When you get the chance, dance. Cut a rug. Trip the light fantastic. Step lightly. Dance.
And so we go. Write something related to dancing. A step, a gathering, dancing around a issue, a phrase, anything involving a dance move puts you in the groove.
WALTZ TIME:
LAST CHANCE, LAST DANCE
Will you, won’t you join this dance?
Won’t you take this one last chance?
Would you, could you use your words,
write some poems (quite absurd)?
Will you take the steps you need?
Won’t you join us? Plant your seed?
Will you? Won’t you take my hand?
Move your feet to beat the band?
Feel the music move your soul?
Let the rhythm take control?
Tell me, can I have this dance?
Will you, won’t you take the chance?
© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2023
***
A TRIBUTE TO DAD:
100% MY FATHERS SON
He was Walt as I am Walt,
and his father was before him.
We shared so much, our ways
and such, as I carry on today.
He, a man quite good with wood
but didn’t say a lot.
Me, a man quite good with words,
but as with wood, quite not.
He taught me things,
he bought me things,
he wrought me with his demons.
And I was swell,
and I rebelled
and inherited his demons.
But, there was a man, despite his flaws
loved his family just because
we gave him joy. Every girl,
every boy, and Mom the glue
that mended us, nurtured and befriended us
and protected us ’til we knew better,
she’d make him a saint if we had let her.
But, Dad was rather quite assured
that mistakes he made would not be cured,
we learned to live within his world
until he up and left it. And now,
bereft it we hold onto all he gave.
I got his eyes, artistic style,
I got mom’s nose, her sighs, her smile,
I got his skill and sad addiction,
I embrace her warmth, his dereliction.
But all-in-all, one helluva guy
in his workshop in the sky.
I have his name, I have his fun,
100% my father’s son.
© Walter J. Wojtanik
POETIC BLOOMINGS 
Responses
I got this morning and tried to dance. I am very rusty…but at least I tried.
Oh Walt! What an honest tribute snd the crafting( sigh)!!
Touching tribute!
Thanks all. My Dad has been a topic that brings the emotion to the surface. Walt
What a lovely tribute, Walt!
Walt, the first one appears that your channeling Dr. Seuss. 🙂
I love the description of your relationship with your Father. It’s not sentimental mush, it’s real stuff.
Walt, you are the Dr. Seuss of the dance! Great wording and rhythm, it would make an excellent movement across the floor!
Your tribute to your dad was amazing, so true to life, so touching, so real!! Our parents may not have been perfect but they were ours! Beautifully done!
Dancing with God
For years, I did a dance with God,
First, drawing close in love and prayer.
Then feeling that I had messed up,
I would back up, distanced from Him
I didn’t understand at first,
For years, I did a dance with God.
The back and forth and back and forth,
Like a spiritual jitterbug.
He got it through to me somehow,
Of this back and forth dance I did.
For years, I did a dance with God.
When I mess up, I should draw near.
Now, when I feel myself withdraw.
I take His hand into a waltz.
He holds me closer as we dance.
For years, I’ve done this dance with God.
I think this is great storytelling.
Interesting take on our spiritual relationships! perhaps even the bargaining bit.
I’ve done this, too!
I just love how you expressed this, Connie! Such a clear representation of spiritual growth… and then, when we let Him lead, everything falls into place.
Thanks, all!
This is a wonderful use of refrain and a great choice in the crafting of this piece!
Oh, Connie, I so enjoyed this! I could feel the movements you described! Love the idea of a ‘’spiritual jitterbug’!
A WALTZ TO REMEMBER
We married one day, in the time of the year
when trees were bright yellow and skies azure-clear,
but nothing in nature looked nearly so dear
as you did, that day in the fall.
We knew at the time we were taking a chance
that began with a vow and our first wedding dance;
but somehow our lives never lost the romance
that led to that day in the fall.
Our journey’s been tested as years streamed along;
some times were so right and some times were so wrong;
but we always knew that our lives are a song
that started that day in the fall.
Though years may still pass in determined progression,
they never will alter this present confession:
that nothing will ever surpass my impression
of you and that day in the fall.
I love this. It sounds like a waltz. And it’s very romantic.
Very nice poem and wonderful easy rhymes like a dance (slow dance!)
This is beautiful, William!
So sweet! Love that idea of a beautiful song, and the repeated line at the end of each verse.
I agree with Connie, your poem feels like a romantic waltz, William! Such vivid images and such a richly woven rhythm! Beautifully played!
A superb pair, Walt.
SUMMERTIME
Melody: Edelweiss (Rodgers and Hammerstein)
Summertime, summertime,
bringing its heat and its sweating;
its days excite old Fahrenheit,
this is the season I’m dreading.
I’d trade all its glow for a little snow
despite all my chills and my sneezing;
summertime, summertime,
I wish you a season of freezing.
