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.
Daily Cascade
Since my old blog "Everyday Canvas " became overfilled, here's a new one. This new blog item will continue answering prompts, the same as the old one.
Cool water cascading to low ground
To spread good will and hope all around.
It's great that gardening does so much to refresh and sustain your spirit. For me, it's classical music (mostly); a 'black thumb' barely begins to describe my "skill" with plants.
The narrator considers that all Fridays are unlucky because of religious beliefs related to Jesus' crucifixion and links to witchcraft. The superstition of Friday the 13th relates to Judas as the 13th guest at the Last Supper and the Knights Templar's downfall. The author prefers Sundays for fewer scam calls and hopes for better regulation.
I enjoyed reading the history of Friday the 13th. I'm always impressed by the day when I think of it, but then I tend to forget and carry on as usual. I don't think anything unforeseen has ever happened to me on Friday the 13th. Unless something happens today.....
Prompt:
When it snows, nature listens.
Write about this in your Blog entry today
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It's been such a long while since I came face to face with snow. Still, I have its memories from my younger days and I remember snow so well.
The newly fallen snow felt, then, as if the earth had paused to hear its own breathing. With snow, during and after, a strange hush fell over the place. This was probably because snow changed more than how the landscapes looked. It changed how they felt, how I felt. This is because snow smooths the land into a blank page, inviting reflection.
Snow also blocks some noises and enhances others. While car tires whisper instead of roaring, footsteps make a gentle crunch. Then, because people mostly try to stay indoors, snow's physical quiet turns into an emotional quiet. Even cities stop their sirens and engines, and focus on the fall of snowflakes and the bending twigs and trees and people's ways. It is as if the world tunes in to a subtler style of being.
I remember, while it snowed, as I stood under a snowfall, I used to feel a stillness in me, if only to pay attention to cold air in my lungs, the white branches under the gray sky, the way the flakes descended on and around me. It felt as if I were being encouraged to listen to this wordless snow and realize that quiet has power, for the snowfall was offering me a leaning-inward as well as the fragile beauty of that very moment.
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