Saturday, 3 July 2010

The Poetry Bus revs up.

Monday is Poetry Bus day but a lot of you have jumped on early this week.
I am trying to fill my head with two types of creativity at once - making an embroidered cover for my holiday book and writing a poem for the bus. I am afraid it does not work.
So, I make no apologies for posting a poem I wrote a couple of years ago, which fits the criteria of this week's challenge (scroll down to Poetry Bus if you don't know what the challenge is). I am enlisting the aid of Dominic in the making of the link list because try as I might last night I just could not get linking to work.

So here is my poem. I first met Bertie Webb long after he had retired as Headmaster of a Public School. He was a delightful and very cultured man and full of boundless energy. He had retired to a small village in Cornwall but came up to Lincolnshire to stay with friends each Summer. He was fanatical about Old Time Dancing, hence this poem. He died well into his nineties.

Death of a Dancing Man.

His the light step, good for the gallop,
or The Dashing White Sergeant,
as the Village Hall throbbed to the music
and the bare boards rattled.

His the ninety years of
swinging the girls on his arm;
doing the do-si-do, mastering the tango;
passing down the ranks of
pretty girls, but never
marrying one.

His the death on the kitchen floor,
alone. After
The Valeta,
The Palais Glide,
The Lambeth Walk,
and The Last Waltz.

Have a lovely, poetic weekend.


Acornmoon said...

Witty, lively and poignant all at the same time.

Unknown said...

Oh Weaver what a sad ending.
It conjured up memories of dances I watched as small child

Oh I am on board managed to get a top deck seat :)

Dave King said...

Good one Weaver, like it very much - and actually, your sad ending fits in quite well with my effort to catch the bus. I have scheduled it to appear in the early hours of tomorrow morning, but it seems there are earlier birds than me around! I had to dig deep for this on e. Congratulations, both on the task and your own response to it.

Kass said...

Oh so sad and lovely .

Unknown said...

I remember social club dances from my childhood. My aunts brother would call out the dances, he had a lovely baritone voice and also danced beautifully but he wasn't alone. Much as your friend enjoyed being the life and soul, I imagine he also prized his privacy.

I'm so pleased to be joining fellow passengers this week. My poem can be found here:

Gerry Snape said...

I think I shall have to follow as I'm teary after reading your great poem. Thankyou .G.

George said...

Quite lovely, Weaver. What a great obituary this would be for any man: "Death of a Dancing Man."

Dr. Jeanne Iris said...

I love your tribute to the Dancing Man!

My poem is up..... here:

Dominic Rivron said...

I remember Bertie too. And him saying he wasn't as fit as he once was (was he 90 at the time?) and that he could only manage a 5 mile walk every day instead of his usual 10!

Heather said...

What fun all those girls must have had with Bertie - every girl likes a good dance partner. Your poem is charming - acornmoon has said it for me. See you on the bus.

BT said...

What a marvellous poem Weaver, with everything. Joyful steps to his sad lonely death.

Dr. Jeanne Iris said...

Hi Weaver, I just posted Poem #2 on my other blog:

Have a lovely day!

Gwil W said...

Phew! Just caught your bus at the end of the lane. Looks like standing room only.

My ticket is at

Enchanted Oak said...

The tribute to the Dancing Man is wonderful. When one is 90 something, it seems gentle to have danced one's way into the afterlife in the kitchen without fanfare.

Totalfeckineejit said...

Lovely poem Weaver, and such a sad lonely ending. Great prompt this week.Thank you!

Titus said...

I have bought a ticket, Weaver!

Mine's here:

Peter Goulding said...

Lovely poem, dancing with the ladies but never marrying. Poignant indeed.
I'm up -

chiccoreal said...

Dear Weaver of Grass: Reminds me of Leaves of Grass by the same transcendentalist as Emily Dickinson. I really love your expression of this dear and beloved teacher who could do the Fandango (could he?). I am amazed 90 years old, where do they bottle what he is on? Man I'd love some! That's a great poem! Very lively! Here is mine; somewhat channelled surfed from the 1800's.'s! Hope you like? :)