OK Second day and I had to write this early as I'm off to Peterborough to perform and judge at the final of the Poetry Rivals competition from 3pm to 9pm.
A big shout out to my fellow poets taking the NaPoWriMo challenge!
Let's do it!
Mark ;))
Dancer
She doesn’t walk, she flows.
Each step is like an ocean swell,
each turn a wheat field
Swept by the wind.
She was born to be in
perpetual motion,
grace and precision
found harmony
in her frame.
Every movement measured,
photogenic,
from hair that falls like ribbons
gift-wrapping her face
To the perfect point of each toe.
Even
her eyes
dance.
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