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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.
 
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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.
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Prompt by Lyn: I was playing with random sentence generator this evening... create something with these sentences. Have fun!
"When the night influences the approval, the exchange details the color. How does the secretary communicate the helpless night? When does the motion calculate the equal observation?"
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Annihilation
“When the night influences the approval, the exchange details the color.” Saying that, he waltzes down on a beam of light that shot down from the night sky. He should be an actor, I think, feeling good about why I had to bring my wife here to meet him.
How more than a human he looks! Delicate bones, elongated skull, royal blue outfit that flows about him, giving the feeling of a cascading waterfall. He bows in front of my wife, Olisevelt. “Madam!”
“Monseur Kewango!” Olise bends her head in greeting. Then she surprises me as she usually does. “How does the secretary communicate the helpless night?”
Now, what is that! I expected myself to be better at this, the way they communicated, but what use of the language! English for my sake, but they stretch it like taffy and torture it. I’d rather they used ray guns or telepathy or something. God, I am not getting what they mean!
Kewango, eyes me, then says, a little tentatively, “When does the motion calculate the equal observation?”
“At the dominance of symmetry from the offworlders,” says my wife, her burgundy lips parting into a crescent.
“Now, then,” says Kewango.
My wife reaches for my arm, wrapping her nine-fingered hand around it, and I suddenly feel frozen. I can’t move, but I can still think. I married her, she who came from the deep space, for the sake of peace, and she is now betraying me.
Kewango harrumphs. “For the sake of peace…You idiot earthlings! There’s no such thing as peace. We told you we would come. Our messages were precise.”
Olisevelt’s chiseled features move with the sneer in her voice, as she utters, “You don’t marry a she-creature for the sake of this or that. She-creatures are only loyal when you appreciate them for themselves. You, knucklehead!”
Kewango takes a few steps to stand at my other side. “Now, the annihilation begins…”
Who was it that said you never see the ones that kill you? I see them both, together with all those billions of offworlders sliding down on beams of light.
I am only hoping that the human conclaves we had established back in year 4932 on hidden corners of the universe will be able to survive. Ooops, what have I just done! I shouldn't think about them like I am doing now, as both Kewango and Olisevelt can read minds. Instead, I think I'll recite ancient poetry to myself.
O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won,
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;
But O heart! heart! heart!
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