Jete poems on Hello Poetry

Brent Kincaid Aug 2015

He always wanted to be a ballerina
To dance so dainty up on his toes.
But everyone could see under his tutu
And the bump they saw was not his nose.
He had the talent and the perfect figure
To perform the balletic steps just right.
There was no way he could ever manage
To keep that ample package out of sight.

Jete, jete. Plie, Plie.
Dance like that’s all you want to do.
Dancing straight, or dancing gay,
Do whatever is right for you.
Hands and toes pointed fine
Back and necks held straight.
Maybe it’s not your time to get picked.
But make it worth their wait.

His skin was smooth just like a swaddling baby
There was no concern about flat *******.
Many ballerinas are rather mannish
With not much curvature to their chests.
So he could pass completely undetected
Androgyny was his great good friend
But any moment when he swirled about
Tutu would lift and then spell the spell would end.

Jete, jete. Plie, Plie.
Dance like that’s all you want to do.
Dancing straight, or dancing gay,
Do whatever is right for you.
Hands and toes pointed fine
Back and necks held straight.
Maybe it’s not your time to get picked.
But make it worth their wait.

He never really loved the danseur posture
The holds and lifts and hearty leaps about.
But in the world of ballet and its leaders
Ballerina guys are always left out.
Still he danced in tutu at auditions.
He heard the comments, paid them no mind.
If they could not see grandly male Pavlova
That meant that all of them were blind.

Jete, jete. Plie, Plie.
Dance like that’s all you want to do.
Dancing straight, or dancing gay,
Do whatever is right for you.
Hands and toes pointed fine
Back and necks held straight.
Maybe it’s not your time to get picked.
But make it worth their wait.

#poetry #gay #society #ballet #brent #kincaid #dictates #cross-dressing

PJ Poesy Nov 2015

Getting Toothy At The Taco House

Goth Child nursed his mother's tattooed *****

Snapped **** with teeth

Then grizzled grin at me and spit up

I poked at my chile relleno

Twisting hot cheesy sludge off prongs

Tour jete with fork finishes in arabesque

Between my own fangs

I spit back scalding ****

Goth Child points, says, "Pawpee, that man is scarewee"

Pawpee turns his tattoo tears to see

Flashes his gleaming grill

I sink in my seat behind sightline of salsa squeeze bottle

Chattering ivories

Life in the neighborhood.

#teeth #peeps #tacos

Gidgette Feb 2017

A Ballerina's Lament

When we were young,
Before broken by age
We danced our grand pas de deux,
Upon life's stage
Our plie's were graceful
Many grand pas, we danced
And I, never knowing,
A solo I chanced
I thought I'd always,
Be your danseus
I'd hoped for no other ballerina,
You'd have a use
You did glissade
Into my heart
But I see I've danced solo,
From the start
Pas de waltz en tournant, alone
My dance now
Since your grand jete, from my side
This ballerina, will take her bow
And for the final time,
The curtain closes
But for this ballerina,
There are
No roses

Melissa June Dec 2013

Locked In First Position

Silken ribbons lacing dainty ankles
toes snug within slippers in first position
she nods her head for the music to begin
breathing a deep breath, ready to audition

Vibrations dance through out the floor
her frail body flows with such grace
with an arabesque she looks into the crowd
hides her nervousness, with the smile upon her face

As pirouettes sync with the allegro tempo
into a grande jete she soars through the air
though her leg gives, she falls with broken pins
an elegant bun lands as unraveled hair

Breathing deep breaths, her heart beat races
while seeping into the floor she rests her head on
are the tears of failure forming a lake
around the broken winged beauty, a fallen swan

Her shattered dreams unlace defeated slippers
for she has cried out all of her ambition
to be a prima ballerina, now never to curtsy
with ankles chained in fear locked in first position.

Zita Consani Apr 2012

communion

now i dwell
in Grand Belong
and think in song
i think in song
mystic thread
zips up my head
electrified where
gloom has fled
i’m heart-to-heart
and black is fair
i jete up to
champagne air
the dreaded
weight
of days
does not dim
this limpid face
swing the moon!
skim the stars!
shadows shiver
as I pass;
delirious
with God,
grand dance!

kathleen patton Jul 2011

Dancing in the Sky

Several seagulls dance across the sky
Weaving in between the clouds as
The glowing red Sun begins its descent.

