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 #932590 added April 11, 2018 at 5:12pm Restrictions: None
Eighth Grade with Live Entertainment
Prompt: Write about an eighth-grade memory.
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Eighth Grade? So distant…I guess it was too dull or something, I have difficulty recalling anything interesting, except for reading, studying and then studying some more as I was attending an accelerated school…against my will. The most exciting thing for that year has to be my hair. I wore a ponytail, then, and had zits enough to frighten Count Dracula away. And I was in the drama club and in the astronomy club, not that they amounted to anything…in the long run.
Oh, I also began reading Dostoyevsky. This may not mean much to most people, but Dostoyevsky was a turning point for me with the way I have perceived literature ever since.
Fast forward half a century to about three hours ago, today, something funny happened…or ridiculous, depending on your judgment.
After a morning’s appointment, Hubby and I were having lunch in a café. Our table was for four people, but the two chairs opposite us were missing, possibly because the servers took them to accommodate a larger group. So, we sat side by side with our backs to the wall. An old man walking by stopped in front of us. He was carrying a take-out in one hand. Suddenly, he started twisting his body and making some kind of dancing movements. Such a WTF moment, right?
I looked around. Nobody minded him but no one was laughing either. The man was staring directly at us as he danced. Then he stopped and said jokingly, “No chairs. Open view! I am providing you live entertainment.”
We thanked him. So considerate! He gave me something to write about, together with the faded-away eighth-grade memories.
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