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 #840421 added February 4, 2015 at 5:28pm Restrictions: None
Stones
On the narrow path west,
cool wind, fast moving Cirrus
high above the flat land
facing the pool,
as I walk
round about
the stone circle
like the Druids
administering spells
for the dark halves of my days,
listening to stories
stones tell
of beings that wilted away
due to overcrowding
inside such a tiny place,
my weed-covered flower bed
surrounded by stones.
My head lowered in shame,
I plead guilty.
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