Dancing

The Challenge

Write a poem of any style, 10-25 lines about dancing. Open your mind, your feelings, bring that slice of soul and tell it like it is. Be it couples, single dancing, tribal dancing, ballroom dancing, romantic or silly. Some of you may like the idea of dancing as a metaphor. Post as often as you like.

Today is Tuesday, the challenge will last until Sunday midnight, your local time. Last one in, starts the next challenge.





Additionally, if you are new to this challenge series, please visit the previous two installments. Of course, anyone can jump right in at any point.

First, by the esteemed HarryHill (who started all this): Wheel Of The Year

http://forum.literotica.com/showthread.php?t=1488624

Secondly, by the amazing Cascadiabound : Gratitude

http://forum.literotica.com/showthread.php?t=1488624

Gavotte and gavotte not

There are those who gavotte
and those who gavotte not.
Sigh, I remain
firmly among the latter
but would gladly trade
my final year of days
to promenade stately
across the floor
or better still
to nail
a fade-away three
winning the game
just before the buzzer.

Great challenge subject and a epigrammatic first entry.
..
ETA: A little musical inspiration, Leo Sayer
...

Newlyweds


I can't dance; I feel like a metronome
when I do, but i can hold you close
to the sound of Pachelbel's Canon,

stutter a step or two, smell
the scent in your newly shampooed
hair as I nuzzle your Venus rising.

I can't dance; yet our lips will do
their nightly pas de deux whose tongues
interlope in the dark.

I shall not lay you down to sleep
but in my thereafter dream
as I rest in verdant pastures

I shall rise and wend my way
along our well worn path
to find you there on our dune

tan, taut, and naked but
for a single strand of seaweed strewn
around your breast which I remove

before -- shall we call it a dance?
May I have this dance with you?

Dance: 3/4 time

Performance art form, human movement,
categorized endlessly, oh dance for me,
you countless permutations of insane jive.

Synaptic conjunctions, leaping impulses.
The mind writhes, spastic cadence,
can't keep still, stop that twitch,
there's just so much time remaining,
for humanity to strut its stuff;
ain't that a bitch? Boogie 'til the end.

political gyrations, social deviations,
aboriginal lustifacation. Abby Normal;
can I have this dance, Rocky?
A holy host on the head of a pin.

...

The earth glides around the sun.
moon circles while she pirouettes,
andante con moto, regal.

The music becomes tiring after all this time,
the lyrics long staid as I follow along.
Pay a dollar for another dance. Beguine again.

metrical progression, cosmic mechanics,
around we go, body language, semantics,
Do Se Do Once Mo You Hoe.

So, no matter how you sway or shake it,
one day the rhythm will fail,
Terpsichore no more.

Strings of lights wrapped the trees
outlining limbs in the dark garden
bar ware clinking, voices murmuring
punctuated with laughter
the dance of such social events

She shifted uneasily checking the time
All dressed up, tongue tied
eyes flitting across the room
when she saw him watching her

His stare was frank and piercing
searing into her soul.
Heat rose unbidden as she dropped her gaze
retreating to sip the rich red wine.

"Don't you think there should be dancing?"
he was at her elbow now
a smirk on his lips, leaning close to her ear
as he captured the tips of her fingers
as if this were an old movie.

Enchanted by the bold stranger
she nodded in assent
as he twirled her under the twinkling trees
she was suddenly close in his arms

...dancing.

Harry - Dance 3/4 time

Truly a tour de force.

Piscator said:

Harry - Dance 3/4 time

Truly a tour de force.

Click to expand...

..
Thanks, I smiled a lot while I wrote it. Really looking forward to the next challenge from the poets trying to snag the throw down spot.

No matter one's station in life,
the Danse Macabre unites us all.
What we were, you are; what we are, you will be,
your rank won't help you here so why not join
and enjoy the Dance of Death?
All that are weary, throw off the coils of life
the dance awaits, hear it call through the trees
Inviting, inviting the piper plays and calls
enticing now to rise from your bed to join in
The Shaking of the Sheets

Formal Dance
In anapestic tetrameter, like Dr. Seuss

There is never a time I do not want to dance
for the movement is freeing as early romance,
where your love is a girl that you think is too grand
to accept you as partner—just leaves you to stand
by yourself on the wall with your fingers a-twist
till some Betty or Marilyn touches your wrist
and you find that she's swell; quite a dish, anyway,
and you're swept off your feet into bed—castaway
into love that might gel into marriage and so
end the dancing of puberty. Pleasantly, though.

