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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Into the Wind Love, enter my eyes with your skies.
Neruda
It’s time, it’s time
for me to be a
trapeze artist,
to kick my heels
into the wind,
like hawk's ascending
endless, reckless;
it’s time, it’s time.
A thief or mystic,
I’ll sip champagne
on fiery wire,
inspired in bursts of
poetic motif,
sparkling and bright,
endless, reckless;
it’s time, it’s time.
My tongue will sing
your songs, your name
with lips bewitched;
new sight, new pitch,
a random moan,
I'll float and soar
endless, reckless;
it’s time, it’s time.
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© Copyright 2008 Joy (joycag at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved.
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