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 #581686 added April 26, 2008 at 5:58pm Restrictions: None
When Old Friends Call (Dew Drop 26)
When Old Friends Call
Their voices rearrange me,
invasive with long arms
but not counterfeit,
so I open my shutters
to drag in their freshness.
They spoon me up like honey
like the tonic they thought
I was, galaxies away, but now
I hide me. I hide how dried up,
how spread-too-thin I am,
and I hope, beating around
the inflections, my tone
will go unnoticed. My palm
sweats with the taste of
the receiver, and chitchat fills
empty spaces, trickling in
juicy morsels, healing
what eyes don't see,
following me into good-byes.
A temporary merger, yet
what's derailed is
back on track.
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© Copyright 2008 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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