The Swing Dance

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
Few things are more freeing than dancing, and the Swing variety is my favorite. My friends and I enjoy swing dancing at all times of the year, at any opportunity. This particular poem was written after several occasions of impromptu swing dancing outside in late fall during other parties. I tried to capture in some of the uninhibitedness of the dance.

Submitted: May 24, 2014

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Submitted: May 24, 2014



Black boots and burning leather

Rusting bones in scarf weather

Melting cups of mint chai tea

And coffee mugs stained burnt off-green


Say hello to the winter

Shrug in the fire

Step closer turn your eyes to a smile


Frozen fingers with blue-ball pens

Tainted teeth where the stone wall ends

Great piles of logs and a song like the ocean

We’ve never seen a wave but in black eyes open


Here’s to the gold plates on copper stairs

To the worn-down desks and the paper tears

At the last song’s note we’ll be dancing here


Thin jeans, winter coats left holding the stairs

Old metal bars hold stares in the air

Cold sweat moistens our flushed hot cheeks

As the river sings softly and gives us a beat


Laughter in our eyes as the sun sinks down

Rhythm in our hands as you spin me around

My foot then yours as our hearts hit the chords


And the swing dance whispers as we head back home

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