Long Pivots Poems
Long Pivots Poems. Below are the most popular long Pivots by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pivots poems by poem length and keyword.
Spin spin, turn turn,
Hold her close, hold her firm,
Then Streamline away,
And Side Step and Sway.
Feelin' the rhythm,
Music's for livin',
Keep to the beat,
Moves that repeat.
Between pairs it's fair,
To copy Ginger 'n Astaire,
If your partner can release,
She'll look like Charisse.
You gotta dance in special shoes,
So they'll know you paid your dues,
When a song's in your heart,
Your performance should start.
Always put beauty on display,
Leading in Form the proper way,
Hitch Kick and Hesitation,
Showing off, no reservation.
Gliding on ice 'cross the floor,
Passing Twinkles, so much more,
Spirals and Pivots, all you can do,
Stay to the Count the whole way through.
Now you know the secret of dance,
The lady looks good, nothing's to chance,
Affectionate sharing is what you do,
Together in life, for both of you.
“There’s a special providence in the fall of a sparrow.” Shakespeare in Hamlet
**************************************************************
Augury
As the shine of the sun sets down
In the far away horizon
In villages as in the towns
And dusk stealthily makes its dawn,
The sky awhile pivots to pink
While clouds wafted by woeful winds
Seem in the firmament to blink
Racing across the sky with spleen.
Does the pink sky augur a storm,
Tempest, typhoon or tornado
That may buildings and trees deform
Without a tinkle of ado!
Does it herald devastation
Of fauna and flora on land,
Of harvest and cultivation
And rocking of boats on the sand!
Nature seems to have its own way
To admonish human beings
To hold their boats firmly at bay
And arouse their inner feelings
To keep those near and dear to them
In safety and security
Until the end of the mayhem
Heralded by the augury.
To scoff inklings of such omens
Is to invite spates of worries
From the clutches of a demon,
Let one`s ship sink in the deep sea,
Allow storms to set one`s house flat,
Disregard clues from the divine,
Let the wild winds whip off one`s hat
And snub signals from the sublime.
Curved white, feathered neck, poised just right;
Half bird, half body, unfolds into bright light.
The face stays frozen, choosing not to show;
For the feathers alone, decide where eyes must go.
She glides and struts, poised with such fanfare,
Her garments become feathers to float on the air.
Her fine body vanquished, to shun any stare,
For she is merely the elegance, her garments wear.
She pauses, pivots, swings round, so debonair.
Her shoulder tilts, her wrist juts with flair.
Each measured turn commands its own grand grace.
As feathers swirl outward, to claim more space.
The white swans depart the catwalk in style,
Their black beaks can't even fashion a smile.
For that's the game— be serene, silent and proud—
Leaving only feathers to flit in the crowd.
Image by: Kimberlee Baxter
The nonpareil of a a violin plays late into a golden era
its "An Autumnal Farewell, by Debussy"
With magnificent beauty in dazzling colors of dying
she spindles and pivots in outer space flaring her
senescent brittle frills into thin air *
Unmasking after a long summer dream she drops from a tree
prepared for the deep mulch, free falling
she is beckoned to the ground without making a sound
Transcending a seasonal time she lives within my memory
this little leaf that clung to my childhood sapling;
Oh I remember many many things, but what I recall the most
is the way she trembled, just before the big fall.
Written by: Mystic Rose
Argentina's son, a lineage to immigrants
shaped by boyhood aspirations
diminutive left foot striker
taunted "dwarf" in childhood
his growth hormone deficiency
overcome through meds and workouts
a counter to foes physically imposing
Messi's daily slog of skills
agility and balance
slow grind of mastery to mesh the skills to speed
on the football field, Messi dribbles through opponents
pivots round defenders, takes an opposite direction
accelerates
de-accelerates
takes stock of field positions
awareness like a lordly hawk that calculates its prey
a kick triggered whittles through the air
the ball's stinging centre,
flight controlled
at a goal keeper spiralling to the ground
this FIFA World Cup champion
devout in faith
celebrates goals by a gaze upward
a pointed hand to the heavens
another field of his embracing
790 - Messi's career goals for Barcelona clubs and
Argentinean glory
football awards that roll on like credits on a movie screen
on field moves that burrow into memory
through the entanglement of limbs
Messi's footwork, like a dancer's gift
his sprints to fill the field with unheeding power
midst the bulging roar of fans
a homage to glorify the footballer
before he fades
to legend
Poem written January 4, 2023
8th grade algebra class
Hyper chit chat from black-caped Louis
And his stringy long-haired buddy Richard
In the hallways before class they slap
The bare back necks of unsuspecting classmates
Stamping foreheads
Making the nuck nuck and whoop whoop of Larry Moe and Curly
That’s what they were re-enacting
With knees slipped under their tiny desks
As Mr. B has his back turned
Scratching formulas from his nails on the blackboard
When he pivots like a pitcher to boos
Lifts his toes to first base and baseball throws
The felt eraser full of all his mis-calculations
A lifetime of rage
Poof powder
Waffle imprint on Richard’s cheek
A cloud of chalk blonds his hair
Beards his performance grin
Richard has a look like when he’s seen his dad
Come home again and again and again
After happy hour
Leaps to his bedroom door
Holding the side of his face
“You can’t do that! You can’t do that!”
