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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Mushrooms, Splinters, and Thorns #671839 added October 15, 2009 at 11:14am Restrictions: None
He/She
She Let Her Garden Go
She let her garden go
to the weeds, rising
over her head,
to the moss and the mildew,
invading the stone walls,
as she sat among the reeds
because her world fell
for he just couldn't listen
to what she was saying.
Missed
He gave her the moon
then took it back
and hid it behind the clouds.
Poor fellow!
In the dark of the night,
he missed her curtsy
as she left for good. |
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