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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.
 
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A Cup Full of Humble Fragrance #754325 added June 7, 2012 at 11:25am
Restrictions: None
Dragon
“Okra? How original! Nobody else around these parts cultivates okra.”
The voice was husky like that of a habitual cigarette smoker, and it wasn’t so much a greeting as it was an observation. As soon as looked up to the owner of the voice, the hoe fell off my hand among the plants.
“You mustn’t drop the things you love.”
Giant and birdlike, he was hovering above me from the tree-top level. His scales shone like blue sapphires under the rays of the sun. Stunned, I watched him descend and land on his short webbed feet on the lawn outside of the chicken wire, which surrounded my vegetable garden, but somehow, fear didn’t enter my mind.
On the ground, he didn’t appear to be as massive as he looked when his wings were open, but he was so beautiful and imperial that I couldn’t tear my eyes away from him. His scales carried hues of cerulean, azure, cobalt and royal blues. Though his belly had gold tinges, he was a story-book, pure-bred blue dragon A creature so strong and gentle, gazing at me with emerald eyes, but I made no sense of what there was in front of me in broad daylight. Did dragons really exist?
“You should never, never doubt something that no one is sure of.”
What? Hadn’t I heard that statement earlier?
“Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.” he added. “Something you forgot. You also forgot I can read minds.”
“How can I forget something I don’t know, something that isn’t supposed to exist?” I said.
“Why not? The most pleasant memories are the ones that don’t really exist. I’m pleasant, too, aren’t I? You must rise above everything to remember what you don’t know. Come here and I’ll show you.”
As I locked the gate behind me, he lowered himself flat to the ground. “Hop on my back, but be careful of the fin. Not only will it cut you but it’ll also hurt me.”
I did as he said and he opened his wings with me on his back. The next minute, we soared over the red Mediterranean shingles of the house and the tree-tops. For the briefest time, we hung there, frozen, suspended, becoming part of the sky.
“As in Google,” I muttered.
“What’s a Google? Is he from Grendel’s bloodline?”
“A search engine,” I said. ‘Difficult to explain. Acts weird at times.”
He slowly descended to the ground. I jumped down.
“Did you forget about lunch? I’m hungry.”
Ned, my husband, all in blue denims, walked toward me. I looked around. The dragon had vanished.
“I’m coming,” I said, clasping my hands behind me to hide the dragon glitter on them.
Just before we reached the door, Ned held my arm, his eyes sparkling emerald-like
“What is it about Google you tried to explain?”
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Prompt: dragon
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