ocean parted and gave life to the desert. A lizard danced around a bouquet of flowers. Devil’s Claw and Fairy Duster held hands as they swirled. Pirouetted once awoken from their slumber. Broken dreams reassembled for a new dawn.
aghast no longer he counted his many blessings
bewildering torment had faded into understanding
Charon gifted the Styx to recede for the time being
devils had stated their demonic point and gave way
enthused he rubbed his eyes from the fairy dust
foreclosed void and oblivion and grasped a nettle
ground zero recovered joy from smoldering ashes
he who mastered turmoil and uncomfortable truth
in defiance of hardship alighted from the drought
journeymen carry a flickering flame in their hearts
Kasim gave thanks to depression and disorientation
loosened the straps of straightjacket and shackles
myriads of dead ends gave birth to a fork in the road
navigated the spell of his name ‘controller of anger’
of meaning ‘defender protector gift division and oath’
purveyor of healing in the wilderness of doomed fate
‘Quo vadis’ they shouted ‘Veni Vidi Vici’ he replied
reliving bygone disaster had served malevolent dues
satisfied their purpose and may now rest in peace
transformation is not for fainthearted soulless minds
unveils instead signposts of blessed lessons for fun
vitality sprung upon him and recoiled from delusion
wasted no time once out of the box of tangled demise
xeric confusion ceased to dissatisfy unbearable thirst
yataghan’s lost handle reappeared and he gave thanks
zodiac longing finally offered surrender and firm gratitude
03rd August 2020
Quo Vadis? - Where are you going?
Veni Vidi Vici - I came saw and conquered
a yataghan is a double blade Turkish sword with no handle
I have reviewed my spots and inklings
measuring each.
solidified my moment inside breach
of cosmic tare
said farewell to sanity and all the hosts I fare
given lives I’ve liven for the ghosts
of my regret
and yet
please my dearest give to me, one more cigarette
before the fold
before we’re told there is no final gift.
I cannot shift the moment of our loss
it is the drape we wear within the care and toss
of our own life
we are the one
we alone
must chew the raggedness of every bone and morsel given
hanging thread; banging road
dribbles, snivels, ache and cry,
one day which will dry.
Though we try
to understand the very small or hugely grand
they are but very aspects of our soul
mirrored life of pain and joy for every girl and boy
broken toy, maligned, and we must find
the wealth behind
the gift
Momentary shift and xhit
between the between, with half-stepped, measured blasting;
no pirouetted dancer masking,
ballerinas bursting with confectionary bubble.
troubling us for spare change,
attention in the rubble
paupering our paper cups with cuts of customer’s change
outside our edifice big and strange
cold and rained upon.
c’mon.
cry me a river
stand me out and cut me down and shiver
take your best shot, man
cause here I am
here I am
until I am no longer here.
none could love you more than I
proof escapes my very eye
and with it all of my
unreleased reach
wish the touch of Heaven’s Beach
love of everything and all
with words between us
sharing; while staring at
each unanswered call.
She stood in thrall to the Magyar
As, one hand cupped to a breast,
The other picked careful notes
From the guitar against his chest,
So they made a living figure
Sensuous and statuesque
Yet in in its way
Both comic and grotesque.
His foot tapped the rhythm
As he sang words of passion,
The stroking of his fingers
Near driving her to distraction.
An elegant Corps de Ballet pirouetted,
Here and there across the stage
And the blind percussionist thrashed
A kettle drum in state of frenzied rage.
The watcher watched from his dream
As the spotlight lowered to dim
Then swung slowly around to
Focus its harsh beam on him.
It was almost all too much
For any mortal man to take
So, screaming with despair,
He was rudely thrust awake.
Both woman and Magyar seared
To the very depths of his brain
His heart beating wildly to
Near bursting from the strain.
Images slowly fading
Until no longer there
He slipped back to sleep free
From any trace of his nightmare.
The puppet master eased the strings,
Let his marionettes hang limp and slack
Before packing them away
In their carrier on his back.
It was all a strange happening
In the name and cause of Art
Into which each participant
Unconsciously took his part.
The stage disappeared
The theatre was gone
The World of Abstract Dreams
Slowly shivered and moved on.
To allow no repeat
Of this macabre joke
The mirror resonated wildly
Until, shattering, it broke.
Written: February 22, 2024
__________________________________
I love the gentle rains of spring
falling with felicity as they sing.
A symphony of sweet romance
Clamor to“Come out and dance”
So, I shall join the raindrops there
While pirouetted through the air
As rain rolls and returns, I'll sway
As they perform an aerial ballet
The rain will bear a rhythmic beat
On the pavement squishy and sweet
We shall twirl a tango at nature ball
Whilst the sparkling waters mildly fall
Afterward, when the skies start to clear
And the epic dancing is utterly here
I accompany the newly formed rainbow
Raindrops shifting offer a serenade show
Yet, their call will resound in my ears
As supple showers start to fall as tears
Until then, my emotions will remain
The delight of dancing through the rain
I found a chateau lawn once, teeming with charm
A MAZE it was, growing cluttered yet it had an air
Of much lushness TURNING the space into a hued mantle;
Where PATHS of herbage, bluebells, camellias sashayed
Like a vintage GARDEN set on cobblestone and ivy WALL.
