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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 3, 2017 at 2:44pm
March 3, 2017 at 2:44pm
#905934

Prompt: Let's create a list of ten things that happen at night. Look your list, what bothers you the most and what makes you the happiest? Are certain nights better than others?

1. Blankets falling to the floor
2. Moon peeking in through the curtains
3. Hearing the air-conditioner or the heat come to life
4. Spouse’s snoring, mostly crescendoing in lower musical notes
5. The sound of a siren from a distance
6. The clock’s light responsibly bright
7. The haunting shapes of the furniture in the room lacking their colors
8. Feeling my hair spiny and messed on the pillow
9. The thought of a misstep I took during the day that enforces a smirk
10. Imagining a wormhole through the walls, opening to the unknown

Hubby’s snoring and the moonlight make me the happiest, and I also like imagining stuff, be it scary. *Laugh*

The least I like is probably the siren in the distance. It makes me worry about an unknown someone in trouble or pain.

All nights are good for me, especially those when I read before I sleep. Good or not-that-good, a night doesn’t etch too much negative feelings in me. When push comes to shove, I tell myself, “I’m still breathing, aren’t I!”

Mixed flowers in a basket


Prompt: Spring. Green grass, bunnies, robins, rain, Easter. Let's write about spring.

I've grown wishful for spring,
imagining the garden
wrapped in its green-grass cloak,
bunnies like nosy toy cars
whizzing about in the rain,
robbins singing cotton-candy songs,
and Easter rolling off my tongue
while I walk around
with Chaplin-esque steps.



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