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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
"Failure is unimportant. It takes courage to make a fool of yourself."
CHARLIE CHAPLIN
Sometimes it takes darkness and the sweet
confinement of your aloneness
to learn
anything or anyone
that does not bring you alive
is too small for you.
David Whyte
This is my supplementary blog in which I will post entries written for prompts.
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Prompt:
“It is easy to forget now, how effervescent and free we all felt that summer when we were young.” -Anna Godbersen
Let this quote inspire your entry.
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Good for Anna Godbersen, but a generalization of her feelings for summers and youth may be a bit overdoing it; although youth and summers could be linked joyously for most, it wouldn't apply to all.
Still, memory always fools people. Even for those of us who didn't have the best summers, when we think back to our youth, our memories may take on a golden hue, tinged with nostalgia and wishful thinking. I'm quite sure that we, in fact, are remembering the reaction of our youthful, stress-and-disease-free bodies more so than our actual summers of teens and twenties.
Therefore, ideally speaking or rather thinking back, every sunset becomes a promise of new adventures and every sunrise a reminder that this wide world is waiting for us, the young, to be explored. Some of us are taken by the magic of a starlit sky or the surf at sea while others like me preferred to get lost in the pages of a book. Maybe, due to the inexperience and innocence of youth there existed--inside ourselves--a lightness, a somewhat tangible wish for feeling joy.
On the other hand, maybe not. Not for me anyway and not always, as not only was I an only child but also I was a lonely child. My happiness depended on other children like me. That was why, regardless of the season, occasion, or time, I felt the happiest when my cousins visited.
Then, leave it to me to question anything including my own youth.  Between youth and summers, however, one thing is in common. They are both fleeting moments and so short. Maybe in our selective memories, such moments, like cherished snapshots, remind us of the importance of time and spontaneity and finding happiness and joy in those tiny sections of our lives.
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