for donna summer

 

 

 

   How does one freeze the legs of young boys?

   Swiftly,

   encased in strobe

   as they swim thru,

   slowmotion eyelets

   of lachrymal

   and sprinkling

   folk-dance.

 

 

   Disco,

   the live celebration

   of blue rooms.

   Mercuric horizons;

   outdated suites

   surface

   and overrun the girls.

   Days

   when pimples grew

   colorless as gas

   and the green-sheen

   of stretch pants could

   be seen thru the tinted

   windows of the spacecraft.

 

 

   it was you, all along.

 

 

   Those who couldn't dance, danced.

   Those who couldn't boogie, boogied.

   And when the night was over,

   our big toes pink from platform shoes

   and our press and curls sweated out,

   we found the tape of surgeons

   and pinned you,

   full bodied,

   to the lit

   house.

Reviews

[sienikeha]

yes. you have the gift. such a pleasure to read.

[W.k.kortas]

Most occasional poetry is, to be frank, pretty abysmal stuff, for any number of reasons. One of the traps writers too often fall into is to simply spit out a litany of acheivements, a simple resume, or a mere re-hash of the history we already know. This explores what is was like to be alive in the time of Donna Summer--how it felt, how it attracted people, doing so artfully but without unnecessary ornamentation or verbosity (because Ms. Summer was, if nothing else, pretty straightforward). This is a refreshing departure from the normal hackneyed writing of the genre.

[writing mojo]

such blessing in your verbal ode, I like the comparisons the self reflection, how you started the piece with a question, then just followed with a phonic beat, alive as a dreamer whom learns to speak, through what passes on when darkness becomes hallowed into the forever sleeping...amazing stuff

[Emily B]

i can see it and imagine . . . dancing the night away

[...]

. an amazing tribute ...
. to an amazing artist ...
. by an amazing artist ...