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About This Author
My name is Joy, and I love to write.
Why poetry, here? Because poetry uplifts its writer, and if she is lucky enough, her readers, too. Around us, so many objects abound to write about. Once a poet starts with a smallest, most trivial object, he shall discover that his pen will spill out what is most delicate or most majestic hidden inside him. Since the classics sometimes dealt with lofty subjects with a lofty language, a person with poetry in his soul may incline to emulate that. That is understandable. Poetry does that to a person: it enlarges the soul and gives it wings. Yet, to really soar, a poet needs to take off from the ground.
 
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Off the Cuff / My Other Journal #612454 added October 12, 2008 at 11:04am
Restrictions: None
Maverick!
It looks like our pocket money has become shadow money, and our financial institutions have turned into imaginary off-shore banks.
An AP Economics writer reports: "The lending institution (The International Monetary Fund) says in a statement after a daylong meeting that it has given full support to the action plan approved on Friday by wealthy nations."
If by wealthy nations they meant US, they are the grandest tease of the twenty-first century. On Friday night, Bill Maher joked: "Wall Street is a farmer's market."
I certainly do not agree with the comedian. A Farmer's Market has goods to sell. Wall Street has numbers that have faded, and they cannot be converted into cash. Well, once upon a time this might have been a possibility, but not anymore. By any small chance or extraterrestrial intervention if some conversion could occur, the bill at hand would not even buy a pound of tomatoes.
Any prayer through theism or pantheism cannot fix this fantasy of riches with good government either, and hockey moms who shoot moose, talk as if they are chewing gum, and spill out questions like “Who’s whooo?” in hate-fests cannot fix what’s gone haywire, especially if they think Afghanistan is our neighboring country.  Betcha! I suggest they hobnob with Joe-six-packs and stick to grinding moose flesh instead of grinding nerves all over my neighborhood.
Maverick that I am, today I have broken my resolve not to write anything political, even political parody. Psychoanalysts blame mothers for anything, but for this, my mother is innocent. Instead, I blame my sons who are in total panic about the economy and the elections, and I caught their bug.
So, in my house, we are rooting for Tina Fey for VP instead of Ms. SP –Sweet Pea, that is. Talking about peas, in this case not peace, I am backing into the farmer’s market idea again.
Hence, I’d better go on a pumpkin cruise, especially after watching on TV that man who carved a boat out of a humongous pumpkin and kayaked in it. Oh my! Another maverick!
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