The Child and the Dancer
See the dancing of the child,
I think he's angry out of step and wild.
He finds it hard to see the snail,
The intense wails overshadowed rails.
Winds that are flocking near the lorry?
I think she'd like to eat in the observatory.
He is but a delightful dancer,
He admired as he sits upon a tropic of cancer.
He's exciting a tap dancer is just like a kitten,
He needs no ground, and it runs on whitten.
He's not alone he brings a cheetah,
a pet deer, and lots of rosita.
The deer likes to chase a pebble,
Especially one that's in the gable.
The audience shudders at the active stage box.
He wants to leave, but they want the block.
6/24/20
WRITTEN WORDS BY James Edward Lee Sr. 2020©
Rhyming Couplet
I beheld an altar of sacrifice,
Where selfless offerings are made,
Tears flow like blood,
And ambition is pinned like a dart.
The good mother offers herself,
And seal the blessing upon her children.
A definition of a perfect woman
Whose humility is beyond this earth.
Who is she whose heart is full of care?
A selfless mother whose sacrifice can't be requited;
The Heart beat of her children,
That displeases herself to please others.
If every woman could be like her,
The world would be a better place.
Indeed, She is a goddess
That deserves the praise of an empress.
Dedicated to Mrs Rosita Nkuiru Ukaegbu
Dance of the Firebird
Rosita, sultry enchantress,
dazzling Andalusian firebird,
erotically she twirls, proud
like a phoenix flashing across the sky.
Flared ruffled skirt swirls,
in hues of red, orange, and gold,
like a sunset in the throes of Autumn.
Her olive skin glistens with sweat,
as she chases away her demons with
handclapping and a pair of castanets.
Beautiful dancer lost in her dreams,
she’s an exotic flamenco queen.
With campfires reflected on her face,
finger snapping, her tempo heats up,
and she’s afire with passion and grace.
In an essence of exuberance,
she’s possessed in a trance,
swaying like a summer breeze.
She undulates hypnotically like a cobra
seducing its unsuspecting prey.
In a stream of her own thoughts,
a gypsy in love with the dance.
Crushing red rose petals she stamps her feet,
to the guitars’ entrancing beat.
Her sinuous body pulsates sensuously
to the music as she dances unabashedly.
But she’s untouchable as the fire god she serves,
baring her soul to none,
for her heart belongs to the dance.
09-23-2017
Contest: Poems that Paint a Picture - 3
Sponsor: Silent One
Placement: 1st
The Voyage
The big seagull sat on the bow of my rowing boat
on my way to Argentina and Rosita,
which I never met she had married guitar player-
had unfriendly eyes ready to peck my eyes out.
I regretted my heroism.
I wanted to go to Argentina because of its pampas
Beautiful horses and also to be famous for the voyage
I was picked up by a merchant ship
it was actually going the wrong way docked in Antwerp
Free beer for the, would be the hero.
I got a job on an old steamer bound for Argentina.
Buenos Aires,
A City with so many beautiful women it took a long
before I got my stead looking for the tree of wisdom.
I found it burning in the night
the Gauchos were feeling cold and set fire to the tree.
What matters is the journey
which is a fine sentence to cover for absolute failure.
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.