Out he disappears
Mr. B clasps his hands and fixes his face to his family
“Now for quiet.”
And we don’t dare say anything.
A polished skeleton gleams in the porch light,
meshing gears rattle silver bones.
He slides tubes under his legs,
pivots on a straining fulcrum,
knee’s unlocking a juddering thrust.
He rides by night
pondering a nocturnal test flight.
Lights flicker as wheels turn.
Head bent, he powers downhill,
lamps sucking energy
through metallic stems.
Stringy tendons
knotted to angular levers,
then uphill,
dynamo stuttering, counter-assaults
of implacable darkness.
The dim road
saps,
but he will not stop.
He imagines he has a blueprint
for a flying bike.
He believes that a drawing
can be bolted together by thought.
He imagines an alloy so light
it can be lifted intact
from the page — be airborne.
The boy turns for home,
there is work to be done,
wings to be hammered together
on paper anvils.
A polished metal skeleton
gleams under a porch light.
He slides a silver tube
beneath skinny legs,
pivots on a straining fulcrum,
meshing gears rattle,
knees unlock.
He rides by night.
A dynamo flickers
as head bent,
he powers up hill and down.
He will not stop
until he gets to her parents’ home.
He arrives panting,
one window is still lit,
he imagines it’s her window.
He feels the gut hollowing sorrow
of young unrequited love.
At school
she barely acknowledges him.
When he has caught his breath
he turns the bike around
and rides back into the dim
lamplit streets.
The night rider cycles on.
He will ride again
until his bike is stolen.
*Image of Discover by Pixabay.
A Time For Us, Again
Traipsing sunbeams pivots slothfully to moon gleams,
steeped profound shadows to vivid flirtatious shades,
albeit, daylight or twilight, a time for us exists always,
feelings of our yesterdays, nothing begin tomorrows,
views from each other draped in unforgettable smiles,
chats slip to small talks, idle steps drifts to wandering,
tad forward bit behind till side-by-side our hands held,
tight grips grin senses, embrace progress the moment,
heads tilt lips touch the fullness of each other's breath,
taste the sweetness of the other's soul, now be it blink,
wink or reopened eyes is blissfully kept locked away in,
hearts tender beat occasions itself time and time again.
2020 August 16
*1st Place*
A Time For Us
~~JCB Burl: Judged 2020 August 27
Title: "Alone (The Diss)"
Yo, you’re just a ghost in this love song, no cost—
Starving for attention like a broke man at a loss,
You’re texting like a siren, but your signals are lost—
I’m the storm, you’re the flicker, you’ll never hold me, kid.
Your “slow night” is a joke, I’m out here resettin’,
Sippin’ on success while you’re still overspending—
You’re a whisper behind a door, I’m the kick-in’ it—
“Get to know you”? Nah, I’d rather just quit it.
(Hook: Pop Swagger)
How do you get me alone?
You’re the ghost, I’m the throne—
Pop the tag, but I own this zone,
You’re the night, I’m the dawn…
You’re a landline, dead line, stuck in the past—
I’m the Wi-Fi, the future, you’re just a crash.
Your love’s a bad mixtape, I’m the platinum press—
Now beg for a feature? Girl, that’s a waste.
(Hook: Pop Swagger)
How do you get me alone?
You’re the ghost, I’m the throne—
Pop the tag, but I own this zone,
You’re the night, I’m the dawn…
[Outro Zinger]
Now check your texts—still no ring, no reply—
Guess you’ll rot in your “alone,” kid. I’m gone.
Style Notes: Combines Mac Miller’s smooth wit with battle rap ferocity, using tech metaphors and flipped hooks for that "All Year" pop swagger. The diss pivots from pity to power, turning vulnerability into a punchline.