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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 #925071 added December 8, 2017 at 11:29am Restrictions: None
Cauldron Error
Prompt: I added a dab of this, a dribble of that and I stirred. Within seconds it was over ... Yeah right, now, tell us what really happened ...
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What really happened was after I began to chant, “double, double toil and trouble//Fire burn and caldron bubble, ” the cauldron shrunk considerably in size.
Then, the mysterious sounds started with increased frequency and force, minute by minute. I checked my mortar and pestle to see if I pounded some outside unwanted element into the recipe.
I checked the Tarot cards, but I ended up with a migraine from their gloomy moods. By now, the mysterious sounds were rattling and howling like the winds in a hurricane. Distressed, I decided, as the last resort, to call our queen, Ẃeβ࿚Ẃỉtcĥ, to the rescue. That wasn’t easy either because the candle’s flame I was concentrating on was trying to control the last dregs of my energy.
Webwitch, however, heard me because only she could. The other officials…well, you know how local governments work. They hinder and bother instead of helping.
Webwitch arrived on the wings of her dragon she calls Ruby. With a flick of her wrist, she got rid of my migraine. Then she said, “Cut this noise out, will ya! You can’t even do that, I see. I’ll write a recommendation for the locals to put you in the middle of their circle, next time your coven meets. Okay, I’ll take care of it." And she muttered, "With every small fry’s bumblings, I have to do all the work. This isn’t fair to your queen, you know.”
I was speechless of course. In the presence of our queen who is so longwinded and clever with words, me the small potato is expected to stay tongue-tied and voiceless. So I pointed to my shrunk cauldron.
“What?” Webwitch screamed. “Isn’t that the receptacle I sent you? How can you do this to my gift?”
I looked down, waiting for my punishment. Luckily, she shrugged it off and rushed to the cauldron. With a wave of her arm, the cauldron took its original shape. She peeked into it and straightened up immediately.
“You moron!” she sneered. “Your nuts and bolts are missing. You forgot the lizard’s leg and the baboon’s blood. You can’t bring him to you without a full splurge. Don’t expect to throw a banquet with finger foods only. Next time, set your aim lower.”
And in saying that, our queen took off.
Shucks! I guess I’ll never be able to lure Shakespeare’s energy to me. Maybe I can try for Mary Oliver or Billy Collins. But then, they may be over my head, too.
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