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 #453458 added September 8, 2006 at 11:56am Restrictions: None
The Red Fox
We strolled in the woods
arm in arm, like an offering
of ourselves, kindling
hope to live within
each other's dreams,
until at the clearing
a rusty reddish fur moved,
then twisted about to lock eyes
with you, and the fox,
after wagging its white tipped tail,
fell motionless, dying
upwards into our lives;
next, a phantom glow flashed
from your eyes as if a dart
aiming at the life we could not plan.
The shock piled like the leaves
under my feet; thickening
my prickly blood and I
marveled at your distress,
letting out a sigh so fractional
you could not hear.
That day after the Red Fox,
you left, rolling with
the tide of your transformation,
a lover hovering over your own image,
to stare into the portent in Red Fox eyes,
still bright as if alive.
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For "Poets' Practice Pad"
Prompt: Write a poem about an animal as if it's an omen of good or bad. (Poe's Raven, for example) |
© Copyright 2006 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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