PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

The clap of heeled boots

On fresh-layed pine floors,

kept time for the revelers

as they swayed in the doors.

To the pick of apt fingers

as the washboard was strummed,

begged crickets to harmonize,

sing their ballads of love.

And so the fiddles were lit

and the guitar played down low

in time to the flicker

of moonlight.

The sweet-grass sea breeze

pushed endings aside,

and we were drugged

by that late-summer night.





The beat resonated

skated across the floorboards,

to wind around the ankles

of youth with long limbs.

We wore our cowpoke hats

and denim vests-

to show we were proud of our ties

to tilled land,

our promises that we would return

to the seaside again.



A young man sat silent,

in the dim light of stars. He felt his jeans

were too clean

to brush the dancefloor.

And so he watched our toes

sweep, and make love to the music.



When the tempo slowed

I scuffed my way off stage, hat in hand.

One more barndance

whistling to a close.



I didn’t expect his manicured hands

would feel so calloused

As they caught my arm

in request.



So I gave him a dance.



Through the hay

our feet

painted wine.