Taking up dance is taking a chance
On the art of moving along with the heart.
Which one to pick? Which one’ll stick?
The best way to know is get up and go!
Try ’em all! Yes, fly and fall!
You can bop along to any sound or song.
Hop on for the ride, swing and slide!
Waltz your way through that beauty ballet.
Cut into the tango, polka and flamenco.
Become a robot or do the fox trot.
Be as rigid or wild as you like – free style!
Boogie about as you twist and shout.
Get up and clapping, free your toes to tapping!
(Though I’d ban the can-can –
Rather dance with my can’ts.)
Taking up dance is taking a chance
On a heart that must find a way to its art.
Pick any one! They’re all more than fun!
And I hope you’ll see your way to agree
To dancing this dance with me.
(Read about Itsy’s unlucky sister here.)
Itsy was born lucky,
Plenty plump and plucky,
Skipping the ugly duckling
To become a summer fairy
In the garden of the airy
Lords Who blessed her very cherry
Cheeks and gifted her a lion flying
Off into the last night’s dying
Darkness where all stars were trying
To jump the dawn and join the day
So when they saw her ride their way
They made their final wild play
By leaping for her ocean eyes
Where they found much wider skies
But Zeus saw all and, cruelly wise,
Swept clean the night of all its light
And so they fell into the quite
Empty realm of wrong is right
But Father Time saw the fall
And pulled her through the outer wall
To join him in the Rainbow Hall
Where she poured through color streams
Dipping hands in living beams
Of light that split along the seams,
Loosing joy and love and hope
That filled her up beyond the scope
Of any art to help her cope
With leaving such a place of soul
‘Cause out she went by the sunshine hole,
Sliding down the slick South Pole
To find a sea beast swimming by
Who kept her warm and safe and dry
And dropped her off where the ravens tie
The hills to the sky so she picked a cloud
Growing far too silver and proud
And wore it though the rain was loud,
Which called up every flower there
To kiss her toes and braid her hair
As she walked the ways unaware
Of any care for wicked things
‘Cause though they watched, they held their stings,
And even offered up their rings
To serve as soldiers to this girl
Who seemed to hold the whole wobbly world
In her hands even as it hurled
Her in and out of good and bad
But never touched on what she had
That held her close and safely clad
In thundercloud and lilies and –
There was an old lady whose yard,
Grew bunches of stars that she jarred;
The night bought them all,
And sometimes they fall,
To get back to their home in that yard.
There was a young lady of Nashville,
Who tried but could never stand still;
She jittered and jumped,
Her doctors were stumped,
That bouncy young lady of Nashville.
There was an old man with a drum,
Who’d play for a drink or a crumb;
Give him a plate full,
He’d always be grateful,
And bring down the whole town with his drum.
There’s a tiny, whiny troll growing on my knee.
He complains that on his back there grows a giant me.
Illustrated by Aaron, whose art can be found here.
I won’t tell you what to do,
To look both ways or tie your shoe.
I won’t tell ’cause I can’t do,
All your doing’s up to you.
We’re not one that’s split in two.
I’m just I. You’re just you.
That said, whatever you do,
Know this much to be true –
I’ll be right there with you too.
Never have you ever seen
A finer miner than my neighbor Keene.
She seems to find the perfect seam
To tear into the darkest dream
That Mother Earth has ever dug
Of buried bones and burrowed bugs.
She goes where no one’s thought to map,
Tap by tap she makes the gap
That gives because it cannot hold
Against the single-minded bold.
Into the muck and mud! The sloppy, slippery sludge!
Straight through what will not budge!
Keene goes at it with gravest pleasure,
Bringing up whole trunks of twisted treasure –
Emeralds and gemeralds. Dragon eggs in sacks.
Silver spiders hiding in Earth’s cracks.
Tearing her way through untold buckets
Of filth to haul out two-ton gold nuggets.
But she doesn’t do it for the mindless worth.
Keene really likes the dirt.
Drawn by Tawna.
Illustrated by Guitarseer, whose art can be found here.
There was a young lady of Prague,
Who befriended a miserable frog;
The poor guy couldn’t croak,
He quacked when he spoke,
She translated, that young lady of Prague.
There was an old person whose suit,
Was almost completely made out of fruit;
Pears, apples, and figs,
It was eaten by pigs,
That old nude’s in need of a suit.
There was a young lady whose toes,
Climbed all the way up to her nose;
Now she walks on her face,
No one can keep pace,
With her marvelous face walking toes.