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 #754936 added June 15, 2012 at 11:53am Restrictions: None
Max (June 15 - Dog)
Amanda woke to the click of the key at the front door. A prickle of awareness made her jump upright from the bed. Maximilian!
Wasn’t he supposed to be out of state, building walls for a new shopping center?
On her bed, James, the man she had met at the political rally last night, lay snoring. Amanda crossed her arms over her naked body in sheer terror, and for a good reason. She had always feared Maximilian’s full-blown case of sick jealousy.
Maximilian, her husband.
Amanda had married Maximilian because he liked to take long walks with her, and whatever she wanted he provided. She had loved him at first, feeling she was always in the right place with Maximilian, but after a year and a half, Amanda became bored stiff with that right place, because Maximilian had an insatiable desire for her and didn’t respect her space.
Amanda had met Maximilian while she was searching for her lost dog, a cute, lovable black mutt with white fur on head. She was walking around the neighborhood, calling the dog’s name when Maximilian had approached her. “Did you call me?” he had asked, smiling.
“Is your name Max?” Amanda had replied. “I’m looking for my dog, Max.”
“You might call me that. I am Maximilian, at your service.”
Max, the dog, was not found, but Maximilian, the husband, was. Recalling her dog always made Amanda miss the way Max flicked his ears, especially at food smells: onions, sizzling oil, fried chicken, meats, barbecue…
The bedroom door banged open. Maximilian stood at the doorstep, his face puffed red with rage.
Half awake, James sat up in bed.
Her panic rising, Amanda’s throat constricted and her limbs began to quiver. Her stomach cramped. She felt a swell of nausea.
But Maximilian dropped to the floor, gasping in pain, his muscles growing large and strong, his body shifting. His nails grew thin and pointy. Fur sprung up on his hands, covering his head, then his body.
Amanda screamed in recognition. “Max!”
Max rose on all fours growling, shook his body, and howled. Then he leaped on the bed and tore James apart, limb by limb.
Next, blood dripping from his fangs, he turned to Amanda…
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Prompt: Dog
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