A few notes set a rhythm
The foxtrot beckons
Across the crowded room they smile
Nat's melodic tone frames the dance
Towards each other they move
And then they are one
Bodies locked in a dance embrace
The romantic shades of four-four time
Float across the meadows of their hearts
Effortlessly they glide across the floor
Feather step, reverse turn, natural weave
Flowing movements are but second nature
Others gaze on in wonder
As every elegant step unfolds
One beautiful, musical love story
Music fades, but their light shines brightly
They look, they laugh, they kiss
Then arm-in-arm they dance into the future
Living life to their stardust melody
Foxtrot for dances or horses?
Both I suppose.
Who does it better?
Comparing them would be
Like comparing onions to Lazy-boy-recliners,
Comparing lima beans to undertakers,
Comparing lavender to unicorns,
Comparing poetry to poetry.
It simply cannot be done.
Can I have this foxtrot, Mr. Horse?
The fated time has now arrived
My thin illusion cracks and dies
Confused, your eyebrows take a dive
Though shattered mask did never lie
Thick volumes of the things I missed
To flowing dancers, such a gaffe
The choreographer is pissed
With knowing looks, the dancers laugh
Why yes, I heard the thumping drum
It's not as if my ears don't work
Feel free to color me as dumb
There’s no point to explain my quirks
Invariant is this same dance
In social realm, it’s just my luck
The only thing that’s left to chance,
How long ‘til you say “What the heck?”
9/10/16
© Thomas W. Quigley
For real in keeping it real.
Ornery man in the political arena -
Xylophone players of classical music support is essential.
Trumping it to be the next in the Oval Office.
Rococo effect you strive for.
Ordinary people are against your representation.
Trump, Donald will be the succeeding President?
_____________________________________________________|
Written March 22, 2016 for the U.S.A President Campaign 2016!
Eyeballing you as a
sticky bun; pondering how
to reach out without
getting stuck.
"Perhaps it’s the flare of the
Season, or more primal
reasons, but I find
obsession in the chase, if you
don’t mind the pursuing."
Your lashes flutter in
exasperation, twin Venus
Flytraps stretching before
consuming,
those pinholes inside lick the
air around me, scanning
risk and prospect within such
veiled intent.
"Are your legs prepared for the
pumping, is your ardor
thumping to torch my
feverous mortal thrill, or shall
doubt guide your undoing?"
I load my quiver without
malice, aware splendor is
never afraid of
vast effort.
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