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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 #1009577 added May 3, 2021 at 12:00pm
Restrictions: None
May 3 Monday, 2021
For "Blog City ~ Every Blogger's Paradise" 
Prompt: Here’s John Steinbeck describing a sunset in The Grapes of Wrath:
“A large drop of sun lingered on the horizon and then dripped over and was gone, and the sky was brilliant over the spot where it had gone, and a torn cloud, like a bloody rag, hung over the spot of its going. And dusk crept over the sky from the eastern horizon, and darkness crept over the land from the east.”
What do you think of sunsets and how would you describe one?
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Sunsets are breathtaking and I especially love the ones I can watch from the back of the house on mild days. On the line of the horizon, the darkest reds mix with the breeze and bring dreamlike images into mind, and higher up purples and the last rays of the sun yellow to off-white reflect on the sky while the colors right above me darken faster and faster. It is then that I try to put to sleep the memories of sunset-watching with a specific loved one, and my tears pull me inside myself.
For: "Space Blog"
Prompt: From winklett  ’s "Marking Endings"
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Is Labor Day a festival? I believe it was made for that very idea of a festival to give workers a break and a reason for a fun-time so they can continue with renewed energy afterwards.
Labor Day also signals the ending of summer. Labor Day to me, however, has always meant that the white pants and skirts of summer had to be retired to the back of the closet or folded away until the beginning of following summer.
Where I live, though, summer is eternal throughout the year with a few cool breaks in between. Still, being that my town is mostly made up of NewYorkers like me, one can rarely see a white pants, shorts, or skirts on people.
Maybe I should rebel against the order of things especially where fashion goes. After all, people all over the world, and particularly ordinary working people in factories, mines, fields, and offices, are rebelling every day in many ways of their own invention.
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