Poi and Fire Spinning
4/28/04
spinning
is more
about the center
than the
periphery:
these chains
are a funnel-
fire or
a green blur
on the edge,
deep puncture,
dark waterfall
or well . . .
plunging self
in the middle
6/14/04
quiet in the center
stillness
or close.
inward-and-yet-outward
concentration,
focus,
calm.
even the feet hold still while
the hands and wrists
stir two orbits
from the ends of two chains
somehow those two cirlces must
fully bloom,
must spin even when focus leaves them,
must somehow
come alive,
must spin of their own accord,
and only then will the body
be free to dance
in the center
of its own shifting
signature,
pulse
6/15/04
I take a risk spinning tennis
balls around myself
and inevitably suffer the pain
of collision or a chain's
unforgiving grating texture
and yet the pain doesn't often bother me.
What bothers me is the fact
of each collision,
the physical equivalent of
a fickle-no, pointless, senseless-
insult,
a sort of violence against myself,
an abrupt reminder of the difficulty
of coordination
6/30/04
I spun fire for the
first time!
the sound of the flames
was the first surprising
element—a whispering
crackle-rush in my ears that -
matched with the contrast
of light against the darkness -
blotted out everything
but the center.
I swung the chains and began
to move,
a dark stern center
surrounded by light.
7/7/04
spinning fire again
I fough the tendency of my mind
to blot out vision and
awareness, presence and
character.
somehow the proxmity of the flames
sends the mind into a dark
corner.
the pupils dilate then shrink
and overlook the audience
nearby.
the chains are liquid weight
in the dark air.
as the fire turns,
the body tries
to stay still.
6/6/04
The path of
tennis balls and chains
revolving around the
centered subtle
motion of the hands
amplifies everything.
Tension,
muscle,
impatience,
breath-
although these things
merely tilt the angle
of a hand or turn a wrist,
poi shout what's central,
careen off course, or
slip liquidly through
the thickness of space.
