“ The Dancer ” – be the devil upstairs –

IMG_4125   Listen to audio

“ The Dancer ”

            – be the devil upstairs –

I’d know the music

Just by listening,

To the patter

On the floor above,

And the pulse

That cajoles her feet,

As she capers

To a mystifying beat,

Like it matters

To the dancer,

In whose rhythm

With melodic flair,

She so adorns

Be the devil upstairs,

To mirror,

The center of a storm

Frenzied to a level,

That shan’t be mistaken

As the dancer who conforms…

 

She’s the devil I can tell

Tho follow I with ease,

For her dance casts a spell

Which leads me to believe,

I’m destined to her hell    

If she decides to leave,

Yet just so I can listen

To the rhythmic patters,

Bent by that devil upstairs

Be the dancer who so matters!

 

                                                   inspired in Vence, Fr.

                                               written in Sweetsburg PQ.

                                                         April 21, 2003

 

   

“ The Devil ” – is upstairs –

101304524_o 2     Listen to audio

                                                         painting by Jerome Bosch

” The Devil ”

            – is upstairs –

I hear the patter

Of a prancer,

Held the devil

Playing dancer,

On the floor

Upstairs,

Comes from hell

Just to frolic,

In a manner

Casts a spell,

Her intention

Guised to prance,

Impishly carefree

Issues to imbue,

Like a banshee

Taunting you,

Of such rhythm

Be of voodoo,

Off the wall,

That conforms

To an eerie storm,

On the floor upstairs

She infernally performs!

 

                                     © Jean-Jacques Fournier  

                                         wrote in Vence, Fr.        

                                           April 21, 2003  

 

        

“ The Devil ” ~ is upstairs ~

I hear the patter

Of a prancer,

Held the devil

Playing dancer,

On the floor

Upstairs,

Came from hell

Just to frolic,

In a manner

Casts a spell,

Her intention

Guised to prance

Impishly carefree,

Issues to imbue

In a rhythm

Off the wall,

That conforms

To a voodoo

In an eerie storm,

She infernally performs

On the floor upstairs!

 

“ An Angel ” ~ without wings ~

There are angels

Not of seraphim

Nor a cherubim,

An angel that be

Decidedly a she

Of secular whim, 

Angelic to the eye

Will candidly  imply,

She’s not immune to sin…

 

An angel just the same

Without need of wings,

In a curvaceous frame

Made of earthly things,

A siren yet so graceful

Gliding in the rhythm  

Of a tantalizing state,         

Where angels the like

Shan’t likely populate,

In a world of seraphim!