Saturday, April 26, 2014

DEGAS DANCER

It's a peaceful Saturday afternoon and I am filling myself with writing. Memoir, poems and short stories swirl in my head racing to be the first to be placed on the pristine white pages of a notebook. Just thought I would share this little story with you. It just kind of emerged from the meditative corner of my brain.


 
From the age of four she dreamed of becoming a ballerina. A pair of pink satin toe shoes lured her, but they were so big she could fit both of her feet into one of them.
She went to dance classes and hefted her foot to the barre and stretched her muscles till they cried in agony and cramped in her sleep.
At night she sat on her bed and stretched her arms over head in an arc like a rainbow. She bent from side to side in a slow dance, her pale skin lit by the moon.
She watched her shadow move gracefully to the music hat played in her head. Then went to sleep trying to remember her multiplication tables and the spelling words she was supposed to study for school.
In class she was distracted by the ruffle of tulle and the smoothness of leotards that floated through her imagination. She could hear the swell of the orchestra that would signal her, the prima ballerina, to make her entrance.
Then one night she packed her ballet slippers and a bag of fruit and snuck out of the house. In a black silk bag she carried all the money she had saved from not eating lunch in school. She was rich and thin and knew she could make it.
She sat at the bus depot, a scarf covering her face except for her eyes and made sure no one saw her. Finally she got on the bus and rode to the airport. In the dark night, lit by twinkling stars, she flew to France. Through a cold gray afternoon, with rain moisturizing her skin, she made her way to the dance studio.
The Directress was tall and thin as a willow branch, her back was stick straight and her long gray hair was tucked into a bun. She held in her hand a long reed that punctuated each step she took closer to the girl who waited anxiously at the door.
“In there,” the woman said and pointed her stick toward a door at the back of the room. The girl obeyed and found herself in a dressing room with other ballerinas all warming up to the music of a tinny piano. She changed into her dance clothes and went back out to the studio with its mirrored walls and the Directress who held court there.
With a whack of her stick the Directress silenced the piano player. She went to a phonograph and set the needle on an old record. Through the speaker came the sounds of an orchestra centuries old, the music scratched with age.
The girl began to dance and the Directress of the studio and all the ballerinas who came to watch drifted away. She felt she was in a forest dancing with fairies. Fireflies and stars lit the night. She danced until she fell to the floor unable to dance no more.
The next night she took center stage and danced till her toes bled through her pink satin toe shoes. She collected applause and bouquets of red roses that she held against her heart to keep it from beating right out of her body with sheer joy.
Then she went back stage and collected all her clothes and the last of her money. She found her way back to the airport and flew home where she tucked herself into bed and fell into an exhausted sleep.
The next day she went back to school and tried to concentrate on arithmetic and spelling and the exactness of science. But even then she kept her dream tucked into a corner of her mind where she would go every now and then to remember.

 

Tuesday, April 8, 2014

Nature Poem Challenge--Day 8

spring tears
soak the dead earth
flowers resurrected
from winter's sleep
birds sing joy


I'm enjoying this year's poetry challenge as I love nature and wish I could spend more time outdoors absorbing her gifts. Since I spend most of my days indoors in an office it's fun to spend some morning time crafting poems that sing Mother Nature's praises.

I do believe in synchronicity and as it turns out, the other day while clearing out some of my numerous books I came across "The Wise Earth Speaks to Your Spirit: 52 Ways to Find Your Voice through Journal Writing" by Janell Moon. I took this as a sign that I should finally open the book and follow some of the exercises. I chose a blank journal with pictures of flowers and strawberries on it that was just waiting in my writing room for something special to be scribed inside it.

Now I have the perfect play area to manipulate words and ideas and write poems for this challenge and to give voice to my soul. I love how everything seems to just align itself to meet my needs and desires.

Monday, April 7, 2014

Nature Poem Challenge--Day 7

clouds like a rippled river
I am underwater
searching the waves
for a sign
~~of peace
~~of tranquility

the only things I find
~~turmoil
~~indecision
as if these clouds
rippling over my head
could drown me

Sunday, April 6, 2014

Day 6--Nature Poems Challenge

 
 
blue heron wades
in fits and starts
probing for lost dreams--
guileless
peace glistens
in her folded wings

Day 5 -Nature Poems Challenge


gentle pond
ripples with discarded dreams
holds the trees and sky
like a million poems
that will never be read

Friday, April 4, 2014

Day 4 -Nature Poems Challenge

 
 
 
rust spotted maple leaf
predicts death
like the age spots on the back
of my hand
 
yet the future
is lit by a crescent moon
dreams swaying
on a hammock of hope


Thursday, April 3, 2014

Day 3- Nature Poems Challenge




the bare branched maple
a monument to death
sap begins to run
under the sun's embrace

bodies, life
yours, mine
inevitable change

Wednesday, April 2, 2014

Day 2--Nature Poems Challenge




black earth swells with April rain, pale blades pierce the surface.
leaves, caressed by the heat of the sun's tongue, cradle crocus buds
in their slender arms

ice melts
hearts thaw
peace blooms

Tuesday, April 1, 2014

National Poetry Month 2014

I love the month of April. Tiny green sprouts are emerging from dark brown soil. Even on the coldest mornings you can feel the slight shift in the sun's heat rays. And the birds are beginning to chirp matins for early risers like me. Most of all it is National Poetry Month. Each year I set myself a poetry challenge to write a poem a day based on a particular form or topic. This year's poems will be about nature.

One of my favorite poets is Mary Oliver who literally finds a world in a grain of sand, or stalk of wheat, or the calm eyes of a deer. The nature pictures she paints with her words are amazing. It is that description of nature, and its metaphor for universal life forces, that I hope to emulate with my poems this month. Since the hawk is one of my favorites of Mother Nature's children this is where I shall begin.

The infant hawk lifts her wings for the first time. The sun catches the fragile white down on her chest and it glints like silver against the deep-sea blue of dawn.

angel wings
beckon promises
this new day