Fred Astaire Poems - Poems about Fred Astaire

The discovery at aged seventy Explained to me at last The source of my problems From way way back in my past. Not just a clumsy country idiot, All my life there’d been a cause, A condition called Dyspraxia Had me firmly held in its claws. With the rhythm of a stick insect Feet that didn’t act like a pair But with a few...

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Dangling on a string in his underwear Looking ridiculous and without flair Tempting fate on a simple silly dare Without a hint of worry or a care Blissfully too ignorant to beware Lest he falls flat on his fat derriere Can he be so dumb blindly unaware So quickly thrills can mutate to a scare Giggles quick to vanish into thin air An evening...

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GINGER ROGERS AND FRED ASTAIRE If Jesus Christ were a dancer, He would have danced like Fred Astaire around the room with Ginger Rogers. He'd have danced on the air with Ginger because he was a gentleman, and his passion was like the shepherd boy on the Grecian Urn that Keats wrote about who was forever perpetually young and loving; forever wrapped in a...

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debonair with tails and top hat — his ritzy shoes in frenzied tap dance 12/17/2018 Silent Ones Entertainment Poetry Contest...

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An outlaw, a felon, a choreographed thief, Stealing the moves like a crim, Seizing the twirls with a straightened top hat, Tap dancing around on a whim, Gliding a smile with shining eyebrows, Hands tip top tapping his cane, This remarkable man of pure elegance, No one could fully explain, Because he drew from ballroom, swing, Latin and jazz,...

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A man with impeccable charm, sophistication and grace, Fred Astaire was at once both marvelous and enchanting As the twentieth century’s greatest dancer and master artist. He made his sublime dancing (“hoofing”) seem effortless. Capturing the American spirit with both panache and verve Fred Astaire glided across some quite wonderful movie sets: Top Hat (1935), Swing Time (1936), Shall We Dance...

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Fred Astaire, Danced with flair! Graceful and lithe was he, As he danced into celebrity. 7/18/2013...

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Paddy Murphy Is Fred Astaire It's six below and so much snow this January midnight. Sunday's gone and Monday's turning. Yet Paddy Murphy's stepping out, his crushed fedora all askew. He's soused again and all aglow, dancing along Fifth Avenue. Tonight he thinks he's Fred Astaire and so he's swirling in the air. He needs a partner way up there, someone pretty, someone fair. If it weren't...

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