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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
#458600 added October 2, 2006 at 2:52am
Restrictions: None
O-2--------- 125 words
Dreams

Dreams reign in underhanded ways
inside the cavernous structure
of mind's geography, where salt
and water create a bottomless ocean
on which a frolicsome zephyr
can cause artistic wrinkles;
so, waves,
bobbing and weaving,
can come back from the depths
to bond with the sand
and craft a poetry of tides.


~I rhyme when I'm silly.~

Defense

Yesterday, feeling as heavy and gross as a ton,
my toes hit the pavement for a ten-feet run.
Some blisters, chronic cough, asthma on cue,
I rely on hubby's rapid relief and rescue.

I do not gravitate to “No pain, no gain,”
my defense rests smugly in “No pain, no pain.”
Exercise sits inside a dusty videotape;
you see, I'm already in shape. Isn’t “round” a shape?



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