Time for Meeting the Bar in the dVerse Poets Pub ~ Laura requests we use the 'ubi sunt' motif in our poems; ask open-ended questions beginning with the likes of "where are all" / "where is the" ~ questions that remain unanswered.
Harvest Moon (wallpaper by boodie at DeviantArt)
Where Is the Dancing ~ the Magic ~ the Moon
why is the harvest moon not
low and large ~ resting on the horizon
where ~ oh where is it hiding
where is the music ~ the singing
melodies i can no longer hear
where is the man who knew
how to dance me dizzy
our threads pulled taut
between the here and gone
I'm still in love with him
i want to dance with him again
Not too many me are dancers. I dance after my dancing partner refreshes me on the two-step. My true story also, I took very good dance lessons in college.
ReplyDeleteI can feel the longing in this poem, Helen. Beautifully written! I especially love the lines:
ReplyDelete‘where is the man who knew
how to dance me dizzy
our threads pulled taut
between the here and gone’.
Oh Helen. This is so raw and pure. I see my mom missing my father in it. Heartbreaking, yet beautiful. A blessing
ReplyDeleteBeautifully written, Helen. I love it.
ReplyDeleteWe dance with them in our memories, Helen..May we hold onto at least that.
ReplyDeleteThat last comment was from me, Judy Dykstra-Brown, also known as Anonymous.
Deleteah Helen - your lost dancer is such a loss -
ReplyDeleteI can feel the sweetness, not the bitter. Oh the melancholy when glancing back.
ReplyDeleteAnother poem from which this prompt has drawn out heartstrings to play a poignant melody of a distant dance, with such feeling, Helen...
ReplyDeleteHeartbreaking to lose such a love. Beautiful moving poem,
ReplyDeleteBeautiful poem laced with sweet nostalgia
ReplyDeleteO yes, where. Not many men dance like the one that you let get away. Found, he got a job on a cruise ship dancing with the single ladies who don't have a partner. Gets paid and tips. If I become single, which I probably won't, I have said I would get that job.
ReplyDeleteThat looming beauty, that huge hunger, how dancing could consume it for later consummation -- even the dead remember and yearn for it. How old that passion echoing in our feet recalling all the steps? (I still remember all the chords to songs I last played on a guitar three decades ago.) A fine wine here, even if I haven't had a drink in 24 years.
ReplyDeleteI feel this, and there are still those of us who could dance given the opportunity
ReplyDeleteSo moving, 'between the here and gone' sigh ...
ReplyDelete