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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!
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"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


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

April 9, 2015 at 1:11pm
April 9, 2015 at 1:11pm
#846358
Prompt: "The Edge Of Tomorrow." What does this mean to you?

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This, I found out, is the title of a military sci-fi movie with Tom Cruise and Emily Blunt, which I haven’t watched. To put it bluntly, for this reason of ignorance alone, I give me permission to write whatever pops up inside my mind. (As if I ever needed permission for that!)

Talking about tomorrows, let’s say tomorrow is a blank slate, and while standing at its edge, I am faultless since I didn’t do anything…yet. Tomorrow is a dream at this point, but when tomorrow becomes yesterday, you can bet I have stepped in all the you-know-whats thrown in my way by then.

Luckily, my edge turns into a hedge right away, preventing me from the full vision of that once-clean tomorrow which turned into yesterday. By the way, it is not a copout to view yesterdays through blinders, if I want to keep my sanity intact and not wallow in self-pity, even if you may want to say my sanity is not so intact.

The edge of tomorrow also can become the minutes of today when I go to bed at night. These sometimes make me lose my sleep, because the clean slate image has evaporated now and the threat of a ghastly monster lurking in shadows of the morning hours is about to take over, making this the time of the day to produce and wallow in horror stories pertaining to my life.

“tomorrow is our permanent address” says e.e.cummings. For all I’m concerned, he can stay in that permanent address. I’m perfectly happy with my today, no matter how I mess it up, and as I have never been suicidal, I don’t like standing on any edges.



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