Dispatches from the wilds of Poetania – Whirl

I wrote this whilst listening to ‘In This Shirt‘ by The Irrepressibles, which you might enjoy in accompaniment to the poem.

The smoke rolls in
like a fog
and they dance.

It curls around their ankles,
like the tentacles
of some creeping dread
and they dance.

It swells over them,
like a lover’s hands
caressing their hips,
and they dance.

The floor burns,
and their steps quicken,
in hot-footed frenzy,
they dance.

And the band plays on,
and the smoke strokes their necks
and they dance.

And in the whirling madness
of their tarantella
they draw it in,
fill themselves
and they dance.

Oh, how they dance.

Published in: on March 3, 2011 at 6:36 pm  Comments (1)  
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One CommentLeave a comment

  1. I really like this one. Good work.

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