Dancers of the mind

Somewhere in the attic of the mind the dancers wait,
in dusty light they practice pirouettes,
humming the tune
they want for their performance.

They listen, watch the clock, it is not time yet
so they whisper to each other, comb each other’s hair. Then
from down below,
the master of the theatre yells for them to come out.

And see, so gracefully they descend the stairs,
though nervous wrecks they are,
the music starts with ruffling drums:
a poem pushed into the limelight.

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Comments on: "Dancers of the mind" (8)

  1. A lovely metaphor emerges at the end, where the poem steps onto the stage. An Ars Poetica indeed. And I love all the waiting in the attic. The details there are most evocative of the behind the stage world.

  2. You captured it perfectly. Thanks.

  3. Love the analagy here Ina, just perfect L&H xx

  4. Sometimes these dancers keep going till they drop – such is poetry when it goes wild.

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