dancing

PROMPT: TWO PROMPTS FROM SATURDAY GROUP MEETING

October 12, 2019

  • Four friends carve pumpkins to look like the you they know or have known
  • Who is that dancing and why is he/she tapping his/her toes?

 

Gotta Dance

The following is by Writers in the Grove member Gretchen Keefer, inspired from Prompt-a-Month: Dance.

“You there, Kevin! Stop adding those curlicues and follow the plan!”

Kevin, embarrassed, quickly found his place in the formation and continued practicing with the other dancers. He stumbled a few times, which added to his embarrassment, but gamely continued with practice until the choreographer called a break. Shoulders slumped on his lanky frame, Kevin ambled to the corner where he had stashed his pack with his water bottle.

“Don’t be discouraged,” Angie, an older, more experienced dancer, said to him, handing him a towel. “Barrett is hard on everyone. He gets great results, but we all work like the devil getting there.” She looked Kevin over. ‘You have good moves and a classic dancer’s body. You’ll do all right.”

Kevin smiled his thanks for the encouragement, pushing a lock of his dark hair off his forehead. “It just seems to me that the moves are too simple. Any second year student could do them. I wanted to add some pizzazz.”

“If you want to stay in this game, remember rule number one: always do what the choreographer says. He sees the routine from a different perspective, from the audience’s view. HE’s the artist; you are just his tool.”

“Thanks. Say, do you want to get something to eat?”

“Sorry,” Angie held up her own lunch. “I really have to be careful with food. I’m not as lucky as you youngsters. Ask Lindsay there”. She nodded towards a petite blonde.

Kevin moved towards the younger girl. “Hi, I’m Kevin the bumble-footed. Would you like to get some lunch? I hear there is a deli around the corner with great salads.”

Laughing the girl replied, “I’m Lindsay the famished. I’d love to have yet another salad. Maybe there is something there without lettuce.”

After covering the requisite information about backgrounds, the two young people continued their conversation with dance topics. “I love ball room dancing,” Lindsay said. “I was on a ball room dance team in college. We won some competitions. It was a lot of fun.”

“Congratulations. That must look great on your resume. I prefer jazz dancing, and physical, creative tap.” (more…)

The Dancer Still

The following is by Writers in the Grove member, Lorelle VanFossen, and is based upon the Prompt-a-Month: Dance.

Texturized art effect of ballet dancer on pointe in arabesque.Toe pointed. Leg elongated. Feel the burn through the calf muscles as they push the reach even further. Thigh muscles combine to lift and stretch the leg beyond the normal range, a straight arrow pointed toward the floor away from the body, toe not touching, every line straight and arched in all the right places as if coaxing the toe longer a little more. Just a little more. Reach, strain, stretch, push, tighten, balance, yet relax. Don’t let them see the pain. Head tilted down at an angle, shoulders pulled back, arms thrust forward reaching but hesitating, palms up, thumbs wide, fingers closed, curled, begging. The other leg bent, knee aligned in the direction of the other, heel down, glued to the floor, a stable foundation. An illusion of stability. A brush of wind would knock her over. A forward step paused in mid motion. Make it look effortless. Make it look like it is a gentle yearning, a pleading with the body to take just one tiny step in that direction, ahead but holding back, cautious. It is a dangerous step. One that leads to another, and another, and another step forward into the unknown.

Elaina kept this position for as long as she could, keeping the tension in her body in a tug of war between relaxed and tight, straining with the effort. She didn’t hear the clock ticking in the hall, the purring of the cat wandering nearby, nor the roar of cars outside the door on the street. She heard pain, a sweet familiar pain, ringing through her body, buzzing in her ears, knocking against her heart begging her for release. She felt the warmth of a spotlight against her closed eyes, the moment frozen, ready to burst out onto the stage with the unheard embrace of the music’s thrust.

She ignored the fact that it was only the morning sun through the front window peaking through the pale blue curtains. Through the rushing noise of the passing cars, she heard the gasp of an audience at her entrance, one step, then frozen in this pose, waiting for the music to queue that next step, but held, anticipating the moment she would take that next move, ablaze in feathers, sequins, and chiffon, disguised as a worn-out house dress.

When her body could no longer hold the moment, the audience straining with her now, feeling the tension, breathing with her, on the edge of their seats, she took that step forward, placing her right foot on the carpeted floor, pushing herself forward over the toe, leaning down and up into the move, her body straightened, head up, arms lifted higher, her other leg straight out behind her at a point. She held this for thirty seconds, allowing the clanging to quiet in her head, the body now in a more stable, relaxed state.

Her cat wandered by and wound around her standing ankle. Elaina opened her eyes and looked down into those wide golden eyes framed with soft gray hair. The cat meowed, the open mouth turning into a yawn with a whining sound as she completed another rotation then headed off toward the kitchen where she knew food would soon appear. (more…)

When Pigs Fly

Bev Walker, a long-time member of Writers in the Grove, contributed this poem. Bev specializes in writing stories and poetry with a bright and lighthearted spirit. an accomplished painter and writer, she’s published books on her family’s history and genealogy, and contributed to many anthologies. She is currently working on a memoir.

There once was a man most curious
who went from silly to serious
when the town he was happily in
was met with a great big wind.
He went up in the might swirl
of a hurricane – and with a girl.
Round and round in terrible weather
Went cow, pig and house all together.
Said the man to the spinning sky,
“Oh, oh, my, look! Pigs can fly!”
They came down in a far off land
set down by a gentle hand.
Man and girl married in a jig,
fixed the house, milked the cow, styed the pig.
And because of their whirlwind romance,
Everyone knew how to dance.
And it never caused a moment’s stir
that they never knew where they were.
So don’t fret if your life is a jumble
one day it will land all a tumble
in a haven where all things come right,
and even pigs dance with delight.