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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. Kiya's gift. I love it!
Green Peas at Stake
#773460 added January 31, 2013 at 6:35pm
Restrictions: None
January Haikus
Inspired by alfred booth, wanbli ska Author Icon, I wrote a haiku a day (373 words altogether) in January, in my computer.
Then, I finally got the courage to put them up in my book. They consist of daily observances of life, be it human, animal, or thing. *Smile*
.
1.
reeds under moonbeams
like silver snakes hissing
at chills of nature

2.
I heard a loon cry,
a whooping lament, warning
“Head above water!”

3.
this strange, veiled yearning
caterpillar in cocoon
dimming, drifting words

4.
rain falls between bars
Eine Kleine Nachtmusik
old wounds not healing

5.
old garden turtle
in his checkered shell tells me
all kinds of stories

6.
stumps wrapped in seaweed
don’t catch the eye of the world
such is fate’s presence

7.
red-breasted robin
carries a berry to nest
like an old pirate

8.
Wild emerald sea…
Siren songs searching in tides
infinite water

9.
mystifying jazz
tootling of an oompah band
flaming with passion

10.
behind frosted screen
politician orating…
rowdy machismo!

11.
snuggled in, yawning,
cat purrs off my foolish tales
for an encore nap

12.
A break in noon clouds…
To keep things at ground level,
puddles fill with sky.

13.
Hovering over
characters cast in world’s play,
on stage, this old fool

14.
lists nailed on the wall
You changed and did not tell me
wounds pile up like lies

15.
curled up in the tub
water churns against my skin
whirlpool swirls with grace

16.
rain drops on glass panes
barren land turns to garden
for yet-to-be life

17.
nest-building intent
wings folded back and resting
wren pining for love

18.
On the last hike south,
rivers carried loam away
while rain pricked our cheeks.

19.
gulls, in flocks and flocks,
on oceans of recurrence
rising and falling

20.
childhood gone for good
our son votes for gun control
promised lands in sight

21.
(01/21/1966)
Forty-seven years…
Happy Anniversary!
fairy tales shift shape

22.
facing up to skies
finding my swift inner wings
I’m taming lightnings

23.
Beneath rusting leaves,
lies the earth, dark, stabbed with trash,
a sign of our scorn.

24.
Snow’s revolution
traps a child’s shoe in bushes
by the riverbank

25.
desires disappear
where the highway does leg splits,
barbaric milestones

26.
bulldozing a road
inside the mind’s savage lands
while I close my eyes

27.
Full moon’s ecstasy
like a goddess charges on
as if it can’t wane

28.
I fumble to catch
the full moon through steamed windows
to light my shadows

29.
Tiny ants skitter
across the room, acting like
typical tourists

30.
a dream of a house
gingerbread trim, wood-planked porch…
I’m searching for hope

31.
I watch spider webs
how they sparkle in the sun
gossamer spirits





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