Limbo

I'm neither the full or the hungry.
I am the satisfied.

I'm not dingy nor am I the sharpest in wits.
I just get lucky when people think I'm funny.

I am neither jealous of your fortune nor happy for your fame.
I just don't like you.

I am neither the formal nor the casual but I still wear the dress.
I am the mediocre.

I am not paying the bills nor am I feeding the starving children in Africa.
I go to the mall.

I am neither vacationing in Spain, nor in Destin for spring break.
I chill at home and watch those who do.

I am neither the dropout nor the master degree holder.
I am the broke college student.

All Dressed Up In Love

"I look good in love."- Jennifer Hudson

I look good in love.
What color is it? Is it pink or red like Valentine hearts? Does it shine? Does it glow? Does it flow like taffeta? Is it loose-fitting and comfortable? Does it flatter everyone. Does it really hurt to wear? Is it restrictive and binding like a corset? Is it always a gift from others? Or can we give it to ourselves? Do nudists hate or love themselves that much? Can I buy it on sale? May I indulge in the retail therapy they call lust?

I look good in love. Can we accessorize wit ha clutch of a significant other that we hang on to like a Christmas ornament? Does it gloss like the pucker of lipstick? It certainly makes you blush but do you have a strong foundation? Maybe after a long day it can brush me like Mac would. I'll undress when I'm lonely. Or angry. Or sad.

Rescue Me

"Cause I'm lonely and I'm blue.
I need you and your love too.
C'mon and rescue me."-Fontella Bass

How do I escape? Am I mourning?
Is it still love?
How do I know when the end was a fluke?

I want things to be like they.... were?
Like they were when?

When the kisses were still electric?
When I still smiled at the thought of you?
When money was no object or issue?

When things were controllable
And tangible
And nothing was your fault?
When?

I can't remember.
Refresh my memory.
Rescue me.

The Dancing Poet

Teri Conrad

A211-001 Chambers

Exercise 1

January 18, 2010

 The Dancing Poet 

“In poetry, there is no telling the dancer from the dance.”- W.B. Yeats

In dance, there is no telling the petry from the dancer.
 Express as you stretch.

In the dancer, there is no telling the poetry from the dance.
Become a moving work of art.

There is no telling the dancer, that in poetry there is no dance.
The words step to form rhymes within the lines that leap right off of the page.

 There is no telling in the poetry whether the dancer makes the dance or if the dances makes the dancer. Must we bend and flex into new genres? Does life’s body restrict us?

In dance, there is poetry.
Ideas flow and the dancer freestyles, scribbles, and whirls into motion.

There is no dancing or poetry without one to execute it.
The paper, then pen, the prints of the foot, the racing of the heart are all in the heat of battle.

It can all break: a leg, a mind, a dream. Take the time to create while you still can.
It can all mend.
It can be redeemed. Keep your sanity. Don’t let the rush overcome you.

Own it but still let the craft embrace you.
Feeding the urge is healthy.
Release.
Break the mold. Aim high. Jump high.     

There will always be an audience for the dancer and the poet.
Which one will we watch on the stage?
The poet breaks the ground with unheard of words.
The dancer is an open book,  a vision.