Patricia Cresswell Poet Free verse

For the Dance

for the dance

knees ache
after all of the years
tending floors
of oak and ash.
scraping through
waltz-worn varnish.

scents of turps, aged wood
float on heat waves
above his head.
back strained 
beyond bearing.

chandeliers mock the stars
bright crystal flames.
silks and satins whisper
whirling colour kaleidoscope;
ceremonial swords softly rattle.

dancing slippers
guided by dress boots
polished to a striking gleam
glide smoothly on his floor.

music bursts from doors;
windows open to the night.
voices murmuring, in dusky gardens
heedless of the floor keepers plight.

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Robert Lindley August 20, 2017 at 9:06 PM Once when young and carefree I loved to dance. Especially with the pretty ladies.. Now pretty images of dancing beauties oft fill my dreams.. You describe olden times when life was far more mellow and dances far more formal.. Great poem my friend... Patricia Cresswell August 20, 2017 at 9:16 PM Thank you Robert.

Ralph Sergi August 20, 2017 at 8:34 PM Beautifully worded with total recall of my younger days on ballroom floors dancing then getting paid with a part time job to clean those floors. Great nostalgic poem, Patricia! Patricia Cresswell August 20, 2017 at 8:42 PM Thank you Ralph or the comment and the memory.

Darren White August 19, 2017 at 11:54 PM That is a beautiful poem Patricia. You write with so much imagery, it's incredible, I can see that poor floor keeper. Patricia Cresswell August 20, 2017 at 12:05 AM Thank you Darren. I guess in those days, as today, each class (yes I believe it exists even today) had its own place and the worker was there to afford the wealthy ease and freedom. Yet, oh how wonderful to attend such a ball.