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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 #1015984 added August 22, 2021 at 12:52pm
Restrictions: None
August 21, 2021
For "Blog City ~ Every Blogger's Paradise" 
Prompt by Lyn: My 65th birthday approaches and people have commented that I've finally reached a monumental birthday. Everyday, I'm alive is monumental.
But since the conversation, I've thought about different birthdays over the years so I'm going to ask you which birth year sticks out the most in your memories? Why? Was it because of a place or the people you were with?
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I am not sure my own birthday is so important; at least, it isn’t to me. But I value and appreciate each year we are given the gift of life. So, talking about years instead of birthdays…
One year that sticks out in my memory is the most splendid and full of love, and the most annoying and the most active and the most troublesome year of 1966. In that year, I married my husband who would be with me for 54 wonderful years, lived with my in-laws for several months, prepared and finished a thesis, thought high school for six months on the side, got pregnant and lost the baby and moved away from family, established in a different place and by the end of that year, I felt knocked down breathless totally, but still it was a good year. 
I’ve had other active years after that one, but in that one I was fish out of water, totally inexperienced in many areas. That is another reason which makes me appreciate 1966 for all the joys and the learning and the hardships and the people and challenges that I dealt with and came out AOK, (I think).
Thus, to that year and all the others, I thank you for your service!
For: "Space Blog"
Prompt by Megan: From SeanFhear   ’s "If The World is Made of Gold"
What if the world was made out of gold? Write about this…
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The poem itself was so beautiful that saying anything else about it would be for naught.
So, I’ll just say what I can come up with about the question. If the world was made out of gold, and I mean the metal gold, we wouldn’t be here, would we?
Even if we were, at its best, since everything else were to be metallic, we would be metallic, too, for we’d eat gold, hear gold, see gold, and look shiny and yellow. And when the sun’s rays would heat up the place, we’d all soften and run into one another and everything else.
Yet, if I take the question through its abstract meaning, not only our particular life circumstances but also the time period in which we live would be reflected in our being and work. From that point of view, we would either exist or reflect like any metal, say aluminum, zinc, iron, platinum, copper, or gold.
One thing common among us would be that we would be able to conduct electricity. (Define electricity through your own understanding here.) Still, even now, without exactly being a metal, we do conduct electricity, don’t we!
I think, not what kind of a metal we could be but to which degree we let electricity pass through us to others and our environment would be the most important thing, then, and it still is. 
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