PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Strong in posture,

Poised she stands,

In a dress of lace made by hand.

Her dark black eyes search the crowd

For drunken Spaniards

Who shouldn’t sleep now.

Softly clapping castanets

First are heard inside the bar,

The dancer follows step by step

As Flamenco music starts.

Guitars begin a rapid tempo

Without a song,

Just the clapping and the stomping

Of the dancer dancing alone.

Then the cantor finds his voice,

Deep in sorrow and in joy,

While agile hands glide over strings

Emotion fills the dancer’s being,

One hand above her head

The other further down

And we hear the castanets

In perfect rhythmic sound.

Her feet are blurry on the stage

Her heels hit it in controlled rage

And I wonder as I watch

What within me had she touched

With those deep black eyes

And moving thighs

Sensually swaying

To the rapid beat

Her forehead high

Her face is lit

By a flower bathed in red

Which she wears to one side

Of her black hair covered head.

Her dress is flying from side to side

She takes me with her as she glides.

When she reached a climax of her own

I felt taken by a wordless song,

And when the music ceased to play

I found myself on my feet

Yelling Ole! Ole! Ole!