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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Mushrooms, Splinters, and Thorns #1000904 added December 27, 2020 at 2:01pm Restrictions: None
In a Day
Morning Deluge
I awake to the tatting drums
of a deluge, crushing
a thousand forests
as my hands shake
remembering your warmth
and my blushing face
since of all the storms
of my life
this one is the fiercest.
---
At the Capitol
Heavy jowls, thunderous voices
pursed lips, all the yeas and nays
banging gavel and fists
to the imperious waves
of enormous heads
all that jazz!
Except,
just don't expect any miracles!
---
Full Moon
That moping ancient lantern
riding high in the sky
its distance not a problem
for transmission
of moonbeams
while under it, sedately,
without looking back,
you tiptoed away
in your archaic garb
like new wine in old bottle
and I,
the baffled, unobtrusive woman
trailed after you
a few paces behind,
until you ordered firmly,
"Don't follow me, anymore!"
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