Yes I have to agree heartily this year. I will not miss the smell of smoke even if I can never have it again!!!
I would love to trade summer for snow! Love this!
Fun poem. You should come to Colorado. It snowed on Pike’s Peak yesterday. It’s fairly warn in SW CO where I live, but cold at nights.
I’d still chose heat over snow, but there you go, what do I know! Nice poem, William! It is a good thing that spring and fall keep a good balance going between the extremes of too much heat and too much chill!
HIDDEN IN THE MUSIC
the beat
the trick
connect first
synergy, the thirst
find that move
enter the groove
my brother’s wedding
my dad
took my hand
he said
you’ve got this
you understand
we danced
almost pranced
our connection
obvious affection
we didn’t have to think
the heart
our link
a cousin’s wedding
a dear, childhood friend
suggested we dance
without end
he took my hand
as I began to stand
as we took the floor
we entered the zone
creating the tone
moving in sync
in a blink
offering a quick glance
throughout our dance
a circle around us appeared
as we were cheered
my parents were there
many friends
all smiling
finally joining us
not realizing
it was our beat
that moved their feet
to that dance floor
wanting even more
third wedding
my son
his dance with his mother
had begun
we locked eyes
not a surprise
and with our connection
obvious affection
we cleared the floor
moving in sync
even more
you would have thought we’d practiced
done it many times
beating to the rhythms
while making up the rhymes
the song
‘Tell My Mother I Miss Her So’
became our high
never a low
people were happy
cheering us on
coming onto the dance floor
where we all belonged
it all starts with how we connect
the closeness we project
hidden in the music
the positive grooves
the synergy
that moves
three dances
I’ll never forget
the open motion
like a flowing ocean
met
set
in dances
like second chances
we lovingly
get
(c) Janet Rice Carnahan 2023
This is beautiful Janet!
Aye, especially, for me, the notion of a dance being akin to a second chance.
Love this loving piece! So much ‘heart’beat here!
What a beautiful narrative!
Love this, Janet. I felt like I was dancing right along with you.
Thank you all for such kind words! 🙂
Storm Dancing
I know it is just the fondness of memory
but the wind was different back in 1984
as it made Grandpa’s work cloths pirouette out on the line.
Each gust had a spirit and a voice that tickled
eyelashes and picked up your hair playfully
on those restless days when the weather blew in.
Chasing clouds across the sky
and wrappers down the sidewalk
the wind could sing.
It often had a voice just like yours or mine
as it waltzed in the hills surrounding the house
and through the sweet grass in the meadow.
Before my adult worries crowded in
I could see the pageantry in each gale
and inside those blustery days made up my own.
Each step was created amongst the rhythm of raindrops
as tendrils spun across the farmhouse windows
dancing with the wind as I waited out the storm.
Excellent, Tara. I love the use of dance in several ways. The poem itself is a great metaphor.
Thank you for reading and commenting!
Marvellous!
Thanks William! I find myself so nostalgic for the 80’s lately although I know in many ways the decade was horribly flawed. Maybe I’m just missing youth itself!
Lovely poem and yes, loved those ’80s too.
Thanks for reading! I’ve been Re watching Stranger Things with the kids so that brings back the 80’s for me ( I wore some of those shirts lol!!)
Very nice–I enjoyed this, Tara.
Thank you!!
This brought me right back to the carefree days of childhood (which, for me, was the 80’s). Love the sensory details!
I was a child of the 80’s as well! Thanks for checking this out!
Love this, Tara! Great word painting.
Thank you Connie!
I don’t dance a lot. But when I do……
This Dance is For Us
A patch of wet on my white dress shirt
A smudge of mascara on my collar
Lipstick lingering on my cheek
Palms moist from emotional sweat
I smile and joke to distract from the moment
My wife’s eyes well up with tears
He patiently waits for the dance to end
He can wait; this dance is for us
“I Loved Her First”, opens the tear ducts
As she tells me she loves me so much
I fight back the tears as I tell her
Just how much she has meant to me
The song is nearing its conclusion
We hold tighter than ever before
This moment will stay with me forever
I will cherish this father-daughter dance
Aaahhhhhhh……
Nice!
So, so sweet! Brought tears to my eyes as I thought of my Dad, now forever home. Nothing more tender than a daddy-daughter dance.
Great poem, Earl. It brought tears to my eyes.
Summer Storm
Rain drops patter in the yard
as thunder echoes through the sky
and today the sparrows are gone
as I look for them to dance and play.
Yesterday
I heard the world is living
I heard the world is dying
conversations in grocery lines
say there could be a drought.
I say the world is changing.
The skies last week were sullen
from forest fires in Canada
and one day my eyes burnt
as an orange sun
ghosted a skyline.
A building downtown
collapsed from neglect
after the city and landlord
denied the signs
yet a hard rain
cannot wash away the grief
after three tenants died.
