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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
#441698 added August 17, 2006 at 10:51am
Restrictions: None
Places
Time tick-tocks
at a beach where
I loitered among a thousand
heads, winging shadows, tumbling
into hollows
of damp sand, searching;
then, on the stairway where I first
saw you in shaky heartbeats,
although I had met you
a hundred times before; in
the places where you explored
me, caressing in
the nightlong frenzy of
your game; and at
the exit where you
spun away, dancing into
the cobwebs.



Prompt: We don't always count our time in hours, days and years. T.S. Eliot's Prufrock says "I measured out my life in coffee spoons." Some count by the weeks till vacation, hours classes till the end of a school day, months to summer, regrets, For this prompt, write a poem which addresses the passage of time in an unconventional way.



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