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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
#438623 added July 6, 2006 at 12:54am
Restrictions: None
My Blood Redux
It seems to have been a while since,
trusting my act in the kitchen, I touched
the knife on the wrong edge, sliding
my thumb. The shock of blood, rediscovered
so red when fresh, spun out of the mind--with
the pain and humiliation--other
things that bled, while I blinked to
wave off carelessness, but the pattern
of the warm liquid zigzagged to
fill my perverse temper with
the recall of sharp-edged words that cut
like cutlery when he said I was full
of shit and I should watch out, as he
cast off my human skin and made
me bleed to a peculiar numbness.
Now, I hold my thumb to the light and
think, after the ointment, my blood
will clot again.


Prompt: Write a poem about rediscovering something

© Copyright 2006 Joy (UN: joycag at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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