Hovering atop the sand, she
Points her toes and executes a
Grand Jete

The last of the Sun’s rays light up
Her flowing crimson skirt.

I wrote this poem for a class. The objective was to find a picture and incorporate it into a poem.

Kelly Kamuso Feb 2013

The Boy with the Danse Russe

I was no tiny dancer.
Maybe, once,
before you and me.
Maybe I pointed my toes and held my head high.
But I forgot how to pirouette and jete.

I know you thought you held me up.
I know you thought you fixed me.
But, my little partner,
you never stood a chance.
I'm sorry, my darling.
I tripped into your arms and you did all you could.
You held me crying and watched me dress.

I loved the lilies.
Even though they never came,
I loved the lilies.

I'm so sorry, Tom,
that when I tripped, I knocked you down.
I'm sorry I chened into someone else's arms
to learn how to dance again.

I hope someday you find a partner.
I hope she loves your lilies.
I hope she loves your danse russe.

AJ Sep 2015

Le Printemps / The Spring

Tu es comme le printemps,
Comme le vent qui souffle
Par terre, qui me frappe
À cœur, qui me soulève
Et me jete au ciel,
Où les nuages me caressent le visage
Et me disent des mots
D'amour et gentillesse,
De force et de jeunesse.

Tu es comme le printemps,
Comme les arbres qui grossissent
Pour que je puisse les admirer,
Pour que je puisse les toucher,
Et sentir la soie de ses
P'**** cheveux qui restent
Dans l'air timide mais éclatant,
En attendant le couche de soleil
Qui s'avance à l'horizon.

Tu es comme le printemps,
Comme les fleurs bleues et rouges
Qui balancent comme des
Spectateurs qui écoutent au musique,
Qui descendent d'espace et embrasse
La terre, et tu es comme le soleil
Qui brille sur les champs,
Qui réchauffe ma poitrine
Et me caresse les lèvres.

Tu es comme le printemps,
Comme l'air frais en descendant
Le soleil, comme l'orange du ciel
Qui se couvre le monde,
Comme l'odeur souple des pommes
Qui accrochent des branches,
Comme le tranquillité de ne rien se passer.

Tu es comme le printemps,
Comme la nuit qui s'approche
Les villes et les campagnes,
Comme les étoiles qui
Me font penser, espérer
Que je peux t'aimer,
Ou te comprendre,
Même si le printemps devient l'hiver.

/

You're like the spring,
Like the wind that blows
Across the earth,
That knocks on my heart,
That lifts me up
And shoots me to heaven,
Where the clouds caress my face
And tell me words
Of love and kindness,
Of strength and youth.

You are like the spring,
Like the trees that grow
So that I can admire them,
So that I can touch them,
And feel the silk of their
Little hairs that sit
In the timid yet lively air,
Waiting for the sunset
That advances on the horizon.

You are like the spring,
Like the blue and red flowers
That sway like audience members
Listening to music,
Who descend from space and kiss the soil,
And you are like the sun
That shines on the fields,
That heats my chest and kisses my lips.

You are like the spring,
Like the cool air that comes
When the sun goes down,
Like the orange of the sky that covers the world,
Like the supple scent of apples
That hang from branches,
Like the peace of nothing happening.

You are like the spring,
Like the night that approaches
The cities and country-sides,
Like the stars that make me think,
Even hope that I can love you,
Or understand you,
Even if the spring becomes winter.

#love #spring

Micheal Bevan Jan 2010

Weeeeeeeeee!