Touches of grass here... firs, and jasmines there bloomed
Like shabby elegance which was never designed--
On the aisle, a SINUOUS bend led me to a wishing well
Creating a playful mood for birdsongs' rhythmic trills,
While dragonflies wheeled in pirouetted flight
That I, LOST in this finery recalled springtime glee
When my cousins' roguish play of hide-and-seek,
Mirrored their frolic, TWISTING reeling among weeds:
O reminisces gushed of colored florets TRAPPED
Within their scratched arms made me dream again,
About a youth's lawn which held me enthralled...
This wondrous PUZZLE of discovery I now keep, on my mind!
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Maze--19 Word Challenge Contest
Sponsored by Dear Heart
6/28/2020
I have been here, I’ve been there,
over yonder up and down.
Been back home and been long gone,
been nowhere but been around.
I’ve traveled for a far piece,
just a hop, skip and a jump.
I climbed clear up to the top,
hit rock bottom with a thump.
I’ve journeyed and I’ve traversed,
arrived here and went that way.
Headed out, trekked, and jetted,
fixin’ to go there someday.
Went when the Spirit moved me,
only if the creek don’t rise.
I’ll head out your way sometime,
if I make it be surprised.
I’ve voyaged, gadded about,
tramped, stomped, and drifted around.
Been where the sun did not shine,
just the other side of town.
I’ve flown over the rainbow,
the other side of the track.
I’ve crossed against the traffic,
walked away and not looked back.
Always marched to my own drum,
I’ve strolled down the avenue.
Danced, pranced, and pirouetted,
I’ve had nothing left to lose.
Where I’m bound, where I’m going,
don’t ask me ‘cause I can’t tell.
Some say I’m bound for Heaven,
others swear it’s straight to Hell.
Written: August 14, 2025, for Contest Sponsored by: Anoucheka Gangabissoon
*******
I writhed in the womb of a necrotic hush,
a stygian silence where barghests lurk—
My slack-jawed soul, sodden with oblivion lull,
clanged against the obelisk of despair.
The wound, a molten mouth of aurora,
sizzled with sacred suction—
a fipple of fire, ineffable and fecund,
where pestilence pirouetted with puissance.
I danced—yes, I danced—
in the desiccation of my demise,
a gavotte of soulfulness,
My blood is a rubicund aria of rapture.
Alabaster bones bore the torque of truth,
Each fracture is a triptych of ephemera and flame.
I was a poltergeist of my former self,
grappling through the noosphere multivocal maze.
The stench of bygone hexes clung to lava rock,
But I, stalwart and sinewed with mettle.
careened past the clamor of puerile pabulum,
past the gossamer glamor of grief.
I was broken—yes—
but bold enough to resuscitate,
to regale the necromancy of my rebirth,
to supplant sorrow with the sacred sizzle of self.
Now I stand, an empyrean echo,
a veridical vestige of velvet versatility—
my heart, a burnished niche of noble hope,
My spirit resembles a smooth, celestial sunset.
Let the world scrutinize my scars,
They are not grotesque—they are garrulous.
They speak in tongues of alchemy and amaranthine ache,
a quixotic quiddity, a quintessence of comeback.
Holidays with my grandparents … I’ve such precious memories
My grandpa was so passionate about Mother Nature
As soon as I walked through the door he’d say
“Come on lad, grab your rod – we’re off fishing”
We’d walk together side by side to the azure blue lake
Grandpa would suddenly stop and show me dragonflies dancing
They pirouetted like ballet dancers gliding across the water
We’d stand on the bank and he taught me how to cast my rod
I’d get so excited when I caught a slippery silver fish
We’d weigh it, then release the fish back into the water
I spent many happy days with my grandparents
One summer I helped grandpa create a pond in the back garden
Such pretty pink water lilies, goldfish glinting in the deep water
I can still see it in my minds eye
My grandma was a wonderful cook and loved baking
I can still smell the aroma of freshly made gingerbread
We’d burst into the kitchen when we heard the kettle whistling
Then sit together with cups of sweet tea and a slice of cake
Many years have passed
Sadly my grandparents are no longer with us
Now I sit with my own grandson and teach him how to fish
My grandparents taught me so much …
I miss them both so dearly
FICTION POEM
Kettle, Pond, lake Contest
Sponsored by Nayda Ivette Negron
Submitted to my favourite poem in February Contest
Sponsored by Laura Loo
2/09/18
She walked along the narrow path.
Along the side of the lonely stream.
Her golden hair was wet
and stuck haphazardly to her face.
That face that was so tanned
fruit of summer swimming
in the lake nearby.
Her hands were cupped,
one over the other.
It's a present for you, said she.
I wondered what she hid.
She smiled and pirouetted
lively on the wet, dewy grass.
She made as if to turn back,
then stuck out her tongue.
Get your present, she taunted.
I was slightly irritated
but decided to comply.
Slowly, she pleaded
and opened her hand.
Out jumped a small green frog
and sprang into the stream.
She laughed, a melody of joy.
And I? I felt I was
In a whirlwind of mad emotions.
Was I like the frog?
Was I a prisoner of her love?
Only to escape when she let go?
How childish she was!
I looked deep in her green eyes,
So full of innocent joy.
I smiled, then kissed her deep;
Then, hand in hand
we turned back home.