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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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Egads, that's what I thought of immediately, too!
May be viewed, reviewed and rated at: " To liver" 
To liver
O luscious leather, onion smothered
or pickled by fermented hops,
you're all the same to me.
Served with yellow buttered taters,
jaundiced from slow death by hep,
what matters, matters not to me.
As a child I thought
you were some dark-meat fish.
Now I've seen your disloyalty
to men who fish with bottles
trying to drown their sorrows.
Laughing when they see that you can't swim.
But alas, I'm not like them.
I eat liver with one eye watching
the color of my skin.
Kåre Enga |
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