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Flamenco Dreams

A Poem by Herb Bryce

She lit the flame in flamenco,
His feet were a flurry,
Her castanets clattered
A frantic sweet rhythm and
His heart matched her hot beat.
They were exotics,
Built of the human kind and
They danced in the caves
By that Spanish old town—
Just outside the Alhambrah
With its lace patterned walls
And oh so reflective old pool…

And she takes a rest
Between their dance shows,
Having reaped a good harvest
Of tips, which they share.

And she reflects upon
Her dance days, and she dreams
Of an easier life. But she
Is a beauty and much in demand
And she wants to be left all alone,
For she isn’t ready to share
Her body with the bawdy
Crowd out and about.

And her mother does worry
That she won’t become
A bride to a good and rich man.

For she has a mind of her own
And she dreams of herself
Running away to
Work in a town in a country
That is far, far away.
She has poems to write
And songs that she sings
When she can be all alone
With her Self.

And she yearns to visit that Moorish old
Castle up there on the hill,
And to sit by the side of that pool,
For surely that pool,
That reflective old pool,
Would reflect her own pensive musings,
And the lace of the walls
Would link with her fingers
Of dreams that also reflect
The lacy pattern hand stitched into
Her revered good luck mantilla.

But, as she leaned against the grey plaster wall,
Head to the side and hand on the hip,
Still poised in the posture of dance,
The call came again, it was time
To go out on that old cave floor
and dance for the tourists once more.

—

Flamenco Dreams, as it appears in the current issue of Neworld Review magazine. My thanks to publisher Fred Beauford.

You can read more poetry by H. W. Bryce, and support the fight against Alzheimer’s at Friesen Press: http://bit.do/ewADf
or Amazon: http://bit.do/ewABN

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IMAGE: Painting by John Fernandes. Permission applied for. Found in Pinterest.