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
Kathleen-613's creation for my blog

"Failure is unimportant. It takes courage to make a fool of yourself."
CHARLIE CHAPLIN


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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


Marci's gift sig










This is my supplementary blog in which I will post entries written for prompts.

February 27, 2015 at 12:03am
February 27, 2015 at 12:03am
#842682
Prompt: Let's have a bit of flash fiction...short story of no more than 50 words.
Our topic is a hair cut or style gone awry. Did the stylist give you the wrong dye, or was talking on the phone and took a hunk out of your hair. Maybe the razor slipped and you now have a huge bald spot. Let's see what you can come up with.

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“A deal, you can’t refuse,” said she. “I’ll do a style out of this world. Now shut your eyes tight.”
When she was done, I opened my eyes to rainbow hair of green, blue, purple, yellow, red and brown.
I was speechless, for I was gagged and all tied up.

50 words


*Pencil**Pencil**Pencil**Pencil**Pencil**Pencil**Pencil**Pencil**Pencil**Pencil**Pencil**Pencil**Pencil**Pencil**Pencil**Pencil*

Talking about hair, here’s something by an old master to definitely outdo my tiny short. *Laugh*

Aedh gives his Beloved certain Rhymes

Fasten your hair with a golden pin,
And bind up every wandering tress;
I bade my heart build these poor rhymes:
It worked at them, day out, day in,
Building a sorrowful loveliness
Out of the battles of old times.

You need but lift a pearl-pale hand,
And bind up your long hair and sigh;
And all men's hearts must burn and beat;
And candle-like foam on the dim sand,
And stars climbing the dew-dropping sky,
Live but to light your passing feet.

William Butler Yeats


William Butler Yeats (1865-1939)—one of my favorite poets--was an Irish poet and playwright. He won the Nobel Prize in 1923.
His quote about poetry is my go-to poetry quote: “Out of the quarrel with others we make rhetoric; out of the quarrel with ourselves we make poetry.”


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