Dotty Does Another Shitey Poem To Keep Her Occupied

 

 

Terpsichore Dances

 

she stirs, at one faint pluck of a spectral string,

to tend her hair, her lissom fingers

wrapped over the crystalline comb;

drum-beats creep spryly round the moon

and through the wind, stroking ears of corn,

fields of solidago, apple trees, larkspur

and silver birches that sway

in anticipation of what is to come.

 

she says, is it time, is it time?

and the sweet, sweet rot of her cerecloth

scents the pregnant air with delight.

 

songbirds race on thunder, spilling trills across the sea,

rain falls in quavers and she leaps to her feet,

moves in lightning streams of mercury glissades

faster and faster, kicking the earth in twists and craves.

the screams of her body, in its witchly dance of rite,

trace the antiphony of the storm-spinning night

leaping higher and higher, the chorus of her white feet

lighter than breath.

 

hurtling over the heads of men, children, ladies,

lords and queens, she is the choreographer

of their opus-spangled dreams;

they raise their heads to see,

to sigh,

to gasp,

and to weep,

and when she is gone

they all lie down to sleep.

 

 

Leave a comment

8 Comments

  1. Grumpy

     /  February 29, 2012

    Enjoyed that. Well crafted babe.

    Reply
  2. Why, Ms. Dotty! I had no idea irascible Headbangers were such lovely poets. This is quite beautiful! I really, really, REALLY like it! Thank you for sharing…

    Reply
  3. clownonfire

     /  March 1, 2012

    I have only read E.E. Cummings when it comes to poetry. I tried reading other poets, but they all fell short.

    I did read yours, nonetheless. I did. Take the praise.

    Reply
  4. Dude, this is a truly awesome poem.

    Reply

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