Poems and short prose by Rosemary Nissen-Wade
Bird, in this world, this
world of today, becomes
a symbol of escape –
if only we could
take flight, soaring
into high air, away
from war, starvation,
terrorist attacks and
homelessness …
our green home no longer
safe. If the economy
don’t get you,
climate
Written for Quadrille #243: Bird is the Word, at dVerse.
(Quadrille: exactly 44 words excluding title, and including a given word, in this instance 'bird'.)
16.
Young me wanted the Pied Piper
to come one night to our town,
play sweetest notes on his magic flute
and call us all away – we children
who longed to escape the adult world.
What lands would he lead us to, dancing?
What fairytale surprises had always awaited
down past the end of the lane, out and away
across the fields and into the far forest?
I knew I would never come dancing back.
17.
The Seventh Seal
ends – or begins?
Death leads a line
of following figures
stretching raggedly
along the hilly horizon:
black silhouettes
against white sky.
They are holding hands.
They appear to be dancing.
18.
When I was a little kid, dancing
was what I did for joy. I didn’t
even need music. I twirled and
jumped and threw my arms up,
and went round and round and
kicked my legs and spun on my
tiptoes, and of course there was
always delicious squealing. Oh,
when I was little, I knew nothing
at all about dancing, I simply did.
19.
She calls to me, my tiny cat,
insistently, with loud and
strident voice. I pick her up,
I rock her in my arms. She purrs.
Her small paws flex,
ecstatic. I dance with her
around and around the room.
Oh, I croon, the things we do!
The things we do, the things we do,
the things we do for love.
20.
What happens when the dancing stops?
Ring-a-ring-a-rosy, all fall down?
‘Thank you,’ politely and go separate ways?
Or, shall this be a new romance?
After the ball, do those likely lads
straighten their uniforms and march off to war?
(That has been known to happen. Think Waterloo.)
Or do we wind down quietly in the old church hall
while the musos pack up their tired instruments,
and then all toddle home to a nice, calm bed?
See also Poems 1-5, Poems 6-10, and Poems 11-15.
The whole sequence is now available as a free ebook. To access it (and others) first go here.
(third set of five 10-line poems, of a sequence of 20 on the theme of dance)
11.
Then there was the time –
how old was I? 19? 20? –
when I worked part-time,
evenings and weekends,
as a cinema usherette
for the filmed Swan Lake
with Nureyev and Fonteyn
(that ‘magical partnership’ the press
said, truthfully). Magic and beauty
repeated, for me, every night.
12.
Dancing
around the subject of dancing,
I find the tempo and
gesticulations vary
according to the main
thrust of the desired
direction, the ultimate end.
This of course depends
on mood, purpose, stamina –
and most of all the random!
13.
The journey from birth to grave,
is that a dance, do you think?
Or is it a slow, plodding march,
or maybe a crawl?
I like to think it’s a dance,
even when the limbs deteriorate.
It could be a dance with a gentle,
lengthy rhythm, or perhaps
only very tiny steps. So long as
one still keeps going, it’s a progress.
14.
I can’t be holding light
between my clumsy hands!
They are an old woman’s hands
(obviously, I being an old woman).
Light wants to dance, and does dance
out of my hands and across the gaps
between people; between me and
other people. Watch it flicker and leap!
The dance of light then dips low: a ballerina
gracefully saluting her enthralled audience.
15.
I am hungry. I am ardent.
I fling my arms. I am fierce.
I dance by stamping on the ground.
I dance by lifting high my knees
and my busy, flashing heels.
Oh, this is a ferocious dance!
We have built it together, we
who refuse to go quietly into a
respectable ageing. Let us make
fools of ourselves, let us win!
See also Poems 1-5, Poems 6-10 and Poems 16-20.
The whole sequence is now available as a free ebook. To access it (and others) first go here.