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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
Kathleen-613's creation for my blog

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


Blog City image small

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.

March 19, 2017 at 12:49pm
March 19, 2017 at 12:49pm
#907151
Prompt: Chuck Berry, who passed away Saturday at age 90, once said "I grew up thinking art was pictures until I got into music and found I was an artist and didn't paint." I don't really have a prompt for you today; just be an artist in some way with words.

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Chuck Berry did not invent rock’n roll or its haphazard abstract concept, but he was intelligent, powerful with the guitar, and gifted with words, so he took his music to the stars, leaving an artistic legacy of finding a larger greatness in rock’n roll.

Since Chuck Berry’s quote is in the prompt, here’s something I cooked up. I hope I didn’t put too much salt in it.

You, the brown eyed handsome man. with Carol, the little queenie, are back in the USA, Memphis, for certain, to let it rock all the way to the Promised Land just to meet up with Nadine, for thirty days.

Come on, Johnny B. Goode join the flock. Never mind the school day and just say "Roll over Beethoven," not that Beethoven can hear you, but Maybellene, that sweet little sixteen, can, rocking and rolling under the Havana moon.

And you’ll never be, during the wee wee hours, in a down bound train , around and around, with no particular place to go, but you never can tell if Tulane would be reelin’ and rockin’ with too much monkey business.






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