‘Frankie don’t dance’
his T-shirt says
and I’m sorry
for anyone who so restricts
his own joy,
so afraid of release
he fends it off
before it starts to begin.
‘If I can’t dance
at the revolution,’
Emma Goldman is said
to have said to Lenin,
‘I won’t come.’
Now that I like!
Me, I ain’t got
rhythm, trip over
my feet, and yet
I love to swirl and tap.
[Poem #83]
This began as a game some bloggers played in 2008, to write about people who'd made an impact, in the same number of words as one's age, every day for a year. I did them less often and went on longer, adding one word each birthday. I stopped in 2016 and incorporated them into my main poetry blog. In 2019 I resumed the project and gave it its own blog again, with a new name, where it may unfold at its own (slow, intermittent) pace. I've labelled these verse portraits, but they're more like quick sketches: mere glimpses, impressions....
Comments from original posting:
ReplyDeletePearl 25 November 2009 at 06:03
I have a mental image of the domino cascade of all the resulting injuries from someone's flinging and hopping and swinging when they really, are seriously, a bad dancer. lol-hyperbole -- refraining from dancing as consideration for others.
Rosemary Nissen-Wade 25 November 2009 at 10:32
It's OK. I dance alone in my home, with or without a broom.