Life is a slide, you go down with a smile!
Life is the after-joy you feel for awhile,
Life is the pain when you fall in the dirt
Life is the rip you just made in your skirt,
Life is much more then the clothes we buy
More than a word, even more then the sky,
Life is the bird, that flies with the clouds,
Life is that tree, whos fall is very loud.
Life is a smile, a frown and a laugh,
Life is the freedom in being utterly daft,
Life is a jete, grand or ground
Life is the music, the heart and the sound,
Life, is the real meaning,
In the smallest thing I found.

fdg Apr 2014

never certain, never confident

I'm never really sure about anything at all
and this might not be a poem
and I might have never even learned what poetry is
but I think I write my life across a stage every time I dance
and I have wiped more tears across my face with every grand jete
just trying to pick up all of my pieces
that I shattered myself
because when I was still just a girl
I thought it was fun to take a hammer to my skin and bones
(and sometimes it still is)

SORRY BUT WHAT DO YOU WANT

Sue Violetta Oct 2014

Dance.

Music and dance
Her life's pulse
She is compelled
Can't resist
Like an ocean
The music ebbs and swells
And sweeps her in a deep joy
Everything else abandoned
Life's ills and hurts are no more !

She can SEE the music
Imagining the dance
The rhythm and the flow
It gives her wings
The lifts and jumps
Are high to the sky
And majesticaly slow!

But the grand jete
Comes at a price
Every sinew cries
The beautiful arabesque
An epitome of grace
The long line of pirouettes
So fast only a blur
An elegant refrain
And no one see
That her joints are screaming in pain.

Yet
Day in and day out
practisìng , rehearsing
For a thousandth time
Finding the strength
For a thousand and one

Still
The music soars
And in her mind
She is flying,
Turning
Gliding
With a geat joy !
Dance is her life.

Yes, I am still dreaming
Of what might have been once
I just was never good enough.

Ballet, my love.

#love #pain #music #joy #ballet

Ashley Etienne May 2014

Conflictions

Don’t let me hear the silence that comes without company.
anticipating at least one note. one beat, but it never comes.

i was mistaken, i was under the assumption that silence travels alone but alas it brings a friend. it brings my thoughts. so desolate, so desperate and eager to feed.
They will eat me alive
they will devour any hope that i have had for a better life
they will deconstruct my atoms and reconstruct my very manner so that my being is unintelligible.
i will become A monster

I try not to let my thoughts
Linger for too long in fear that they may close in on me.
for i am my strongest predator
in this jungle. I try
Not to think about
The nonexistent possibilities.
the things i imagine to keep myself sane.
I know we will never be. So I
Know I never see the daylight
And have you also lying right
Next to me.

The words “you’re beautiful”
grande jete off of your lips and into my point of view. I flash a modest smile just to please you. But deep down I know that was
Just one incredible lie.
I’m dying to know the truth.
“Am I really beautiful?”
My answer to myself is no
I am nothing.

a lesson on self hatred portrayed through almost loves

#ashleyetienne #aae

Michael John May 2021

vi

vi

at the door
he grips the
waiter

by his offered
paw and then stood
in the centre

of the thorough-fare..
mmm..arms akimbo
he seeks portend-

he is the crow
the scorpion
he is pan

back he twists
over-his head
upside down!

the people of
hamelyn
are appalled-

a small child
cries-
look mummy!

that man´s head
is upside down!
hot pies!

vendors cry!
chess nuts!
(the police

arrive-hello,
and what do
you

think
you re
doing..?)

rising from the dead
he says
ok,folks!

just loosening up?!
the silence
of heaven

broken
by sound
unknown

the pied piper
played
glory´s crown

a perfect
bristled fur
embouchure

a single noted
tear
trickles

down his
downy
beard

the rats
glassy eyed
crowd

move as one
beeeeeep!
the onlookers

frozen
the pp
leaps two

jete
have lost
minds

the rats
follow
closed

behind
they were
leaving

any how..
we have to
all go

the mayor
the waiter
the law

down the street
out of town
to the sea

on his heel
to the brine
and they

go under
and under
until

all drowned
his work done
he walks back

for remuneration
pack his bag
and go home..

Johnny Noiπ Feb 2019

Empire of the Celtic Crown in Modern Times.

Clementine's government today.
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Photo RUSKEE:                                                Happy fun celebrating family.
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The uniqueness of creating a poster for a birthday
was created by a glimpse of beauty,                                       and Rani George
expressed real feelings that police should have dreams.

— The End —