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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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Everyday Canvas #930745 added March 16, 2018 at 12:07am
Restrictions: None
Food Thief and Spring Fever
Prompt: Have fun with these words--
assume, disposition, last, bond, minimize, applaud, spirit
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To a Food Thief
How odd to applaud
my disposition,
assuming it has changed
over time to bond
with your distraught spirit
down on its luck!
I guess I can’t expect you
to read me perfectly
but do not welcome me
to your underworld
just because
I’ve minimized
your insufferable spectacle
of predatory brilliance
when you pilfered
my last éclair.
Prompt: Imagine Spring Fever was a real person. What would he or she look like? What would he or she do to make it a good spring?
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Spring fever entered the courtyard wearing trousers folded up to her knees. She was barefoot. Raising one leg than the other she splotched in the rain. Then she cocked her head this way and that and crooned at the birds on the branches.
The minute she smiled, sunbeams broke through the branches overhead and the buds on the trees began to come alive and open into light green leaflets. People had warned me that she was bipolar, but I didn’t know she could change so quickly from one minute to the next. Still, her beauty was flawless and the more she smiled, the warmer the weather became.
She moved forward like a song and touched me and my companion. We both felt her mantras echoing inside us, but as beauty is a liability, we didn’t feel she had a brain. Not a good one anyhow! Yet, in her native superiority, she threw her fiery glance about, together with the thorns that grew on the roses and the thorns inside me, thorns of doubt that what she encouraged us to feel she could not change with her touch and we would be made to remain inside her intense tune. Was I wrong? I would find out, come summer.
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