A Spot of Poetea

::pours tea, wears a monocle, looks surprised, somehow, when someone visits this page and speaks like Alastair Cook::

Ah! Yes, come in!

I thought you all might enjoy a spot of poetea. That's poetry and tea. Only to truly have tea, you must sally forth and obtain your own. But I did write a poem. I call this one, "Ode to the Buttocks of Windsor."

::drops access and monocle::

Okay, no, I don't know what the fuck THAT was all about, I'm in a weird mood. But I did write a poem today, influenced by my play and the stuff that inspired it. And now, it's NOT "Ode to the Buttocks of Windsor".

Now I've completely destroyed the mood for this poem. But oh well, here it be.


Dance of the Acrobat

The dancer and the star-crossed lovers
Frozen in time…
The moon becomes eclipsed in red,
With lust and rhyme!

To which light do I now belong?
The dancer grinds in red and black
Despite her sensuous attack,
That night is silent in the song—
You will not hear from me;
You cannot hear from him—
The moon is free,
Its light, too dim.

She carved his name within the smoke
Her polka-dotted words aflame,
So he would burn inside the shame
Her world, she quickly turned a-joke,
The dancer, but a lark!
The acrobat, a fool!
A small remark:
So soft, but cruel…

“At least, this time,
It wasn’t all hide-and-seek.”

My dancer cannot fill the hole,
Just like the lady of the moon,
To banish dream-light all too soon.
Inside you, I release control…
Please tell me what to feel
Some of us need that light—
To know we’re real…
To live the night…

The dancer does not grieve as we
Oh no! she only shifts and bends!
And yet the acrobat pretends
To know responsibility—
Yet, bending, dreams will crack
What will she, when she breaks?
The moon – the ac-
robat, she takes…

He won’t stay put…
Your life and death, he won’t stay put!
I’m running, and he won’t stay put,
You’re bleeding, and he won’t stay put…

The moon has caught him in perfume
Her scent will only make us bleed
The three of us, on him, will feed
Until the red has drained that room
Until the doorway closes dreams
Until the dancing stops the screams

I can’t stay put…
You called me; I did not stay put
You’re bleeding; I could not stay put

I just…
Dance…
And dance and dance and dance…
I must be the acrobat
You spoke of
The one in dreams
The one we shared
The one who’s scared

Why didn’t you stay put?

So break, my dancer! Fell your cry
Of horror, anguish, sorrow blurred,
From grievances too long deferred
We’ll battle on, the moon and I,
But you must speak his name
The dance must always end
Dispel the blame,
As would our friend

The dancer and the acrobat
Will find, so dangerous and high,
A starting point for Moon and I,
And balance till our this-and-that
Subsides into the song
And acrobat is free…
I pray not long
That it should be


But dancing can be used for storm
As well as for the sun,
To rain the fire or swell the ocean…
And here, amid the social swarm,
And always on the run,
We’ve isolated this emotion.

You pray the moon again will dance,
I pray the acrobat will see
I’m what you wanted me to be
The dancer will regain her stance
When acrobat and she
Together speak your name—
At last, they’ll see
They are the same.

The acrobat and star-crossed lovers
Frozen in you…
And moon may wax to full again,
In white and blue.