Short Choreographer Poems
Short Choreographer Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Choreographer by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Choreographer by length and keyword.
Fluorescent signs shout
"Liquor" and "***,"
cardboard boxes
hold the land hostage,
pushers and prostitutes
pirouette
with survival
their only choreographer.
the tent was on fire with enthusiasm
men’s imaginations inflamed by the sexy entertainers
I was incredibly proud of my mother the lead dancer
and her sister, Aunt Liv, the choreographer
Dances with much authentic
Attitude at all times. A
Nice and creative choreographer,
In the making. You are great and,
Esteemed. I want to,
Let you know that you are a,
Loving individual and,
A unique caring princess.
My cool unseen choreographer
I bow and sway to your directions.
O sonorous wind friend of willows
In your moments of frenzy and calm
I like a tree move to your whim -
Plucked like strings under a maestro’s finger
I quiver, become taut again, waiting
To hear you whisper 'dance with me again'.
I am a sucker for musicals
A vexation for I neither sing or dance well.
They are my favorite form of entertainment
Possibly because I also cannot
play the flute, piano, saxophone
or be a conductor or a choreographer
Musicals or uplifting and delightful tome
in spite of my obvious limitations
She Dances
‘ She dances, she glances
Beyond her shoulder
She peers
Looking back
Her beautiful smile
She poses in the mirror.’
She prances, balances
Backward and forward.
She cheers
Steps tip toe.
Her charming dimple !
Simple choreographer.
Pied piper Spider Spidy web poet of Lill
Jabbed by muse Arachne she got dressed to kill
She met her hubby Punisluffer
An web ballet choreographer
In fret and flirt she chomped his heart-a lovechill
Pennants' edges curling up, peeling away from fading walls--
Lions listless, languid, lost ~ Tigers timid, tame, tepid--
Floorboards waxed like glass, nothing strewn, no disarray, no chunks
of petrified food accusing.
The Choreographer of clutter
The Enabler of entropy
The Maestro of mountainous messes
The Fife and Drumbeat of detritus
has moved on
She was imaginative, artistic and clever.
An inspired visionary who never said never.
A poet, dancer, singer, choreographer, artist too.
Bright, personable and ingenious, my sister Sue.
We knew with these talents she would go far.
But she fell in love with a controlling ass named Jar.
Jar told her how high to jump, how to climb the stairs and such.
Her life was simple and joyless after that; we did not see her much.
The bald mannequin, stands
undraped, without genitalia
moving the lips.
The choreographer walks in
caressing the knobs
to open the invisible door.
There would be knife between the teeth
and dance in the flames
to lift up the veil,
to kill the sorrow and pain.
A spill from the eyes becomes
red. The whispers
will decide the prices.
Glass case will never be empty.
Sweet show will continue.
SATISH VERMA
Form:
In this moment, the present here and now
Close to you in my hour of prayer
Oh! how I feel the flowing of power
In the here and now, thank you for care
Your glorious care, power, love, Father
You are gentle spirit everywhere
You are the great loving choreographer
Of lives working everything for good
The greatest spirit that is our coacher
Thank you loving Father for Son who stood
In my stead, bled and was nailed on my wood
Today is a fresh start
Does not matter what happened up until now
We can have a redo
Do not look back.
This is not a do-over or a rewind.
Today is a new beginning
We can write a new chapter
Paint a mural
Choreographer a new dance.
An opportunity to revitalize yourself.
Today is a gift
God has given to us
It is the first time
And the last time
We will ever see this day
Enjoy it to the utmost – play, sing, laugh, twirl with joy!
Lets Minichu On Dreams Poetry Contest
11/11/23 Mohan Chutani
Dance, dance, dance little girl!
A dancer, a choreographer were my dreams.
I twirled, whirled.
Married too young.
Worked, worked and worked, down were my dreams.
They flung.
Dance, swing
in my bloodstream.
Zing!
Dance, dance, dance little girl!
Worked, worked and worked, down were my dreams.
Zing!
What are we but dancers of the cosmic order,
Obliged to dance our life away,
To dance our death away?
Few steps we may learn at times
As we advance in age
But
We have never enough time
Our dancing to improve,
Let alone to perfect it.
For
The choreography is infinite
And we, alas, so temporal
While
The heavens' choreographer is so
Demanding!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
11 July 2017
Our planet spins on its tilted axis
At a speed of around a thousand
Miles per hour,
Whilst also rotating around the sun
At a speed of sixty-seven-thousand
Miles per hour,
Could all of this be controlled by an
Omnipotent power?
We live in a universe that
Is constantly changing,
Creating, destroying
And continually rearranging,
We live in a world that has more
Questions than answers,
Could there be an
Omnipotent choreographer,
And we’re merely the dancers?