The Dancer

I wrote this poem in the fall of my freshman year at college.  Mostly I was having fun with the rhyme schemes.  Actually it was one of those times when I felt like an expert skier of words - slaloming down the sounds with ease and grace.  The sentiment, while not one I was deeply feeling at the time or writing out from, was one I could remember and relate to.


     Something wrong, something right

Something true, something trite

All of us are waiting for the answer

Let the song play through the night

The magic shoes are always bright

And who will try to stop the dancer?

Who will try to stop the dancer?

Frenzy spins her topsy turvy

All the scenes are blurred

She celebrates in sorry fury

While we wait to hear the answer

Who will try to stop the dancer?

Someone said it’s good to sing

And see the images expressed

But all the joy is spun away

And still the dancer finds no rest
    And something's wrong - she's no more blessed

She’s crying, asking why

The shoes give no reply

And why won’t someone try to stop the dancer?

Sluggish days and sleepless nights

Though hand is dead, the pen still writes

In limp ink, tired assignments

My mind seeks realignment

But no one here can find it

And we’re still waiting for the answer

Who will try to stop the dancer?

©Wendy Mulhern

Fall, 1975