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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: Tell me about TROUBLE that resulted because you did a GOOD deed.
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Hahaha! I’d need an accountant to count those “good deed” troubles. One good thing came out of all those, though. I became inured, toughened, and acclimatized to them, so much so that I hardly ever notice them when they happen.
I could tell a few that happened in this site or maybe in my several decades of adult life, but I’ll take the fifth on those. See, taking the fifth comes with becoming inured.
Instead, let me go to one of the earliest ones when I was still green; that is, the time when my acclimatization was just about to begin taking its first baby step.
In third grade, there were two naughty boys who were at my table. When they didn’t pick on me, they fought with each other. One winter day, during recess, just before the teacher came into the room, they started fighting with each other with fists and leg kicks.
One of the boys was smaller and the other one looked like a wrestler. I felt bad for the smaller one that he would get beaten up; also, the teacher would get mad and would be cross with the rest of us if they didn’t stop. This teacher was a strict one who would fly off the handle easily. So, the dummy moi decided to separate them.
During the melee, one of them (the bigger one) fell and hit his head on one of the chairs. There was a gash to his head with blood all over. The teacher came in and was horrified. The smaller boy who I thought I was saving told the teacher, his friend fell because I pushed him. The teacher was so angry, she wouldn’t even listen to me.
She sent the hurt one to the nurse and his parents were called, and the other one and I found ourselves in the principal’s office. Luckily, I was a good, quiet student and everyone together with the principal knew that. Also, two other kids, after we left the room, told the teacher what really happened.
Before the principal--whose personality was the exact opposite of our teacher—decided on our punishment, the teacher came into the principal’s office with the kids who told the truth. Both fighting boys got a day’s suspension, and the principal advised me not to attempt stopping any boys whose sizes were bigger than me while they were boxing. Although I escaped punishment, my mother was notified as it was the school’s administrative duty to do so.
The moral here: It helps to have friends to watch your back and talk in your favor. 
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Prompt: Imagine a long coat, imagine the pocket of that coat, imagine what is inside the pocket... oooohh noooo...You are being followed aggressively...keep in mind all of the above details what are they going to discover when they get to you and grab your pocket.
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I can imagine in my coat pocket to find a check for a million dollars. That’s why I am on my way to the bank. But, no, someone’s tailing me. What the…
He does look like someone from the mob with an unusual bulge at his waistband. I must hurry and get to a more crowded street.
Oh no? He’s got me. He’s choking me, asking to hand him what’s in my pocket. I do as I am told. So what? Is my life any less important than a piece of paper, but he isn’t satisfied with that.
Now he has my hands up and checking me, my every pocket, and my purse, while I am trying to tell him that the most important thing is the check in his hand.
He shoves me away and throws the check back at me. “This is important? This is important? Are you a nut or what!" Then he mutters, "Why do they get me in such a mess?” Now his voice is much higher. “You idiot! This is no check. Someone must have imagined it.”
He turns back and flees.
I pick up the check and look at it. By God, he’s right! On the paper is the list of the items what my teammates reviewed for the G.O.T RAID.
Me and my imagination!
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© Copyright 2024 Joy (UN: joycag at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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