|
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.
 
|
Everyday Canvas
"Failure is unimportant. It takes courage to make a fool of yourself."
CHARLIE CHAPLIN
Sometimes it takes darkness and the sweet
confinement of your aloneness
to learn
anything or anyone
that does not bring you alive
is too small for you.
David Whyte
This is my supplementary blog in which I will post entries written for prompts.
December 4, 2016 at 12:29pm December 4, 2016 at 12:29pm
| |
Prompt: Write about geography. Pick a random place on a map and write about it. If you haven't been there, imagine what it would be like.
==============
As this is going to be a fantasy voyage, let’s just say that I took a fantasy flight to the North Pole, where the earth’s axis has its top point. I always wondered what would happen if someone treated it like the red telephone in the US president’s Oval Office. Would the earth wobble for the whole thing to become a jumble?
My landing here, however, didn’t cause such a catastrophe. Instead, the brightest light both from the sky and the snow made my eyes blur, despite the sunglasses I was wearing. And the cold? Don’t even talk about it! Under layers and layers fur I was shivering, and I was the one who insisted not to wear animal skins. Luckily, no one listened to me and they piled fur after fur on top of me.
Suddenly, a well-founded worry hit me. What if leaving this place would be riskier than coming here? After all, about a century ago, the discoverer of the Arctic Robert Peary had more trouble going back, but then, Santa is stationed here, too. I comforted myself with the thought that if something would happen to me, Santa would save me. Then, my guide told me that Santa's Place was in Lapland and not here. Darn!
Yet, there was and is a lot more to the North Pole than snow, ice, and Santa. I was told there would be Eskimos and igloos here, although where we landed, I didn’t spot either of them. The reason was because we had landed on the uninhabited magnetic North Pole. The guide passed me a compass which its needle did unbelievable dances when I held it horizontally. It pointed to me, at the end. Go figure! So I figured this was probably due to the metallic stuff on me like fasteners that held the furs together.
The guide also told me about the intrigue and controversy surrounding the region among five or six countries, including USA via Alaska, Russia, and others, trying to lay claim to it for its potential oil and gas reserves and strategic position.
Dreading the international fumbles and faux pas, I felt lucky that I arrived at the Arctic during the six-months of broad daylight time because I would die of fear in the next six months of total darkness. I am not a fan of not only the said countries' scuffles but also the dark of the night, as you might have guessed.
Walking on the snow wasn’t easy; neither was breathing, since the place is 9000 miles over the sea level, but then, lo and behold, my guide pointed to a distant image, a dog-sled. Heck, I wouldn’t let my favorite animals pull me all over this place that was desolate, frigid, and so silent with intrigue. I told the guide that I wanted out. I wanted civilization. I wanted a big city like New York or a small town where I lived. Besides, the cold and the difficulty of breathing were killing me.
I had come, I had seen, I had conquered -well, not quite- the spot that the magnets pointed to. So I was brought back home to sit at the computer and write about it.
Come to think of it, if it weren’t for the cold and the lack of chocolate, the North Pole would make a wonderful reading nook. So quiet and isolated where everyday life let you alone.
|
© Copyright 2024 Joy (UN: joycag at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Joy has granted InkSpot.Com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
|
Comment 
