Tiny Dancer/My woman from Tokyo

The times called for distraction

From the endless callousness and duplicity

Of our current world.

It called for the bearable lightness of being.

Tiny Dancer and My woman from Tokyo:

“Ballerina, you must have seen her

Dancing in the sand…..”

“Fly into the rising sun,

Faces smiling everyone ……”

Elton, Taupin and Deep Purple odes

To mesmirising places

Japan didn’t take me

By surprise as such,

But to qualify

It delivered so faithfully

What it promises

That it seemed

Too good to be true -

Combinations of colours,

Ubiquitous elegance,

Always hinting of autumn;

Understated taste transporting you as

Geishas with Kimonos flapping,

Pass decorated pavilions,

Creating perfection -

Kinetic poetry in motion.

Storks in the park

Play their decorative part.

The colours on the plate

Exciting the palate,

Beers burnished by brewers in

A deep golden brown,

With clean white froth

Topping it off,

Friendly drips of condensation forming -

All so enticing

That you sit and stare

At the glass in wonder

And anticipation before you sip.

Now, I’ll have you know

There’s nothing to crow:

I’ve never been to California,

Dropped in on Venice Beach

But I’ve seen

Sun, felt sea breezes,

Eyed roller skaters on promenades:

Self-conscious, yes

But mainly in sharing

Their exhiliration in balancing

And cutting in and out of

Strolling people with zigzag speed.

I’ve seen the palm fronds sway,

Floppy hats and sarongs,

Surfers launching poised, bending bodies

Into sparkling-topped waves.

I can’t help notice

The multi-coloured beach wraps

Heralding, showing obeisance

To the orange sun,

Or the general feeling of freedom

And tranquility

Induced by sand under foot,

And the wraparound vista

Of mysterious vast waters -

It’s more than hedonism

It’s not uncaring:

It’s a defiance, it’s a celebration

It’s daring to be fully immersed;

It’s a choice.

It’s just as much a crime not

To delight the five senses

In the short time we’re here.