Sunday Swap: This Old Dancer

Nomar Knight is a writer, a poet, and a dancer. He has the soul of a true artist: he lives and breathes his stories and his passions, veering ever-so-slightly into the dark side of art.

When I read Nomar’s beautiful poem Shall We Dance, I was inspired to ask him if he could describe how he felt when he was dancing. Somewhere along the way, poetry and dance got wired in his brain, so he came up with an answer that rhymed. Being an aspiring poet myself, I was captivated and awed by his passion on stage, and on the page.

Henry in the Morning

It was hard to determine
where I ended and he began.

There was a glint about the way

he held me – like a broken child;

tight embrace, glib insanity.

I tried to break free from his

confining frame, strong shoulders,

wrapped around my lower back.

Strange angle to wake up to,

all shriveled up inside.

I regretted the way I surrendered;

no fight, no thought, no shout.

But the way he thought he handled

me, himself, and us in the morning

told me he knew nothing of love.

When the Heart Breaks

HEARTBREAK

I know, I know. It's a tough word to swallow. I'd be lying if I said it gets better in time, though it does in pushes and pulls. One step forward, two steps back. Then two steps forward, one step back. It's that deadly dance between lost lovers, which never truly finishes so long as they're both alive and in each others' lives.

One day, hopefully, there will be no stepping back. Though I'm not counting on it. Being human means to hold reflection. It's how we judge the world. 

And so, I've looked and looked for a poem to capture this moment in time and how I feel sometimes (early in the morning, late at night), and I found this on an old Word document. Did I know back then what I would go through, or did I foolishly think this was beautiful and pure, with no dark tints between its fine lines?

This is for all of you out there who -sometimes- feel the same. 

What's that about?

Ok, so I found this old poem on my old blog (http://bit.ly/iYXkb8), but it's just so...

Despot - the page renewed.
I was in vain caressed by your
Graces. Writer's block as well
in Morrow, sun retires from its
resting place. Again I will
ask for guidance, forgive my rush;
to be or not to be, a candle,
silent sea gull, toilet flushed.

Seriously, what's that about??? I'm trying to remember why in God's name I'd write something like that... to no avail.