Tag Archives: dance

The Dance


 

The beat,
the beat,
it slipped
it bit
me
Then you
crooked your finger
and
your eyes showed
me that world
Of yours
All red and vibrant
Sex and Kisses
and whispers
And breath play,
decadent back rooms
where I snuck
In every chance I could get.
Now,
here we are.
Close in
while the music
wraps us
Binds us
suddenly
I see the wonderment
of my previous
worlds thought forgotten
Just fall away
Into your
Eyes
And I want to
follow it all
To the root of you
And dance
there
Til the end
Of my days.

 

by Philip Wardlow 2018

Twirling


 

The music in her was at first hard

to hear.

Until I stepped back and

just let her mind and body flee

from me,

Flying.

Her legs then found the floor

as her hips found the rhythm,

gyrating and winding,

the music flowed  towards her before my eyes

injecting  her,

setting up a syncopated resonance

within,

taking me away of what I thought

she was,

to the actual of her,

A wild whirling dervish,

a creature unbound in thought and nature,

Twirling.

A soul singing.

Fighting for a freedom

to just be.

 

 

Philip Wardlow 2017

 

Los Muertos Walk ( and Dance)


muertosA

With a dead eyed sneer and tip of his hat, the corpse

of the man shambled  back,

 to his grave before

morning became

too painfully bright.

A body long dead and done

 with a soul withered at the roots

 should not stray

too far from home.

Ah, but he had heard the horns playing

as the music called to him.

“Come dance, come dance!”

So he had, and delighted in the energy

that lay purchase to his desiccated feet

as he flew and flew

to twirl and twirl a lady or two

as a kaleidoscope of colors robed him

and smothered him from Death’s  view

that  could not find him.

When the last note had ended, Death

finally crooked its bony finger.

So, he crawled back into his grave

and let a small smile come to creep

  knowing he would return when the

band called again…

by Philip Wardlow 2016

 

Chaos also dances


Chaos also dances~

 

Angels may dance on the head of a pin

but no one  has ever told you that their partners

called Chaos are dressed in drab coats

disheveled and dirty with drink in hand, barely

able to stand as they try to keep up with the music.

They fling obscenities to the wind, raucous and rank.

Who invited them to this dance?

Did they come of their own volition or did they

receive in the mail  a nagging invitation,

with promise of delicious Hor D’oeuvres served on

a golden plate to soothe a palate knowing only

seeming hate.

There is only so much room on this floor.

Only so much of  this crowd that this world

can allow.

This pushing, this jostling, as elbows fly.

So, I shall take my drink and withdraw to

the balcony, stepping into the

cool night air.

And toast the moon and the stars, wishing I was

anywhere but here.

 

by Philip Wardlow 2016

 

 

 

Bloody Ballet


 

 

 

Ballet.png

Bloody Ballet~

She pirouettes

adorned in a dress

of black gossamer,

Spinning with blade

in hand to music only

she hears.

Flame red hair sweeps the air,

flinging outward, as

drops of crimson

drip from the tip

to the cold hard floor;

knives held tight by

delicate fingers.

Her hands move with

the intensity of the allegro.

Alive, brisk, and deadly.

The sharpness of her tools

keep up with her demands

of dissection and delving.

The other dancers

fall before her

as if in silent repose.

Arabesque to glissade,

her strong legs coupe

across the floor,

she cuts and cuts and cuts

and does a sourbresaut

like a cat jumping

onto her final partner

in this ensemble of now

only two.

She seeks his heart

as the point punches through.

Death follows

Yet still it beats

as she holds it,

Still it beats

as she takes a bite.

Still it beats

as she rises from

her grand plie.

and takes a bow

to the crowd

from

center stage.

By Philip Wardlow 2013

Bloody Ballet – A Poem


BloodHeart

Bloody Ballet

She pirouettes

adorned in a dress

of black gossamer,

Spinning with blade

in hand to music only

she hears.

Flame red hair sweeps the air,

flinging outward, as

drops of crimson

drip from the tip

to the cold hard floor;

knives held tight by

delicate fingers.

Her hands move with

the intensity of the allegro.

Alive, brisk, and deadly.

The sharpness of her tools

keep up with her demands

of dissection and delving.

The other dancers

fall before her

as if in silent repose.

Arabesque to glissade,

her strong legs coupe

across the floor,

she cuts and cuts and cuts

and does a sourbresaut

like a cat jumping

onto her final partner

in this ensemble of now

only one.

She seeks his heart

as the point punches through.

Death follows

Yet still it beats

as she holds it,

Still it beats

as she takes a bite.

Still it beats

as she rises from

her grand plie

and takes a bow

to the crowd

from

center stage.

By  Philip Wardlow 2013