The Morris is not only a demanding, difficult and dangerous activity (at least the way we do it), it is also a form of physical "self-expression" that is more aptly-suited to the truly Manly temperament of the Berkshire Men than any of that poofty-posturing made popular by Ted Shawn et al., under the rubric of "male dancers."
But despite our obvious and appropriately-testosterone-driven virility, we are no strangers to the sensitive side of our natures, which the late Andrea Dworkin and the Feminazis have attempted to co-opt as "feminine." In spite of such misguided attempts to denigrate our creative, expressive urges as just some pale reflection of "true" feminine creativity, The Men persist in following our diverse inspirations wherever they may lead. We have feelings too, and we're not afraid to flaunt them, damnit - especially after a few hearty pints at the local.
Herewith, a series of creative expressions of our more tender sensibilities
THE DANCERSThey danced last night in the streets, with bells strapped to their ankles and colorful costumesI thought they would stop dancing when the sun set But they kept on, under the glare of the city streetlights I thought they would only dance on the soft grass in a country setting But they danced on dirty streets, in parking lots, on the walkway in the housing projects Where multi-colored faces and multi-aged people watched them And wondered who they were. I thought they would have stopped dancing When they grew older Old enough to have tricky knees, painful hips, feet that object to high-impact situations But they still dance on, leaping into the air to the best of their abilities Knowing their altitude is not what it once was, But undaunted. Their mission is clear: to dance-in the spring, to dance away our fears and sorrows To put smiles on faces and bring joy into hearts To remind us of our connection to nature, And of our own nature As dancers. |