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Poem: The Belly Dance Blues
(By Gwendolen Wold as appeared in the June 1996 Bolt)

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Bellydance Blues

I stand entranced...
Drummers form a primitive circle,
containing leaping flames
and flashing barefoot dancers.
Arms flick like tongues of fire,
hip belts spark, and veils flare
as beauty sinuously weaves
an ancient rhythm
of ritualized seduction.
The resounding beat quickens
and all eyes are drawn
to bell rattling, quivering hips...

I sneak away to dubious privacy,
and try to let the drums
take my body. Arms dance
shadows in the night,
but stubborn hips refuse to play.
They struggle in awkward fits
to imitate effortless quiver
then, discouraged, seize up, refusing
my fervent pleas for graceful

I slink back to circle
outskirts, gazing longingly,
suffering acute shimmy envy.

By Lady Gwendolen Wold

 Page last updated 12/15/99