There is nothing fraudulent in the life in us
that will keep us dancing and walking
no matter how slow, how sorrowful
or alone.
Your hand leads us in this sacred spiral
that conditions us to dance, to move,
where our steps do not know
the lay of the land.
Your forked stick taps the tempo
of a slow and prayerful movement
through lands of our condition;
a stretch, a reach, a cradle rocked
while learning the notes to the tune.
Your cape flies like a banner
to live loud, love wild, with zeal
and zest of faraway people
in faraway places that whisper truths,
woman's mouth to woman's ear,
of sisterhood and motherhood,
and ancient ancestors
that join us in our dancing journey.
Map me a map, Margaret.
Teach me to know myself,
my wildness, my connection
to grandmothers, to you,
to sisters, to saying crazy things,
saying wild and wonderful things
about being woman in a woman’s world.
Come home from your new society
of intellectual angels. Whisper
in the ears of my daughters,
about how to walk, since we
already know how to dance.
Author notes
# 81 Margaret Mead
“Prayer does not use up artificial energy, doesn't burn up any fossil fuel, doesn't pollute. Neither does song, neither does love, neither does the dance.”
• Born: 1901
• Died: 1978
• Occupation: Actor
• Active: '70s
• Major Genres: Culture & Society, Nature
In a list
A contest entry
- The 100 Most Influential Americans by ea.
600 points, ended December 4, 2006, 9 entries
Honorable mention
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 5 of 5
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just lovely! How glad I am to see a poem for her.
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Riviting
I'm ashamed to say,I'm not sure who she was. The name sounds familar though.But,I can say aa of now after reading your appraisal of her in tribute.She seems a spiritual uplifting sort.Because of a talents work in artisty you've penned her example well.Your title says it all in summing her abilities up.~Suseann
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WOW!
This was as visual for me as it was spiritual. I saw her spirit, like a female fancydancer in a beautiful sky. Like much of your glorious work, this reads like a song, a prayer, whispered that we may know the quiet, rythmic truths you hold out to us. Wonderful!
Peace, Rob
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I think old souls return and return and we do not recognize them as such. Perhaps it is she who pushed me to my north and made me walk the miles in their mocassins. Perhaps she psuhes me to dance when I would rather sit. Perhaps she is my daughter, yours, a strangers...but we will know her by her stance.
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Exquisite penning...
"There is nothing fraudulent in the life in us that will keep us dancing and walking no matter how slow, how sorrowful or alone." Sighhh...My Sister, how beautiful your words are...How profound & filled with Wisdom & Truth, the fires of discovery...Such impeccable imagery for such a grand cause...Margaret Mead would be so honored & thrilled to read these words, Carol...I know that when you turn your pen & your gift in my direction, it brings shivers to the depths of my bones...You know us all so well, my dear Friend...Your intellect, your Heart, your Soul ~ all weave a wondrous tapestry of Life being lived at its utmost...I believe these are 2 of the best beginning & ending stanzas I've ever read, dear Lady...As much as I read, that's truly saying a great deal..."Come home from your new society of intellectual angels. Whisper in the ears of my daughters, about how to walk, since we already know how to dance." Sighhh...AMAZING work, Carol...You sway like an earthbound angel, Lady...Such beautiful music you compose, even a less~than~lithe Soul such as myself is inspired to dance along with you...Good luck in ea's contest, Sweetie...Incredible penning...Wowzer...
Wanda
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