Dance - write a poem about the movement of nature.

Poetry isn't necessarily a strong point in my writing life, although I have had poetry published. I tend to enjoy writing poetry as a group activity. There's something about poetry that feels more public to me. The best of my poetic side comes out when I'm with another group of people and we're challenged in some way to wield our words to a certain form or limit. It's tough going to simply sit down and write poetry. Well, it is for me; at least.

I can write about dance, though. As a child my mother put me into ballet classes like so many other little girls, including herself. She had dreams for me that I could never fulfil. Not that I couldn't dance. In fact I took to ballet like one born to it. The graceful lines and shapes the teacher instructed us came easily to me. Holding our feet so, stretching, following the rhythm of the music, learning the steps and the French names for them. All felt so normal to me. I also enjoyed the routine of the practice sessions, the satisfying stretch in my muscles, the liquid feel in my limbs once we'd warmed up and the chance to lose myself in the melding of music and movement once again.

By the end of my first year my efforts were rewarded with a scholarship, a blessing to my mother who felt the pull of paying for the lessons on her purse strings. The scholarship covered half the year of tuition. My mother was elated. But the girl who'd been my closest friend, had told me about the ballet lessons, danced with me in the examination, and had been so excited for me to come along, she wasn't so happy.

From the day the teacher announced the Honours for my examination this friend acted like I no longer existed. I tried to approach her, but she would turn away. I tried to visit, but she would act like there was no one home. At seven years of age that kind of treatment stung.

I continued for another year enjoying the bliss of music and motion, the costumes, the beat and rhythm, the new challenges and the sense of purpose. But my fellow class mates did not enjoy my company so much. I gather to really make a go of such a competitive activity you need to develop a tough hide. But at seven eight and nine I really think that unnecessary. Can't children simply enjoy an activity for the pure fluid grace that flows in their growing bodies? It seems not.

By the time we approached the second year examinations I saw more of the parent pushing I so detest in competitive anything. Sneers and derision aimed at me and all because I found ballet so enjoyable, and therefore did not struggle with the steps or fumble with keeping to the music. I firmly believe if you enjoy something it's most likely because you have a natural tendency toward that activity. Even if you don't, if you enjoy it you should simply be left to do it, the way you enjoy it.

Anyway, after the second year exams I also came top of the class, but the scholarship could not be award two years in a row. Fair enough, I was only too happy for someone else to feel honoured. The cattiness continued all through practice sessions for the concert we held at the end of each year. I endured a lot, for a small child. Parents can be so unthinkingly cruel. One girl cornered me in the change room and said the nastiest things to me, all of them untrue. Later the girl approached me with a gift and an apology, unprompted by her mother. Seems she acted that way because her mother had instructed her to.

At the start of the third year I braced myself for more, but a young girl started classes who truly had what you'd call two left feet. The poor thing had no sense of timing or any inclination toward gracefulness. Perhaps her parents thought the lessons would help. In my opinion they couldn't have done anything worse.

The snide remarks once aimed at me for my skill, were now shot over at the poor girl who tripped and gaffed her way through every lesson. I'm not sure why, but I took her under my wing. I praised her every attempt and told her to ignore the others. This did not earn me any more friends. This girl didn't last long, though and we all breathed a little easier. But as the third year exams approached the cat fighting escalated. No on wanted to partner me because it would make them look bad. I recall walking home one afternoon and knowing I would not continue with the ballet lessons.

Everything in me wept at this. I loved the feel of the music in my veins, the way I could disappear into the nothingness of motion and the endless beauty of the timed movements. All I wanted was to dance, but to dance without the competition. I made a decision that afternoon. When I arrived home I told my mother. She wept while I stood stoic, and unmoving. My decision was made. My poor mother had to live with it, no matter how she harangued me.

I never regretted making that decision, turning my back on ballet, but at times I'd love to simply dance for the sake of it. I'd love to move and stretch and feel that beauty of grace again, but not so I'd receive a mark or be derided for my talent. I'd love to dance because I can and it feels so good.