The Dance of Life
the sound of wind
whispering through the trees
flows through her heart-
a music to dreamy mind
sets her spirit free
from a world apart
sway with the grass
around and around
through the meadow, among the butterflies
as the last rays of sunlight fade;
mingling hands with her bonnie lass
tapping her toes on the grassy ground
dance till nighttime falls, beneath moonlit skies
the bonnie lass says “mother, i’m no longer afraid”
eyes closed as leaves rustling in the breeze
caresses her grieving heart
gently whispers the life symphony
for there will come the days of ease
twirling through the shattered part;
tears to smiles for her to see.
----
A modification of my original poem 'The Eternal Garden' which was written for my client.
#death #loss #healing #dance
At the Estuary
We've been tapped cold
. . . floored . . .
feet loosed at the
entrance door
... global disco ...
clubbing
on the
diamond crusted
shore
. . .
Our tap shoes
make no sound
in the snows
but we still
tap our toes
. . .
There's a Spring
that's on tap
it's zapped us
in a trance
as we slip
laugh & dance
. . .
We tap out
from the frost
our old soles
once on ice
now on coals
. . .
We've been tapped cold
...floored...
feet loosed at this
entrance door
...global disco...
clubbing
on our
diamond studded
shore
. . .
#DancingAndTappingToes #Challenge
Move to da beat!
With a booming sound..
Everyone gathered round~
Screaming out loud-
What a bizzare crowd!
Other folks tried to sleep,
But the flock of sheep...
Just couldn’t resist..
Nor desist.
It was a dance party.
Many showed up hearty,
While the parents are away-
The mayhem will stay.
One person next door-
Called Mr & Mrs Brodor...
’Your kids are dancing.
My dog won’t stop barkin!’
Mr and Mrs Brodor
Had placed a camera
Right by their front door
They could see it all
They dialed home
It went straight to voicemail
Soon they were on their way
Right back to the party
The parents heard the noise-
From the corner of the street
Unbelievable...this party~ would soon come to a halt.
Mr and Mrs Brodor-
Heard loud stomping of feet.
This was a strange thing to witness in their own home.
All dancing motions froze-
The minute the music stopped playing~
And the crowd left.
There in the living room-
The twins smiled...
Trying to act all innocent-
‘Welcome back home.’
Who’s idea was this?
Their parents asked.
‘Not mine.’
The girls replied.
Later in the night-
After all was calm & quiet.
A little robot was glad that it
Had a great dance party.
#MoveToDaBeat
Words Like Stones Thrown
When we were three
My twin sister and me
My mother brought us to class
To clumsy to dance, we fell on our ass
Just barely walking
Our instructor baulking
Deemed us too clumsy
Decreed we'd never plie gracefully
Mother hung her head in shame
Her girls would never achieve dancing fame
Now, like a permanent marker dress
I wear my clumsy legged mess
Not so stubborn, it seems
I let another's words bend my dreams
I'm tapping my toes to all the good I can do
Even when I trip over my own shoe!!!
The Difference
I lace up my shoes, metal tapping the wooden floor,
a flap and shuffle to a time-step and wings,
pull backs and draw backs (yes there's a difference) for days,
from slow to fast, and the middle pace,
the metal taps turn to hardened and worn pointe shoes,
a grand battement to a grand jeté,
pirouettes and chaînés across the stage,
and a third arabesque en Croix to finish it off,
soft, pliable shoes now encompass my feet,
giving me a confident, sassy attitude,
fouette turns into a fan kick with a great big smile,
a turn of the head and into the splits,
tennis shoes on my feet, body loose,
sharp movements fast, followed by slow,
fast, quick, move to the beat of the rap,
sliding on the ground then back up at it,
my feet are now bare, feeling the hard wooden floor,
arms heavy, but light, skim across the ground as I hang over,
a pull from an invisible force send me upwards,
swinging and jumping with emotion throughout the stage,
and pulls me back to reality,
and that I am just one of the many dancers,
dancing at the convention, competition, or studio,
imagining what it would be like to be known for dancing
Moves Like Clouds
In the deepest part of the forest,
I climbed a tall oak tree,
hidden, in secret,
to watch Isabella
dance in the rain.
With witchy grace,
she moved like the clouds,
piroueted across the forest floor,
dead leaves crunching
beneath her tender feet.
Oh, how I wish I could
whisper in her ear
to tell her she reminds me
of the ocean
during a storm,
a graceful disaster.
How she possesses
more power
than the flame
and more mystery
than the night.
How I wish she could
whisper to me
and tell me
the secrets
of her life.
-Jo Resner 2/19/18
Dance sets me free
Dancing sets me free. It makes me feel beautiful, and like someone that I wish I could be. It helped me find myself. It helped me stay in control of my body, and it all started with tapping my toe.
My first love was music. I will forever feel as if I owe music everything for shaping my life. As my face grew tired from playing my trumpet for hours a day, my heart would want to play for hours. I would tap my toe to keep the tempo, but I was really tapping a long with the rhythm. I felt inspired to move with the music, and the toe taps turned into ballet.
I started very late, and my family did not have the funds to send me to classes. But when I took introduction classes at my high school I felt like I was physically showing the person that was trapped in my head. It came naturally. It felt right. It felt as if no one could hurt me. I'm not the perfect dancer, and people could pick my form apart. But at the end of the day I feel at home when I am dancing. It sets people free, and it is a gift that I will always cherish.
The Right to Dance
Dancing. A birth right. For all cultures, at all ages.
Some cultures say the first sound we hear is the beat of the drum, mother’s heartbeat. Conceived in rhythm, we gestate to the beat. Born to dance, we heed the call of music, naturally moving from our tapping toes to our nodding heads, hips shake, torsos sway, feet take us away.
Our dancing feet schooled for millennia by the deep beat of mother earth and nature’s rhythms should never be trapped in concrete beliefs that all things earthy equal vulgar, crude, raunchy and rude. Or relegated to weekend escapes induced by intoxication. Dancing should occur daily. Spontaneous and ritual, wild and spiritual, fun and practiced, spectacular and accessible.
One could say repressed rhythm is criminal.