Poetry is Thought-Dancing.

It’s a freeform T-storm,

popping verbal thunder, and

locking limerick’d lightning bolts,

making the mind’s eye open wide,

sending provocative prose from the sky in multi-lettered jolts –

an ensemble effort, each word has electricity,

a hundred thousand volts in each syllable’s ability

to hit your brain’s mainframe precisely, with agility,

 

So much motion in poetry, especially considering-

-how words are really spells and can take you somewhere else,

to a time and space where you wouldn’t quite think;

these words are a transport to a leopard-print Jansport,

or skating fast around an empty hockey rink.

 

Poetry, to me, is ‘thought-dancing.’

Whether its a headspin, or ballerinas prancing.

A romantic word-tango,

a circus of high flying verses that make us nervous;

A ground-shaking, spoken-word haka,

or a line dance, chanted in unison.

 

It’s a movement class for the mind,

as we use our ideas to decorate space and time.

“May I have this thought-dance?” I ask in rhyme

to imagine with my words, and your thoughts, intertwined. -RSM

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