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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.
![Joy Sweeps [#1514072]
Kiya's gift. I love it!](http://www.InkSpot.Com/main/trans.gif)
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Everyday Canvas #915937 added July 22, 2017 at 12:09pm Restrictions: None
Witchery and The Cook
Prompt: Write about whatever's on your mind on creation Saturday as Norb calls it. Have fun!
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Creation Saturday? That means my witching hour. So, here it is!
A configuration in my life,
I can’t ride my broom
for I am timorous to touch it
since it dropped me off
at the lip of a volcano...
Such a pointless act!
So I circle around it
like a flame about a fire
shimmering, twisting
as the heat soars,
scraping my skin.
Yet, from the cradle
raised in the magic
of my witchery,
I still rise on my own
like hot air.

Prompt: Your temp agency sends you to the White House as a cook, not realizing you checked the wrong box and do not know how to cook.
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Huh?To the White House, what? Me, as a cook! Are you sure it is not a kook?
Where are the alien UFOs? Take me away to your galaxy, please!
Okay, now that I’ve screamed and ranted, back to reality. Heck, what do I know about how to cook? I’ll ask for the first lady’s help. Wait! She wouldn’t know it either. She’s so good looking and studied design so hard that I bet she never stepped into any kitchen.
Well, back to the meat and potatoes of it. I gotta get to work. What do I do? What do I do?
I know! I’m going to put in an order for two truckloads of Lay’s Potato chips. If I can serve them with every meal the Pres. will be happy and won’t utter his famous logo: You’re Fired!
Then, I think I’ll make an excursion to the nearest posh Italian Restaurant. See if they can deliver everything and anything. Who’d know! The kitchen hands will be happy, too. They’ll keep quiet for having an easy day in the kitchen, and I’ll make sure most of the adulation goes to them.
Okay, now that my grocery list is done, I am still keeping watch for that UFO that might want to rescue me.
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