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 #579340 added April 14, 2008 at 12:07pm Restrictions: None
Missing (Dew Drop 14)
Missing
What is it I am searching
for who-knows-what confused reason
and cannot find?
Hitchhiking on poetry's freeway
without missing a beat in doodle time,
I've seen houses on wheels, but
I cannot turn my knotted wood
into planks for my stationary hut.
Does some other material exist?
So I search for more.
Maybe I know the answer, but it
eludes me and no one can tell me it,
because the question is mine.
What is it that is missing
like a door from a wall
or a sock from the pair?
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