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She was once a blank canvas

In 6th street, a naked wall

One day was touched by an artist

An aesthete, who stained her soul

On her porous bricks he painted

A message hidden with every stroke

In his masterpiece, she bask in glory

To its comforting scent enthralled

But like all graffiti, the writings faded

A love story ended and tossed

Trash caught in growing weeds

Hid the crumbling wall


This is another late post for our Writing 101: Poetry last December 2015. Prompt 8 is a courtesy of writer & photographer Andy of belgradestreets. Graffiti always reminds me of my friend’s ex who is a member of a famed graffiti crew here in Cebu. Their love story was pretty much of a graffiti on the wall, bold and vibrant, until time passed then the writings faded- and so were their feelings.

Day 8: Graffiti

Graffiti: art, or vandalism? It sometimes seems every flat surface is someone’s canvas. Trains with spray-painted carriages trundle past graffiti-adorned buildings and rattle through illustrated tunnels.

Are you, like me, often inspired by the creativity and audacity of the artist? Or are you outraged by a perceived assault on public decency? Is graffiti a valid means of self-expression for those without a voice, or just the random scribbling of people with nothing better to do? For today’s poem, reflect on what graffiti means to you. Tell the story of a particularly memorable wall. Quote a powerful example of graffiti you’d seen (and feel free to share an image, if you’d like). Or write the poem as if it were itself splashed, for all to see, against the largest wall in town.

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