Best Placesdance Poems
As i close my eyes and narrate my dream
It would be my wish, my dream supreme
We meet at Williams Lake in BC Canada
Flying in from our corners of unhappiness
As we drive to the mountains, to our wanting address
We head for Mount Robson, through the Fraser Pass
Our destination is a wonderful log cabin
What a place to spend with your lass
Our destination reached as we view our wooden heaven
Surrounded by a carpet of virgin white snow
Overlooking the Fraser River
We settle and sit down with a nice wine
In wonderment at the panorama before our eyes
Knowing that it will be hard to ever say goodbye
Our afternoon melts into our evening of wait
As we dine to soft music
Absorbing the moment as we catch each others glints
We slow dance together, whispering in each others ears
Our hands in adventure whilst our lips finally meet
Telekinesis thoughts allow our clothing to drift
Barefooted we are as we grace the oak wooden floors
The roaring log fire captures our shadows
As we kiss in song arriving at the hearth of warmth
We bow to our knees naked as birth
Barriers melted as our skins touch in want and desire
Hands now like magnets, in caressing finesse
Moment after moment we absorb our souls
Against the fireside glow, we dance on the walls
Undulating movements captured by inner enthral
The Neapolitan tarantella
is a folk dance very graceful and lively,
it was inspired by someone having been
bitten by a poisonous Taruntula.
It's fast up-beat tempo
induces a frenzied dance in a solo,
or a couple...and as they dance they sweat out
the poison of the spider's bite.
Grandma used to sing this folklorist song,
and I danced with her while loud mandolins
and tambourines accompanied her cheerful singing...
there wasn't an awkward note in her voice.
The Neapolitan tarantella, with its frantic rhythms
and shrill harmonies infused passion in great composers,
and Mendelssohn wrote his symphony...
a song dance was composed by Rossini.
The Neapolitan tarantella grandiosely plays
and everyone stops and listens to its low and high-pitched melody,
and with little hesitation they start to dance...
beneath my veranda, these folks put on a look of festivity.
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci