One for the money
two for the shoe
three to go steady
Now that’s a waltz
across Venice
with Susan
Then easy lounge
on our dos-à-dos
rear to gear
Tipped over resembles
the Los Angeles Basin
but the Bay empty
The rush and roll
of a crushed sea
as we run away
To escape the beasts
the biblical babble
of Hollywood
Wait – run too extreme
we waltz off
in closed position.
Tag: dance
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One for the Money
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For the Good of the King
Subjects are topics one should not avoid.
Every day is the best ever in the life of a King.
You’re not a real King unless you’re in a Shakespeare play.
/kiNG/ rhymes with bring the King his spring slippers.
A soft King is hard to find.
Louis XIV (the Sun King) reigned for 72 years and 110 days, and behaved like one might want of a King (but born too late for Shakespeare). Louis might have been called the Woke King, for that’s a long time to go without sleeping. Or the Ballet King, for he loved to dance, and insisted his court keep its knees up.
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What Shall We Do With a Drunken Surfer
She bops down to the beach to dance
in the sand by the water the seaweed
brittle and he trips aback and nearly falls
like the drunken sailor in the shanty
“Ho! No! Thar she blows!”She desires to dance politely
he wants to throw the bottle
into the waves they bouncing
round two junks in the vessel
carried away in a rash riptideWith a message for the great white
whale they glide over the stonefish
ease through a fluther of box jellies
the moon full but the night not fair
the music stops the beach emptiesHe awakes in the bottle rolling in the ripples
with her sound asleep soft nipples
in the warm sand above the water line
calm and sober like the walrus
angel watching over youWhat shall we do with a drunken surfer
who dreams full of fishes seaweed wrack
brack Saltwort Ale and other foolishness
who never caught a fish nor wave enough
to feed his wife out combing the beach -
Summer Notes: 2 – Fireworks
“Raise high” red & orange sun umbrellas
blow out the blue balloon ballroom
ceiling for the doff dance“Pick up order here!
…olives, pepperochini!
pale ale from Hop House!”Ten knuckle blues
cats breaking the rules
notes bent brittle thin cast ironfat slides & tempting trombones Pop
go the contradictions contraindications
spinning bombos bouncing in the street. -
Dancing with really real stars
We went dancing last night, the star we danced with was really real, and we are happy to reply to Joan Acocella that we do have a ballroom in our neighborhood.
How well we danced is another question. Had there been a contest, we certainly would have been among the first dancers cast out. Couples drew complex sentences on the floor, a way of thinking we were unable to follow. Still, we danced some, and enjoyed the live and lively sound of the Pranksters, an 18-piece swing band that filled the stage with horns, rhythm, and vocalists. We had arrived an hour early to take advantage of a dancing class, learning just enough about triple-step swing to watch the dancers with increased interest. Our favorite couple, a lanky fellow and his sparse partner, flitted and flirted about the floor like two mosquitoes bouncing against the ceiling on a sultry night in August; by the end of the evening, a tie of sweat dripped down his shirt.
The crowd was diverse, and though the event was open to all ages, mostly probably older folks, the women with their malmy hair measured, the best men dancers wearing cowboy boots. A few couples entertained with period costume, but no Vegas-wear. A few young couples hopped about unceremoniously, the try-anything-once spirit alive and well. The evening seemed a come as you are and dance how you will affair. We took a few notes, thinking of a post, thinking about the difficulties of both dancing and writing.
The Coming of the Toads 