Stiff-starched skirts on golden floor
Light, robed in fabric
satin-spun with sun-beams,
sways – swirls, extends
muscles and feet
in secretive dance
upon stage soft as
silk. Her music is
the subtle sigh of lonesome
pines, the cadence of
songbirds greeting the
dawn, the rustle of
feathers in flight;
she delights in this
moment, this filament of time
hung on summer breeze,
and she dances. Her
body melts into
nature’s melody – is
electrified by its pulse,
consumed by its rhythm,
choreographed by its
raw emotion. She lets go,
jubilation in every line,
and she dances.
Small progress, to be sure,
overlooked by all casual observers,
but don’t miss its significance. It is
profundity in prose,
a missive spelling out
emancipation of slaves. It is
a palette of life to starving artists,
Monet painting van Gogh
in the round.
A Master Chef’s confection
to a parched refugee,
it teases taste buds
and tastes of freedom. It is
bringing tears unbidden in
a dark theater,
goosebumps on arms
beneath evening dress.
Beethoven’s ears opening to
for the first time
and dancing with the pulse of
a thousand known notes
are contained in its single song.
Galaxies are formed in its confinement,
hope carved in foliar flare;
life lives here.
Feel it in the way your chest moves in and out,
how your brow contracts in the thinking.
Small progress, to be sure –
but don’t .
For a devotional on this theme, visit Growing with God in my Garden
She can’t help herself –
her toes beg to tap on a dance-floor of gold.
Her feet undulate and shimmer, prance and quiver,
pulses of energy on surface of steel.
She teases and entices,
twirling and swirling to the beat of
the Universe’s great heart;
she intuitively moves
to its rhythmic cadence.
Her pace quickens as the music fades into the night.
Desperate, she tries one more move,
one more spin on the dance-floor,
her eyelids fall on the evening,
and the dance
is at an end.
If you chose, you could dwell in midnight shade,
Covered in shadows, a shroud of despair;
The darkness would hide, your infirmities fade,
If you chose the safety of blackened lair.
But here in the sunshine, your beauty blooms,
Radiance spills from your vulnerable stance;
Reflecting Creator, created resumes,
Tripping the light fantastic in dance.
Demure in blues of baby shade,
You nod and smile as you parade
In prom-night dress to fit a Queen;
Your graceful beauty sets the scene.
Your petticoats are double-tight,
With underthings of purest white,
The slippers on your tiny feet
Will float all night to prom-time beat.
Young gentlemen with faces bright
Will circle you, and your eye’s light;
You’ll look back on this and smile,
O debutante in prom-night style.