Tag: dancing

poem: dancing joy

Joy
ran off
like an unfaithful wife.

She giggled
and in her swirling skirts
started dancing
with others.

i couldn’t even be jealous.

It is how she is.

Better to have
a sliver of her kindness
than none at all.

Before,
eventually,
i won her back,
but this time
none
of my awkward swaying
has seduced her.

She refuses to move
into my arms.

So i wait.

i sing songs
while she twirls
with indescribable
beauty and grace
around others,
and i remember
the glorious miracle
of her fingertips
and her laugh.

14 may 2016

poem: dance with the moon

The moon
sings to me me
as she begins
her slow
turning away.
Already, she refuses
to share everything;
she knows
these small slivers
of secrecy
excite my mind.
She forgives me
for trying so hard
to protect
my heart –
although she laughs at me
for my foolishness.
i want forgiveness,
deep and abiding,
i yearn for love
despite my sins.
i want nothing more
than the wholeness
i feel
when the moon and i
dance together.

31 august 2015

dancers

i amdancer drawing dancers, more and more dancers.  It seems like every time i sit down with pen and paper, another dancer comes out.

There is something about that fluidity of movement  – an ease that i only get through the lines of my pen, or the velvet of paint going across the canvas, or the arching beauty of a pot taking form under my fingertips.dancer4

We find grace in our own peculiar ways.  Some people can hear the gentle refrain of music and move their bodies in ways that make the rest of us feel awe.  Some can navigate a kitchen, making a meal that is as complicated as conducting an orchestra, with everything done on time. Some can take strange knobby bits of metal and make an engine that works seamlessly.  dancer3Others are able to weave words into tapestries that can evoke the strongest emotions in the readers.

Perhaps i feel this fascination because i cannot quite manage to dance well, but i follow the movements of dancers with the eyes of the artist and poetry in my soul.  From the dervishes swirling to ballet to free form movement that seems impossible to my dancer7confused legs, this act of art is like a treasure.  The immediacy of it feels like a gift – that movement as it is in precisely that moment – can never happen again.  The river can keep flowing but it is never exactly the same.

At night, alone in my house, with the music turned up so loud that i am glad none of my neighbors are close enough to be bothered, i dance.  i know it is graceless and lurching, and sometimes involvesdancer2 falling or unexpectedly slamming into walls, but i don’t care.  i am seduced by the beat. As i dance, i sing loudly and often out of key. Indeed, this evokes marvelous wholeness of being.  It brings me into joy, no matter how i felt when the music started.

i might not be good at dancing, but i fall into it, drunk on music.

The dancers i draw, they are better at it than i am.  Perhaps, they are not actually more graceful or more talented dancer6– but in my perception, they have the audacious confidence to be open-hearted, open armed and move no matter who sees them or what happens.  They are fearless in every way that i can put into ink.  They celebrate their union with creation – the wholeness of being that is expressed through limb and gesture.

Secretly, or perhaps not so secretly now, i draw these dancers to create the same confidence in myself.

Often, i find myself thinking that if i can dream it, i can manifest it.  To a degree it works – i have been able to change much about myself, become a stronger woman over time.

Perhaps, someday, i will be able to dance, if not with more grace, but with more unashamed zeal.dancinggoddess2

dancewithwildjoy

painting

IMG_5341Without doubt, if I were more responsible, I would either be doing the dishes or working on a logo for a client.

However, each time I tried to do one of those tasks, this painting kept popping into my mind, pestering me, bothering me, infecting the logo with her generous curves and making the dishes more slippery.

So I have given into temptation; I paint.  After all, the easel is right here in the livingroom… so I have surrendered.  The music plays. I dance and I paint. Joy fills my house.

