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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. Kiya's gift. I love it!
Everyday Canvas
#843709 added March 10, 2015 at 1:10am
Restrictions: None
Ode to Gluten--and--Clouds
Prompt by Lyn's a Witchy Woman Author Icon Create 2 stanzas of a rhyming poem... that begins with Ode. Each stanza must be 4 lines, you choose if all lines rhyme or if you want create couplets. I hope you'll be able to make us experience your favorite food just the way you do...

Ode to Gluten

Ode to you, my staple
from oven to table
muffin, bread, and roll
Cheers to cholesterol!

Cookies, buns, cupcakes
I’ll do what it takes
for this dizzying array
in my diet to stay


Prompt by Joy Author Icon : Clouds
“Clouds are thoughts without words.” Mark Strand.
What do clouds mean to you?


Clouds are the refuge to where the full moon flees, so I can’t catch its image in my camera.

They creep mysteriously over me, sometimes pure white like belly laughs, other times like sorrows in gray shadows. Lightning, their sword, cuts through to earth to issue threats with a drumroll of thunder.

Yet, clouds may show a tender response using their fluid charm because, after a rain-dance or séance, they imagine to become ghosts that shed tears over flowerbeds to send them life. Next, as photogenic actresses, they begin to flirt with the sun by letting it glimmer through their arms.

Troves of feelings allow me hold a few fugitive clouds in the wells of my eyes, akin to white cocoons incubating, to be let loose as words when I take the pen in my hand.

© Copyright 2015 Joy (UN: joycag at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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