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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. Kiya's gift. I love it!
Mushrooms, Splinters, and Thorns
#328158 added October 13, 2009 at 5:49pm
Restrictions: None
F-13 1738 words
Sandhill Cranes

up making noise, that’s all.

Tearing away the morning mist,
sunrise from the east,
the flame of life,
perfection divined,
in spring-scented symmetry.

Heralded by hyacinths,
the joy of the soul
teasing reason,
on hope’s meaning.

The passion of being born,
pre-curser to pain,
stretched along a lifetime,
from mortals expecting
love everlasting,
as if flying in dreams.

Yet, the only thing predictable
is change,
to be met with humor,
through the choreography of living,
without any rehearsals,
in a heartless world.

The intent, no doubt,
is to be human,
but to be like a bird as well,
a prophetic beauty
sailing in the shifting wind,
without flaunting
arrogance.


Dreams

What are dreams anyway?
When we are too tired to walk,
they are those that carry us
on their backs
and they enter into
every place,
even the stone chambers of the heart,
so, we can clutch on to them
as if life savers.
Dreams are the mirrors we look into
to witness
the beauty of it all,
if the wind catches our fancy
and ripples it
for savoring,
even if
for a short moment.




© Copyright 2009 Joy (UN: joycag at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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