“Dancing Death”

When Dancing Death comes flinging round,

He stomps gaps into the ground.

Inviting you to fill his card,

And learn the steps-so thrilling hard.

 

You’ll dance until you’re tired through,

And holey like the princess’ shoe,

But still you’ll turn and spin and leap,

Because your goodbyes don’t come cheap.

 

Weave within those strongest arms,

That always bruise, but mean no harm,

This is how you leave your past,

You lose its sight as you whirl fast.

 

Dizziness won’t make you forget,

Knocking limbs can’t cause you to fret,

You’re caught up in the steps of Death,

Your world dissipates on His breath,

 

In lovely grays and magic swirls,

That surround you as the dancing whirls,

Softening jabs and pains and pokes,

Across the veil of stinging smoke,

 

It creeps to those you’ll leave, their eyes

Now apart from you, and makes them cry.

Brushing them with each step you take,

As the dance of Death makes their world quake.

 

It’s a dance for madmen where limbs contort,

Into others, where pain and grief consort.

“Squash” go the hearts and out goes the breath,

These are moves in the dance with Death.

 

But Death, He has no time for rest,

Even when souls have left each breast,

He just moves on, the dancing fool

We mortals have a wiser rule.

 

We have time to rest our feet,

To stop dancing to an outer beat.

We fling all into our turn,

But then we leave the dance to burn

 

We have ourselves another place,

With other friends and love to face,

We’ll learn the steps with Death’s guide,

To reach ourselves to the other side.

 

When Dancing Death comes flinging round,

He stomps gaps into the ground.

Inviting you to follow me,

And dance your way to being free.

 

You’ll dance until you’ve gotten through,

No more steps between us two,

But our joy will still grow as before,

Because our helloes still mean more.

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Similar Posts:

-https://wheresmytower.wordpress.com/2012/04/10/twelve-dancing-princesses/ (“Disenchanted” poem)

-https://wheresmytower.wordpress.com/2013/03/14/my-patch/

-https://wheresmytower.wordpress.com/2012/05/08/maurice-sendak-is-dead/ (Sendak death poem)

“For Twelve”

Twelve steps, twelve brothers, twelve ones you know,

All are scattered with just one blow.

Blank white rises, with fear and debris,

No emotion is tidy when lives need to flee.

 

The floors of the palace are empty and dull,

Without the extremes you’re in apathy’s lull.
You know pain’s cause isn’t far away

Its threat follows quietly as you pay.

 

In silence, since you’ve lost words to say-

and the ones you could tell them to, anyway.

In work, dragging on, for one sinful blast-

Nothing takes longer than cleaning out the past.

Resentment and love are both nettles that sting,

But comfort is far away and tired to the wing.
So keep on, grind on, use these things to weave.

The world says, “Idle hands are not the way to grieve.”

 

The halls of the palace are grand and echo,

but they offer no clue as to which way to go.
It’s filled with beauty and sights that are new;
It’s that same old place while the work pulls at you.

 

Guilt says, “Stamp the pain, stay up late, you can drag this on.”

Exhausted, alone, you’re not ready for the dawn.

Deadline comes, grabs your labors before the sun.

The world sees relief there and thinks that you have won.

But twelve and twelve are not the same; year and sorrow drained you dry.

Only one wing, pure and blank, warms you from this lie.

Give up, give in, lift loneliness and speak.

Here has sought me, though Death has what I seek.

 

My palace walls are decked and bright

And I’ve learned to rest here through the night.
The feast is for joy, for life, and for me.

I shall say yes…and keep just one wing free.

Maurice Sendak is dead

http://www.nytimes.com/2012/05/09/books/maurice-sendak-childrens-author-dies-at-83.html?pagewanted=1&_r=1

 

“Where the Gone Things Are”

 

Goodbye,

To the ringmaster.

Cares he commanded,

Laughs were his, too.

A rinse for the mind

When his wilds came through.

Pop!

 

-Said the pictures?

Made them of dreams.

Nothing could be branded,

Genius is like that.

In monsters or cats

Or Pig!

 

-glety!

There must be more to death

Than no more anything.

If only a sandwich or two,

Some comfort soup? Or milk

Could be death kitchen’s stew.

 

-Higglety!

Taste every side of it,

There’s life and there’s sad,

And there’s a crown, too.

It can’t be all bad,

Not after all that we had.

 

No bumbles, or swears,

Or lions with maws

Can snatch off the ringmaster’s

Circus of paws.

Where the gone things are

-is wild.

 

In and out of lives,

For years and for today,

There’s so much to say goodbye to,

And no bye’s good to say.

Death must be more than ‘stop’.

-a higglety, pigglety, pop!

 

Goodbye,

I count one to nine-

But this is over. (No!-when?)

I promise, I swear,

I won’t ever turn Then.

Now is the last line.

-Please…Again?