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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!
Everyday Canvas
Kathleen-613's creation for my blog

"Failure is unimportant. It takes courage to make a fool of yourself."
CHARLIE CHAPLIN


Blog City image small

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


Marci's gift sig










This is my supplementary blog in which I will post entries written for prompts.

September 20, 2018 at 8:03pm
September 20, 2018 at 8:03pm
#941759
Prompt: "Aflame in color, poets have written, borrowing the language of fire to describe trees in their full glory-fiery-red sweetgums, sugar maples igniting, birches alight in yellow flames. Okay, writers what are your views on this?

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If this were a movie, it would be called a wide shot, with a poet sitting in the foreground and fiery words flying overhead clapping their red wings.

Of all the colors of fall, --gold, bronze, yellow, saffron, and orange--, red seems to stand out in representing fire, but fire has many different colors in it. Just light a match and watch. I always notice more bright yellows and oranges in a flame; then sometimes, even a bright blue color edges it.

Depending on the region, autumn can be fiery, icy, cold, warm or hot. We don’t have autumn leaves where I live now, but we did, many years ago, and those leaves and trees were stunning, but truthfully speaking, it was a backbreaking job to rake and bag all those leaves from a two-acre yard with about 200 tall deciduous trees of every kind. Still, I loved that house in the middle of the woods. It was like a bird’s nest. Of every house I ever lived in, that one still stands as my favorite.



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