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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Daily Cascade
Since my old blog "Everyday Canvas " became overfilled, here's a new one. This new blog item will continue answering prompts, the same as the old one.
Cool water cascading to low ground
To spread good will and hope all around.
November 1, 2024 at 11:16am November 1, 2024 at 11:16am
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Prompt:
Take any cliche and subvert it to bring it alive again in a poem or a blog entry.
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Bag of Bones
They said, "This baby, a bag of bones!"
and rattled, "She may not even throw stones"
a bag of bones, where my shadow lies
World War II, macabre with gray skies.
But dreams I've built and spells I've cast,
I charted my course, battled the past.
Alas, today, other lines are drawn,
fears of war wail from dusk to dawn.
Although people speak in whispers low,
in death's embrace, demons can grow.
So, this bag of bones sways and waits...
as, just one click, next war dictates.
Such a shame it is, to undo the seams!
Or let's mend the world, guard our dreams?
I hold my breath and hear the moans
and warnings from all bags of bones.
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