Spike

Posted on Monday, March 8, 2010 by Paul Andrew Russell
I danced a jerky juvenile tarantella
while you threw rocks
at my pre-pubescent body,
whipped me with sticks
torn from the
nearest tree.
“Dance, cry-baby, dance!”
you shouted;
I bawled like a baby then.
I’m a man now;
I no longer dance.

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22 Responses to Spike

  1. Dhyan says:
    Tuesday, March 9, 2010 at 5:41 am

    this evoke strange and lovely images paul..

    love those tarantellas

    Reply
    • Paul Andrew Russell says:
      Tuesday, March 9, 2010 at 7:42 am

      Thank you Dhyan.

      Recent stories in the British newspapers evoked memories of my own childhood nightmares at the hands of a similar tormentor.

      My previous post Priorities should shed some light on this poem’s context.

      Reply
  2. Bryan Borland says:
    Tuesday, March 9, 2010 at 11:16 pm

    1. Oh man, what a poem, Paul. That first line is killer.

    2. I love that you aren’t afraid to play with your layout. I’m digging the new look! But I can’t ever get attached. It’ll be different tomorrow. :)

    Reply
    • Paul Andrew Russell says:
      Wednesday, March 10, 2010 at 7:09 am

      Thanks Bryan. I’m glad you liked it. Another one of life’s experiences.

      I hear you on the blog theme; I’m trying to leave it alone. lol This one is easier on the old man eyes. :-)

      Reply
  3. Val says:
    Wednesday, March 10, 2010 at 11:45 am

    The great thing about old age and/or mortality, is how it levels the playing field and all the Spikes in all the world get to be vulnerable. :) It just bring such sunshine to my life to think this. Brave poem Paul and important.

    Reply
  4. Alina says:
    Thursday, March 11, 2010 at 6:10 am

    Beautiful poem,Paul!!!
    A child who dance and the man who would be great to dance again because the age doesn’t matter when we want to feel good :)

    Enjoy the moment!!! :)

    Reply
  5. Colleen Du Bois says:
    Thursday, March 11, 2010 at 11:01 pm

    Good on you Paul, for speaking out so bravely and honesty. There’s power in a collective voice of strength.

    Reply
  6. marianasoffer says:
    Friday, March 12, 2010 at 2:14 am

    Seems like a twisted reality was lived, a sad one indeed. Thank god the dancing stopped, at least now there is emptiness which is better than what it was before.
    Good poem Paul

    Reply
  7. Zainab says:
    Sunday, March 14, 2010 at 9:37 am

    beautiful Paul!love it!

    Reply
  8. Jessie Carty says:
    Sunday, March 14, 2010 at 5:30 pm

    this speaker needs to dance again! Needs too!!

    Reply
  9. bindo says:
    Monday, March 15, 2010 at 2:43 am

    This is one of my faves by you!

    Reply
  10. Jaymie says:
    Wednesday, March 17, 2010 at 2:14 am

    A free form dance across broken sticks. Proud and free.

    Reply

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