I loved the atmosphere of the dance studios - the wooden floors, the big mirrors, everyone dressed in pink or black tights, the musicians accompanying us - and the feeling of ritual the classes had.
quote by Suzanne Vega
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
I Wanna Be Your Girl
Just for one night
You and me
I dressed in pink
And make-up on my face
I will dance for you
I wanna be your slut
Just for one night
Dressed in pink
Like a girl for you
Feeling your eyes on my skin
I will move in a sexy way
So that you will love me
Just for one night
You and I
Tomorrow is another day
But tonight is ours
Dressed in leather
Like a vamp
The girl of your dreams
Just for one night
I will be your slut
poem by Vanity Girl
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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401
this summer she wears her pink kimono
and she will walk under the pink blossoms of the pink sakura
she will carry a pink umbrella
and she will cross the pink bridge of kokoma
pink leaves on her feet
pink fingernails on her pink wooden shoes
in honor of her love
that never bloomed to complete red
she will sit on a pink bench
praying for pink clouds to drift
on the pink skies.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Studios were just run differently. There really was a head of a studio. There were people who loved their studios. Who worked for their studios and were loaned out to other people and everybody sort of got a piece. Well now there's a handful now.
quote by Sharon Gless
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pretty Polish
Pink or white whatever color it may be it shall express what i'm feeling.
Try some purple to show i'm joyful,
or try some pink to say i'm pretty,
maybe some black when i'm feeling lonely,
or how about some red when i'm feeling sexy!
poem by Adriana Flores
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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What I try to do is produce an atmosphere where musicians want to invest in what they do and give to the recording. I hire those musicians who I know will play something creative and interesting.
quote by Herbie Mann
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Lady in Pink
Me thinks
Pink is her favorite color
In which, she is
So elegantly dressed.
She is the grand dame, in
Pink Sweater,
Pink skirt,
Pink coat,
Pink hose,
Pale shoes
And pink pearls clipped in her
Perfectly coifed
Champagne colored hair
And diamonds in her smile.
poem by Dorothy Holmes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Love Is The Ritual (Calgary 2000)
Little sister
She got a lot of time she got a lot of money
Don't you know that ain't enough
Pretty thing
All dressed up for the main attraction
Like a baby doll looking for love
And she doesn't need a reason
She just hears a calling to the wild
God gave man the breath of life
To grow up strong to take a wife
To change the world and love is the ritual
You learn to walk & talk & laugh & cry
Work your fingers to the bone til the day you die
And above it all love is the ritual
Little man
Beating his chest & flexing his muscles
Gun for hire, he shoots for a star
Like a handsome prince
Walking down the streen in his shining armor
Romeo in search of his heart
There's a method to this madness
And a message calling to the wild
God gave man the breath of life
To grow up strong to take a wife
To change the world and love is the ritual
You learn to walk & talk & laugh & cry
Heart & soul til the day you die
And above it all love is the ritual
Come on dance little sister, little sister wants to dance
All night looking for true romance
When in a black leather jacket walks little brother
To rock her world, to be her lover
So signal all the children
Send a message calling to the wild
song performed by by Styx
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pink Pussycat
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Pink pussycat
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Pink pussycat
Where are you
Pink pussycat
Im looking for you
Pink pussycat
Meow meow meow
Pink pussycat
Where ya hiding puss
Pink pussycat
Im coming after you
Im gonna mix yer meow-meows
Pink pussycat
Got you in the car
Pink pussycat
Got you in the backseat
Pink pussycat
I wanna touch yer fur
Pink pussycat
Im gonna see you dance
Pink pussycat
Im gonna stand yer fur on end
Pink pussycat
Sleep inside you
Pink pussycat
Lick you clean
Pink pussycat
Gonna mess you up
Pink pussycat
Im a dog
Pink pussycat
Bow wow wow
Pink pussycat
Gonna chase you
Pink pussycat
Gonna catch you
Pink pussycat
Gonna bite you
Pink pussycat
Tear yer little ears off
Pink pussycat
Meow meow meow
Pink pussycat
Im so stroft
song performed by by Devo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pink Pink
pink pink
Confirmed that it was armed
pink pink
Was right to be alarmed
pink pink
Ensured that nought was harmed
pnk pink
Steady hand and mind
pink pink
Micro-chip designed
pink pink
The password was declined
pink pink
Another course to take
pink pink
Caution not to shake
pink pink
Captivity a mistake
pink pink
Beads upon the brow
pink pink
Experience the how
pink pink
No chance to turn back now
pink pink
Be certain not to slip
pink pink
One last wire to snip
pink pink
Two hearts that skip a beat
penk penk
The sound that gives a lift
penk penk
Time to collect the gift
penk penk
The robbery will be swift
poem by Chris Dawson
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I lived in an area where there were a lot of rock musicians, and we got together regularly in our studios.
