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.

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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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