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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.

May 6, 2015 at 12:37pm
May 6, 2015 at 12:37pm
#848905
Prompt: The smoke seen in the dream now rises. Hawaiian Proverb See what you can do with this.

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Esperanza hurries toward something; what she can’t tell. Suddenly, she stops at the sight of a cloud, not a cloud really but white smoke billowing in ardor and power, above a huge crowd, and circling over the river, which is running hastily through the valleys to reach to the sea.

She opens her eyes and sits up, shaking her head at the dream. Why all this excitement of nature's elements? Dreams like this had been crowding her nights. For what? She can't tell.

Through the window she sees the cupolas of the church, and by the time she slips on her clothes, she hears the bells ringing in enchantment over the small town in the pampas, off Buenos Aires.

“Get dressed quickly. We are going to church,” says her mother as she opens her door ajar.

“Why it is only Wednesday,” Esperanza answers, her eyes catching the date on the calendar on the wall, March 13, 2013.

“But it is a wondrous Wednesday,” her mother answers, stepping into the room. “Father Jorge is chosen Pope.”

“I just dreamt of white smoke,” Esperanza answers excitedly.

“Another holy dream!” Her mother shudders. “Maybe we should let you…after all…”

“You would, Mom? You really would?”

“Yes, Esperanza. I think your heart’s in it and your dreams confirm it; you can join any order of sisters…That is, if they choose you.”

Esperanza smiles at her mother and at her dream…the dream that validated her hopes…the dream that pulled her to her feet. With her family's blessings, she'll be on her way.



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Just an imagined tiny story, only because I couldn't do much else with this. *Laugh*


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