The yard takes in
what the sky offers
so it can live another day.
Looking out
the living room window
I think I hear
the sound of a robin
but am left alone
with a silent moment.
as I sit alone.
Superb!
I love the melancholy that you have woven throughout, yet still with a sense of hope …or at least the cycle of change and renewal Excellent!
/the yard takes in what the sky offers/ WOW!! such a power line! Very thoughtful piece full of nuance.
Wow! Love all the nuances in this piece!
I like how you brought all that out in a moment.
This is based on the Poetic Bloomings August 18, 2013 prompt, “I’ve Heard That Song Before.” This is an imperfect parody. Blame its imperfections on—well, you’ll see.
Blame
Blame it on my lack of rhythm
I don’t dance so well.
Blame it on my lack of rhythm.
That is why I fell.
Yes, he said, “ Let’s just take a chance.
We can ace this lovely dance.”
Blame it on my lack of rhythm.
Now, please help me up.
Don’t stand and stare.
No, no, please help.
Don’t you even care?
Help me get back up.
Blame it on my lack of rhythm
That is why I fell.
Blame it on my lack of rhythm.
Don’t leave me on the floor.
Blame it on my lack of rhythm.
You’re heading out the door?
He’d said, “Let’s have fun, my girl
and give this dance a whirl.”
Blame it on my lack of rhythm.
That is why I fell.
Oh, who are you
(You’re not my boyfriend.)
with your eyes so blue?
Can you help me up?
Blame it on my lack of rhythm
that we met like this.
He saw me on the floor—
some bossa nova.
and the closing door—
No more bossa nova
Then he took my hand.
Isn’t new love grand?
Blame it on my lack of rhythm
and my fall to love.
Sheryl Kay Oder
Big smile here
so many implications in the word /fall/ here IMO– delightful!
Made me smile, too!
This is fantastic! Love the rhythm and the ending!
Good to see you on here Sheryl. Fun poem.
Dance Away
Today it’s burned toast
memories of Mama
scraping it with the butcher knife
over the chipped porcelain sink
burned bits showering ashy rain
before we ate it anyway
and you want to dance away
from it all but the aroma
fills the kitchen and it’s all back
as you try to sashay around
the old Roper stove in its place
in the tool shed surrounded
by the shovels and a stay chicken
or two where we walked
the food up the sidewalk
and back into the house
to the table that folded up
against the wall the green and red
tile beneath the wringer Maytag
all of it fraught with the need
to dance away sidle out the door
before burgeoning thoughts consume
and the day is wrapped in the
angst of trying to just be normal.
Wow This is a masterpiece of time and place I think you nailed it!
Thank you Tara… just a ‘write what you know’ :-))
Excellent.
Thank you!!
What a word picture!
Yep I know a similar dance from my childhood, with the seven of us in a little house. And the wringer washer in the tiny kitchen.
This could be a video. Wonderful.
Great offerings here! I really enjoyed your poems, Walt. The first one really moves and the second is really moving. I posted an offering on my blog.
Forgot the link. http://www.poetlaundry.com/2023/06/brother.html
This is beautiful, Jennifer!
Indeed
Enjoyed your poem Jennifer!
Great writing. You get the emotions across.
The Dance
Trying to poem,
making notes on my phone,
some verse comes to mind
and I start to refine,
but I keep getting stuck
in the rhythm of the words –
oh I keep getting stuck
in the rhythm of
the rhythm of
the words.
Twisting turning
Tipping tapping
Whirling twirling
Clipping clapping
Two steps forward,
side step back,
now swish your words
from side to side –
dance with your partner,
dance with your pen,
and keep getting stuck in
the rhythm of the words –
in the rhythm of
the rhythm of
the words.
Nice writing to the prompt for sure. Like your use of repetition too.
Thank you! It got stuck in my head! 😅
Please tell me this makes sense! It very accurately depicts my struggle to write this week. 😅
Makes sense to me! This was fun, excellent take on prompt!
Thanks Tara!
Love it. I have a lot of writing a poem poems.
Thanks Connie!
Humming along here.
Thank you!
This has great music to it, Elizabeth!
Dance On
Loved to watch
Dad dance
at weddings,
and Bar Mitzvahs.
Having spent time
stationed in Italy
during World War II,
he learned the Tarantella.
Growing up Jewish,
the Hora was a must. He
beamed like a beacon
of light when he danced.
Sounds to me like the most happy fella.
Oh, he was!
What a beautiful memory to have!
Thanks, Elizabeth. It is.
Great word picture of your dad. Beautiful poem.
*
Glamour is pouring out of pubs and clubs
along the shoreline
And the summer clamour
Is everywhere around
I get lost in the sweet and sour flavours
Reaching my senses from the crowd
Restaurants and Ferris wheels scream for joy
Shall we dance until the crack of dawn?
*
Puts me in Santa Monica, this does.
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