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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Green Peas at Stake #262314 added October 19, 2003 at 7:00pm Restrictions: None
Capturing the Moon
That fierce warrior, the night, battles on,
binding the earth to ebony sky,
trapping the unknown
within the mind.
I, at first, shiver
inside this bare windowless space,
searching for blame.
Who broke the sun and blew specks of gold dust
into heavens?
Or are these just shapes passing through
to God, only to get stuck in
serving time for a promise?
What a maze of culpability, as entangling as vines,
when evil enchantresses lure Orion to trails of stars
to hunt; so when he unfastens his belt,
they strangle his devoted canine Betelgeuse,
hanging fear, a suspended chandelier
of black lights, on
its cold jaws!
Then, guarded by grey shadows, thin feathery cirrus
thread under a moon too bright,
maybe tonight, La Luna floats
beneath those clouds,
looking for a savior.
My impatience expands into edginess,
with claws scraping, I toss
my cape off,
bare my fangs,
to howl.
So, hearing my tune,
the stunned moon
becomes my prey
and feels
my pain.
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© Copyright 2003 Joy (UN: joycag at Writing.Com). All rights reserved. Joy has granted InkSpot.Com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
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