Perhaps this will be an ongoing problem with the art supplies so easily at hand?

poem: mortality

Mortal?
Yes.
Flawed?
Absolutely.
Confused?
Usually.
Dancing?
Well, last night,
for the first time
in long, dark ages.
Joyous?
When the music
filled me to wholeness,
enthusiastic joy
kept me dancing
on sore, weary legs.
Grateful?
Beyond words, my friend.
i made peace with my body
and all its beauty
and all its ugliness.
We four came together
in the charged ecstasy
of movement.
Embarrassed?
Not one bit.
Healed?
Those wounds that hound me
will probably find me again,
but for now, it’s all peace.
Tired?
Refreshingly so,
splendidly so
i am ready for bed,
to sleep
like i have earned it.

Dancing dreams…

original dancerTonight, I would love to go dancing.  I would put on my boots of power, thick tights (because it’s below zero outside), a nice skirt, a black blouse a friend gave me with a silky black shirt over top that has gold and cream designs around the neck and buttons.  All of which would be covered by a jacket and scarf until I get to where ever it is I would go.

My hair would be exactly as it is now – pulled back to the nape of my neck, but still waving and curling enough to be interesting.  Also, that way it would be more invulnerable to the pressure of a hat.  Now that I feel more comfortable in make up, I wouldn’t mind showing off my face-painting skills.

I long to laugh with abandon, to be drenched in music so loud my hearing is impaired for at least a couple of hours after leaving, to kick up my heels as best I can given the awkwardness, the lack of balance and the general graceless of my legs.  dance 2 cardMost of all, I want to feel such freedom and peace, that I won’t care about those impediments I just listed.  Tonight, I think I just might be able to manage burning bright without needing to crawl back into shyness as a reaction to over-exposure.

However, it is below zero outside, with a wind chill that feels like -20.  I am busted for the next few days.  And, most important of all, I’ve been having more problems walking and negotiating space today than I have in awhile. This afternoon, I had to move pottery out of a gallery that had closed for the winter and the effort left me in trembling pain – although, thank God, I didn’t drop any of the boxes taking them to the car or then taking them into the studio.

Nevertheless, it all adds up; I am being sensible even though it doesn’t feel as satisfying as my dreams of dancing.  I am staying here at home, playing music so loud that I expect the neighbors to complain.  The animals keep glaring at me, determined not to join in the dancing.  Every once in awhile I twirl and grab onto some piece of furniture before I go down.  Mostly, I am letting the restless desire pass through me while singing out my gratitude for its presence.  There have been many days when I did not have the heart to desire company, or dancing, or to be able to dream of risking that once outside in the world I would shine rather than fall.

starting over

A couple of weeks ago, i accidentally deleted my entire blog.  Once the tears and grief subsided, i realized i had created an opportunity to re-imagine what i want to do with this virtual real estate.  While i have spent a lot of time dreaming and scheming about my blog, other things took priority, like stocking galleries and coaxing one of the books that i’m writing toward its ending.

This morning, i woke up from a dream about performing my poetry.  My heart ached.  While i have kindle collections of poetry, i love performing.   i realized that i would be foolish not to use this space to give new life to works that have been collecting dust on my hard-drive: hundreds of poems that first appeared in my 2009-2011 podcasts.  i put out at least three poems a week for over two years, with thousands of downloads a week.  Since i stopped using that venue, they’ve been patiently waiting…

No doubt, this blog will have other uses as well, but since i am starting over, i feel like this is appropriate.  Using this first entry to re-release of a few poems back into the wild pleases my sense of symmetry – old and new at the same time.

Given the type of day it is today (a rain-soaked Mother’s Day), i decided to give you three podcasts about gratitude, change and joy.  First, a poem about the early morning:

dance with me

a cat and a dog sleeping in each other's arms
My cat and dog, the first same sex marriage in Maine.

Next, a poem about a forest in transition:

saplings

a tree turning into a woman
a tree turning into a woman

Finally, two tiny poems about gratitude – the bonus poem focusing on the beginning of summer:

gratitude

dancers
dancers

Now to some of that other pressing work… i have bowls and mugs and commissions to throw.