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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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Everyday Canvas #834645 added November 22, 2014 at 11:24am
Restrictions: None
No Whispering, Please!
Prompt: Write what whispers your name in the night...
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A song comes to mind when “whispering your name” is the question. “Yesterday I heard the rain whispering your name…”
Truth is, at night or daytime, no one whispers my name. Ever! They say it loudly, scream, or yell. Since I am so used to my name being called out loud, if somebody would whisper my name, I would be scared right out of my wits.
Also, why would I want to hear my name whispered, especially when there’s a book called The Horse Whisperer and a dog trainer who calls himself Dog Whisperer? No four legs for me, as I am a biped. True, sometimes when I kneel, I have difficulty getting up; so I use my four extremities to lift myself off the floor, but this is only temporary…Well, at least, for the time being.
This “whispering your name” thing, by the way, must have some kind of a spiritual link to God or maybe a ghost calling a person. In that case, as any other thing would make me suspicious, may I request from God that to please just say my name out loud, even if there’s no chance of His calling me, because I am very sure God has a very long list of desirables before He’d even consider me.
As to ghosts, I think, no problem’s there. They are already hesitant around me. We once stayed in a haunted Bed and Breakfast for two months, and even though, I was alone several times in that mansion, no ghost bothered me, not even for a second.
Then, as much as the word “whisper” tickles the imaginations of poets and song writers, it has a connotation of secrecy and gossip, and possibly romantic begging. If I ever whisper, therefore, it would be because I might have laryngitis, for I believe that any secret should be better kept inside one’s own mouth.
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