Two Quaking Shakers

(Remix on an earlier poem)

I like women too much, Ebenezer,
but don't you go think I don't believe
Mother Ann Lee's departure presages
The Second Appearing as feminine.
She was, after all, the Holy Spirit
Incarnate, was she not?

Still, Miss Pettibone's a fine piece of work,
who knows how to shake by the way,
when we dance "Come Life, Come Shaker Life,"
though don't you go tell her brother,
glaring as he does at Thaddeus's
cockeyed glances when she moves.

It's bad enough only six of us men
remain and we quibble about the farm
while Sisters Hortense and Emily,
what the world people call menopausal,
remind us every morning
that the livestock need more hay
if they are to see us through winter.

Alas!, last night as the harvest moon rose
through the crescent hole of the privy,
I lost my way to sin, Ebenezer,
with spiders, crickets, and splinters therein,
and a corseted Sarah Pettibone.

May Holy Mother Wisdom forgive me.

they call it the dance...

slide one foot a half-pace forwards
turn your shoulder down, in
pivot on the other heel
wheel abouts, chin-slip beneath
the shadow of his roundhouse
hop
to the side
drive home a dancing sting
twist&bring
your uppercut home
ignore stars circling
from his fist's swing
the ringing in your ears
groove with the red beat
controlled beast that pounds, that sings
the rhythm of your heart against your ribs
skip left-right-left and back again
clench your partner in a tight embrace
race towards the kiss of bells
no mistletoe invited

butters said:

they call it the dance...

slide one foot a half-pace forwards
turn your shoulder in, down
pivot on the other heel
wheel abouts, chin-slip beneath
the shadow of his roundhouse
hop
to the side
drive home a dancing sting
twist&bring
your uppercut home
ignore stars circling
from his fist's swing
the ringing in your ears
groove with the red beat
controlled beast that pounds, that sings
the rhythm of your heart against your ribs
skip left-right-left and back again
clench your partner in a tight embrace
race towards the kiss of bells
no mistletoe invited

Click to expand...

Why did this put me smack bang in the middle of a bar fight?

The kiss of bells, made me envision a good ole fashion Liver-pool kiss

The clench your partner in a tight embrace, was for me a two handed hold on a partners shirt front followed by a massive head-but to the nose,

Actually eerily similar to a fight I was involved in....

Also you stole my thunder so now imma have to come up with something else

Music courses through my veins
Filling my soul and lifting me up.
My arms stretch and reach.
Fingers caress the stars and moon
The sun and wind and sea.
I feel weightless and free.
My toes seeking the beat.
Leg muscles taut, then relaxed.
I am the rag doll and the robot.
All at once, and more.
Garments flowing and swirling
Like the blaze of colors in my mind.
Sadness and rapture, colliding,
Sifting, sorting and crashing yet again.
I am one with the universe!

todski28 said:

Why did this put me smack bang in the middle of a bar fight?

The kiss of bells, made me envision a good ole fashion Liver-pool kiss

The clench your partner in a tight embrace, was for me a two handed hold on a partners shirt front followed by a massive head-but to the nose,

Actually eerily similar to a fight I was involved in....

Also you stole my thunder so now imma have to come up with something else

Click to expand...

i was going more for the boxing ring but i kinda prefer your pov

anyways, you do fight-stuff way better than i, having the authenticity to write them. look forward to reading your piece harry's was a corker, n'est ce pas?

The crazy arm swings enjoyed at parties as we YMCA,
Macarena and Cha Cha Slide across the floor,
all scrambling to our feet for a Time Warp.
It's the pelvic thruuust that drives you insa-aa-aa-aane!
Later to fall into your arms, still giggling,
then concentrating as you waltzed me round the floor .
Ah yes I remember how we loved to dance,
so shakily I rise from my wheelchair
and once again, though much slower now,
you once again take me in your arms , slowly,
slowly, to hold me close and lead me in a waltz.

On a Summer's Day


She dances on the shoreline
In and out of the rolling surf
A steady breeze across the water
Tosses her honey brown hair

Humming a tune in her kitchen
Preparing a lunch and a dream
Of his dancing strong fingers
Playing lightly against her skin

She smiles with her waltz
Before the floor length mirror
Trying this dress, oh, and that
With which shoes, and what jewels

Candlelight dinner and soft music
His warm, large hand holds hers
With lights dancing in their eyes
Another kiss on this evening's plate

She slowly twirls with her laughter
His guiding hand sure and sweet
Her dress flows with the breeze
Their tight embrace is forever

That last dance beneath the sheets
Warm, sated, flush with emotion
On a perfect day with her hearts desire
Drifting asleep clasped in his arms

Step, two, three...

