Jingle jangle went her wrists,
jangle jingle rang the rings that swung from bell-roped ears.
Unless she shook like a tambourine, she could hardly be seen.
When in motion Bodhrán drums and pursed wind-blown pipes
marched upright, legs as stiff as Irish dancers.
Maybe fairies danced in her eyes, or maybe drunken dodgem cars?
Something was turning and bumping,
something was walking and talking, jangling, and jingling
upon a nervy trampoline of being.
Though fascinatingly thrumming with the sonics
of a madcap Calle band she failed to transmit, nor fit,
as if she had shaken free of the crowd to be this
jiggling skeleton key seeking any keyhole of attention.
Categories:
dodgem, poetry,
Form: Free verse
toffee apples
tasted so sweet
candyfloss evaporating
as we eat
swing boats
chair of planes
& helter-skeltet
again& again
pretending to drive
in dodgem cars
flying carousel
as if from mars
crowding in the
boxing tent
local challengers
quickly spent
longing with
youthful eyes
rolling pennies
for the prize
sans parents
at a local funfair
evenings
without a care
Categories:
dodgem, childhood, fun,
Form: Rhyme