quote by Ken Hensley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fresh New Feeling
What a surprise to come home to a bedroom
all light and airy with the promise of perfume
exotic delight in the flowers I put everywhere,
white sequined scarf draped artistically over
one chair, the pink scarf with silver lining
decorating the other one
My Malaysia bag with shiny purple sequins,
the pink pillow and candle holders you made
from rusted iron - suddenly the atmosphere
of the room is subtly changed, the black and
silver duvet a wonderful background - I love
the fresh new feeling it brings!
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Love Is The Ritual
Written by glen burtnik, plinky
Lead vocals by glen burtnik
Little sister
She got a lot of time she got a lot of money
Dont you know that aint enough
Pretty thing
All dressed up for the main attraction
Like a baby doll looking for love
And she doesnt need a reason
She just hears a calling to the wild
God gave man the breath of life
To grow up strong to take a wife
To change the world and love is the ritual
You learn to walk & talk & laugh & cry
Heart & soul til the day you die
And above it all love is the ritual
Little man
Beating his chest & flexing his muscles
Gun for hire, he shoots for a star
Like a handsome prince
Walking down the streen in his shining armor
Romeo in search of his heart
Theres a method to this madness
And a message calling to the wild
God gave man the breath of life
To grow up strong to take a wife
To change the world and love is the ritual
You learn to walk & talk & laugh & cry
Work your fingers to the bone til the day you die
And above it all love is the ritual
Come on dance little sister, little sister wants to dance
All night looking for true romance
When in a black leather jacket walks little brother
To rock her world, to be her lover
So signal all the children
Send a message calling to the wild
song performed by by Styx
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A man with a pink umbrella
Pink day
Pink hedge
Pink porch
Pink balcony
Pink woman
Pink ghost on a pink road!
Pink door
Pink hello
Pink dream
Pink sparrow
Pink night
poem by Framarz Bagheri
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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On the Stage
Lights, in a multi-coloured mist,
From indigo to amethyst,
A whirling mist of multi-coloured lights;
And after, wigs and tights,
Then faces, then a glimpse of profiles, then
Eyes, and a mist again;
And rouge, and always tights, and wigs, and tights.
You see the ballet so, and so,
From amethyst to indigo;
You see a dance of phantoms, but I see
A girl, who smiles to me;
Her cheeks, across the rouge, and in her eyes
I know what memories,
What memories and messages for me.
poem by Arthur Symons
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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0173 Memory's fast rewind
Sometimes memory
runs back like an instant fast rewind
like it’s said to do at death
and hits you wham between the eyes
with your own life
today – what, November 19 – I was
chilling out in the pub
again
relaxing into life
and there, framed in the window was
a lady (as she was today) crossing the road
dressed, this cool-cold day, in black tights and
a woollen two-piece suit in Christmas red, and
the red…
took me back so many years
that I didn’t know whether to be grateful
for the glimpse, or
regret the fast grey years between…
it must have been when I was two and a half
and for the first time in my life
my parents sought a hint
(first time in their lives too)
about The Big One for my Christmas –
walked oh so casually with me through
the glittering store as if for
no-one, everyone, anyone
but me … and there it was –
the pedal car in gleaming, buy-me red
with all the details I still can’t bear to describe
enamelled like a glimpse of paradise
and sure enough, come Christmas Day
there it was – except –
(I punctuate like Emily D when out of breath…)
in blue
how can a child be adult enough to be
grateful for a second-best? And how
can parents be a child again and know?
I had forgotten until now how the seasons had their colours –
pink Valentines almost merging into complex mauve in
Easter cards, and icing, marzipan, and yellow chicks, summer days
needing no coloured herald but the sun
then autumn colours ambivalent
with the apprehension of new classes, and
new threats…
and all this time, at just this time of year
Christmas red shouts loud its herald’s trumpet
of paradise; promised; lost;
perhaps, regained
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Pink
A blush of pink:
She'd caught a roving eye -
He gave a wink.
Her smile had played a shy
And quaint florescence;
The siren of pubescence
Drew him in.
She bade him touch her hair,
Suggesting that he dare
To kiss her pulsing lips!
E'er the fool a man, he did:
The drips of blood began to cheer -
And so, another rid:
Tips of fangs are sharp, you know -
Dancing ivory feeds her soul -
See her claim a howl upon a chilling wind!
Slain, he lay across a crimson floor:
She grinned in her repletion.
A blush of pink;
Beneath a glowering sky
Her savoured drink
Was done.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
pink pink pink pink pink pink her blush
pink pink pink pink pink pink her blush
pink pink pink pink pink pink her blush
pink pink pink pink pink pink
poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Pink
Pink handkerchief
'Pink' username
Pink bag
Pink eyeglasses
Pink earrings
A girl in all-pink walking
A girl in all-pink talking
A girl in all-pink eating
A girl in all-pink hurting
A girl in all-pink crying
But a girl in all-pink, dazzling
A boy in a pink t-shirt, bedazzled
by a girl in all-pink
A girl with a Pink Soul.
poem by Mary Jesusa Villegas
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Johannesburg!
Johannesburg (Lyric)
Johannesburg
Johannesburg
I’m here and starting to shine
Like a chandelier
You spark the atmosphere
Come on! Let our talents combine.
Pink satin tights
Bright city lights
Oh wow! But I’m doing fine
I feel so lyrical
And it’s a miracle
To see these gumboot feet of mine just fly.
Chorus:
There is this big band sound
That’s playing all around
A carousel of hope
for both the lost and the found.
I want the whole big world to know
you’re my home town…
You’re good as gold – Johannesburg.
You’re good as gold - Johannesburg.
© Margaret Kollmer
poem by Margaret Kollmer
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Drownig in pink
I am oaring now
In a pink river
In a pink canoe
With a pink feeling
On a pink Saturday!
poem by Framarz Bagheri
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Saturday Night Dance
Looked forward to the Saturday Night dance
We did, all dressed up to 'shine',
With winkle picker shoes, and layers of net
In our petticoats. We felt divine.
The 'hair do' backcombed to perfection,
The lipstick a bright Roman Pink,
The 10 denier stockings, were totally great,
And, that handsome Teddy Boy's wink!
Rock and roll, The Twist, The Locomotion,
Were the favourites of the day,
And then there was the 'smoochy' waltz,
When cheek to cheek, we could 'swoon' away.
You sat, until some bold young fella,
Would have the courage to ask you up,
To do 'The Jive' or the 'Cha Cha Cha',
Or to fetch you some wine to sup.
Some lads were delightful to dance with,
While others had two left feet,
But one would have to suffer them gladly,
If you wanted to, leave your seat.
Politeness would rule the evening,
And courtesy was really great,
When someone would give you a lift back home,
If the dance, went on too late.
Gone are those days of feeling feminine,
With the boys, debonair and bold,
But, Oh, it was so romantic then,
When you had a 'strong' hand to hold.
There was fun with the band playing loudly.
When being female, we dressed to 'kill',
And when men were Gents and treated us girls,
With, respect. Now that was definitely 'BRILL'!
poem by Ernestine Northover
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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