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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!
Green Peas at Stake
#405938 added February 10, 2006 at 5:23pm
Restrictions: None
Manhattan
Manhattan

Maraschino cherries,
spare tires in the bottom
of the glass;
a distinct moment of revelation
when long-handled glass stirrers
filter the sunlight, working out
new kinks.

Sweetness, a good foil
though spoils quickly,
as pearly whites anticipate
the crush after the sip.

The heart of the lion
holds the brightest star;
no, not Regulus
but Manhattan, the city
I toast to.

With words like anesthetics
to wounds still bleeding,
here’s to a beginning
renewed
cheers after cheers:
“Let our hearts be wide open!”



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