A dialog of voices round a table offers choices
for a poet sitting searching for that all illusive rift.
As Saturday night to Sunday morning shifts along without much warning
what poetry is there forming from sounds which coexist
to set themselves adrift in a form that will persist like those of Dumas?
The TV is on for Strictly so maybe I can quickly get some words down.
But distracted by reactions in the Twitter stream to dances
I succumb to interactions with some faceless clown.
He thinks Ed Balls’s a winner instead of a beginner
She grins at Judge Rinder as he tries to convince her
that the panel isn’t biased by scoring Louise the highest in the cha cha cha.
Ed nudges closer to a zero making him a bigger hero in the public gaze.
They watch bemused like Darcy by low scores from Craig’s harshly
raised paddle while continuing to babble about Danny Mac’s 40s.
Now they miss the best of stories, all the flashing flights of glory
coming from the greatness of Claudia’s strength and straightness.
They even fail to fathom AJ’s disguise of the chasm
between the levels of their hips amidst amazement at the lifts leaving us all a-gaga.
Their acrobatic Argentine tango to sultry sounds from one piano
playing Cry Me a River sending me into a shiver as they beautifully deliver
to Justin Timberlake. I’m waiting for the room to shake. Not for a 36!
I look askanced at it, a mistake perchance is it? Utterly entranced by it,
I would say it’s perfect, no way to correct it, they should have got a 10 for it
Professionals give praise for it, AJ take a bow for it - ta-dah!
© Sheila Ash, 2016
Posted 27th November 2016