You hold me close
too tight at times
hand clenching mine
your eyes my guide
we navigate the floor

Tension underneath my fingertips
the strength of your frame
moves us along
negotiating my resistance to your lead

There is art to trust
beyond basic steps more easily learned
uncovered in each sway, in every twirl
you steady me
I fear less where we're going
and just dance




I know I haven't been here in a while, and I don't do this often anymore, but this challenge caught my eye and sparked something. Please, please, someone post after me.

^^nice to see you posting, lyrical!





with her long blonde hair

sat on carpet, back-to-wall,
he sips cold beer from a slim, wet bottle

lights are low
and in a room of black and lace
that scarlett dress?
a lightning bolt

and he's hypnotised
as the girl with closed eyes
gently parts her lips
becomes
living conduit to the music

hair ripples
fingers accent each note
each nuance
translates into motion

her hips
scant inches from his eyes
root him to the spot

track ends
record stops
he blinks
exhales
it's hot

Away from the other frenetic dancers
she sways and swirls to her own beat.
Eyes half closed she sees no others,
In the darkened corner this is her moment ,
remembering perhaps a lost lover
who once held her, but maybe she needs
no other, just listening to the music
of her soul, with her heart beating time
as her feet follow their own rhythm,
caught in the moment, with a secret smile.

Josie’s a December Bride, Daddy

Josie’s a December Bride, Daddy,
she whispered as the band began,
and she danced her first dance with Mickey
while a spotlight fell on an empty seat
at The Spuyten Duyvil Ballroom East.

Later at midnight after the bliss
Micky says, "glad we got hitched
up in the Bronx instead of Queens.
Tomorrow it's Vegas, Baby,"

while Josie sails off in figure skates
with Winken, Blinken, and Nod
to an inlet off the Spuyten Duyvil
where a '68 Chevy illuminates
Daddy lacing his hockey skates
to dance with his sugar plum fairy.

non entry by more than doubling the line limit

I was born to dance like this
torn from the womb
hands balled tight

I have been told I was
near silent assessing
weighing the merits of those that
pulled me from the vestiges
of weightless dreaming
where I was sheltered from the world

Grew quick into defiance
dancing with my own truths
and those being dictated

was the but of a joke
and all hell broke lose
spinning like a dervish
oh I wasn't so pretty back then
just a ball of violence and strength
lashing out reveling in
the contortions of limbs
Trying to gauge an understanding of the impact of
my own rage
like a freestylist assessing what moves the body can make
trying to find a personal rhythm
a cadence beyond the conformity

I was ostracized
persecuted
because I wouldn't float
and twirl
wouldn't bend to the music
the way I was told I should
was lambasted
for not being en-point
My pirrouttes more hooked
staggered and off kilter

Then it all came crashing in....

The smell of old leather
sweat and blood
tears were used to mop the floor
and the amount of pain you could endure
was the measuring stick to success

And it clicked
left, left, right
my feet gliding
I guess I know how Fred Astaire felt
floating, full of grace
sliding, head moving to that rhythm
one that punctuates existance
the subtle hum of violence
swung out in truth

Deeper than that though is the call
to discipline
tap, tap, tap
pow
tap, tap, tap
Pow

agony as arms won't move anymore
But demanding one more,
one more
tap, tap, tap
Pow

joy found in success
honed instincts
And the grace found in a dance
with the shadows

I've found there is nothing more honest than a fist to the face

Raw, Tod, absolutely raw. It's remarkle how your poetic voice has evolved over the years.

Nothing should be contrived IMO, but I hope you find peace in your expression at sometime. In the meantime, I'm a fan.

greenmountaineer said:

Raw, Tod, absolutely raw. It's remarkle how your poetic voice has evolved over the years.

Nothing should be contrived IMO, but I hope you find peace in your expression at sometime. In the meantime, I'm a fan.

Click to expand...

We'll see, this was a live write no editing, just opened the box and wrote whatever happened to want to be written, however the line limit seems to disqualify me from posting the next challenge so I guess,


"Tag, you're it"

As to making peace, do we ever really make peace with our writing and expression? always editing, changing, re-writing, honing, lol

I don't do midnight anymore. However, I'm in the eastern time, so, if a California PF&D colleague finds his or her muse before midnight, have at it and present the theme for next week's poems. Otherwise, write a poem about an outdoor game. It shouldn't be a solitary activity like orienteering. It should suggest something between two people like, oh I don't know, strip poker under a shade tree in the forest during a hot spell, or something like that.