Tag Archives: innocence

It’s Only Dancing

I don’t even know your name;
it’s not important you know mine.
But since you’re sitting there alone,
I’d like a minute of your time.

It may seem forward, I’ll admit;
I’ll understand if you refuse.
But you look like you might agree,
so what have I got to lose?

It’s only dancing, it won’t do any harm;
two minutes and thirty three seconds pretending in each other arms.
It’s no long term commitment to true love and romancing;
just a spin on the floor for a song, nothing more.
It’s only dancing.

I don’t know the latest moves,
but I’ve heard this old song before;
and every time it starts to play,
they seem to fill up the dance floor.

I may not be your type at all;
I’ll understand if you say no.
But something in your eyes tonight
tells me you might just have a go.

It’s only dancing, doesn’t need to lead somewhere;
two minutes thirty three seconds pretending the world isn’t there.
It’s no prelude to forever, or the start of romancing;
just some turns on the floor for a while, nothing more.
It’s only dancing.

I don’t want to lead you on;
I’m not expecting any action.
But we both came in here alone,
probably could use the distraction.

It may seem an odd request;
I’ll understand if you decline.
But as long as we’re both here,
we might as well have a good time.

It’s only dancing, it’s not anything wrong;
two minutes and thirty three seconds together enjoying this song.
It’s no ever after, no foolish romancing;
just a spin on the floor for a spell, nothing more.
It’s only dancing.

22 JAN 2006

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Children of the Garden

Rooted from the garden of our innocence
Cut down crosstown, cross time
Casting your petals, careless, wind-borne,
spilt from your cup like wine

Do you, can you, remember it,
locked in those vases on the mantle?
Is there something that can tie you back, speechless,
except time?

We could be orchids in the ocean
We could be lilies on the vine
We could be cast in graven images
without divine intervention.

Stripped down, pared back to nothing,
Left out shivering in the cold;
Is there anything remaining here
That’s not been sold?

Packed up, headed on the highway
Moss-free, like a rolling stone;
What do you do to keep from fading,
from growing old?

We could be tulips at the table
We could be roses in the rain
We could be set free from our dependence
On each others’ pain

Who’s left the garden gate wide open?
Who’s picked the flowers by the way?
Who’s left to say she loves me, loves me not?
Who’s going to replant, come May?

We could be orchids on the oceans
We could be roses in the rain, sometimes
We could wake to find ourselves immaculate,
Divine creations
Misguided applications
of divine intention.

JUL 1991

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Poetry On Demand

why can’t i clean the palette with
a wide stroke of the pen, and then
when the tabla is inky black
use a beam of light to form new words
that leave their silver traces in the
fading mist of significance?

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