Dancers:
Horseweed by the Roadside

Slender stems
      green-feathered,

Shimmying, shimmering
      in morning light,

Earth-bound sprites
      tall, at ease

Awaiting the breeze,
      waiting to dance.

    The previous poem, "Dancers", 
    demands a photo, which was the 
    idea. However, a kind reader 
    pointed out that it can't stand 
    on its own. It would fall flat 
    if read to an audience without 
    visual aids. 

    The current poem is an exercise 
    in disconnecting the two. The 
    title and first few lines 
    imperfectly recreate the picture. 
    As a result, this version can 
    be read over the radio!
                
    Horseweed (Erigeron canadensis) 
    is native to western North 
    America, and has since spread 
    worldwide. Indigenous peoples 
    have touted its curative powers 
    for several ailments. Farmers 
    hate it because it's invasive. 
    Horseweed neither loves nor 
    hates anything--it just wants 
    to dance.

1 thought on “Dancers:
Horseweed by the Roadside

  1. Now I think I might be wrong in wanting a title without the accompanying photo. The first version even without the photo is perfect and stands on its own. But this brings us the interesting question of when are poem titles dispensed with, and further, are titles necessary. Emily Dickinson didn’t gives her titles. They are known by their first lines. Same with Walt Whitman in Leaves of Grass AI tells me. And Shakespeare’s sonnets are numbered. Many poets use the first lines for titles. Plus, look at haiku. Today I read Lisel Mueller’s “Hope,” and it’s perfect with that title.

    When do you want a title, and when do you just jump in to writing the poem? When you give a poem a title, do you do it afterward sometimes, and sometimes have the title right away? Do you think, “Oh, I have to call it something, so what’ll it be?” It’s fun looking at tables of contents to read just the titles. I got drawn to poetry by seeing a long, boring title stretched across the top of a page and accompanied by a skinny poem hanging down the left margin. Visually, that long, boring title grabbed my attention: “Lying in a Hammock at William Duffy’s Farm in Pine Island, Minnesota.”

    Great topic you brought up, Eric!

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