Rite of Spring

I am stomping these puddles
like Stravinsky, feet for tam-tams
and arms slicing a bowing col lengo,
staccato, saltato, spiccato, sautille,
it’s all right hand and wrist and elbow
how we mark time in this wild season
of mumming and casting of seeds.


About Ray Sharp

Father, poet, triathlete, local public health planner
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2 Responses to Rite of Spring

  1. authormbeyer says:

    I love the Stravinsky metaphor… and the rhythms of your poem echo in my mind to the tune of Rite of Spring… I love musical poetry when the staccato crescendos reach Fantasia levels. (Sorry about the goofiness of the comment, but good poetry makes me a bit drunk with words.)

  2. Mikels Skele says:

    Damn, I can hear it.

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