Beating of the Stick

Travelling like a maddened horse
The news of what drew near
through the streets they shouted out
So that every ear could hear
The terrible, terrible, terrible thing
That wandered through the streets
A herd of Morris men who could sing
With bells above their feets
A wave of fear went through each mind
And quickened every heart
As a place of hiding they sought to find
And some did quickly depart
But as the morriskateers fell on
Those that were not to quick
All you could hear was the wailing screams
Above the beatings of the stick

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A poem about the social nuisance known as Morris dancers. Belswaggers, and Morris Rampant sides (troupes) in particular. I had the misfortune of being a member of those sides inhabited by bitchy, adolescent-minded perverts once. I may upload a photo.
Beating of the Stick is what they do best.


morris, dancers, morris dancers, folk, dance

Personally, I like to think that all of us can choose to become a Child of Dana by choosing to value peace over war, knowledge over ignorance, compassion over hate and self interest, and to live in a way that is in harmony with the Earth.

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