Search

DoodleScribbles

Scribblings and scrawls of a hopeless romantic soul

Author

maria

Rose Among the Ghosts

restaurant

He stared through the dissipating smoke, fascinated how this woman evolved from a wilted rose to a flower in full bloom. She loves silence now —

though there’s never a quiet time when you’re with ghosts.

“What?” Ariella asks.

“What?” He echoes, smiling.

“That look,” she rolled her eyes. “You’re laughing at me.”

“Why? You asked for peace and we left you for three days,” he shrugs, teasing her with a poker face. “Admit it. You missed us.”

Ariella’s eyes widen but her mouth curved to a smile. “Pretend you don’t see me, Gustav.”

“You’re the one who’s pretending, my rose.”

Word Count: 100


Written for Friday Fictioneers, a weekly writing challenge hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields where a photo is used as a prompt for a hundred-word piece of fiction. The photo prompt this week is a courtesy of Dale Rogerson.

Last week’s prompt, I was inspired by Ali and wrote a prequel to his story. This time, I’ve decided to continue being a literary parasite (if the word exist) and take inspiration from another writer. This one is inspired by J.A. Prentice’s flash fiction titled An End to Solitude. I’m normally a scardey cat when it comes to ghosts and not-like-ours but I love how he twisted his story and gave it a lighter angle. 🙂

Head over here to join the prompt!

Fallin’ Down South: A weekend of feast, fog and falls

With the world in utter chaos today due to COVID-19, we are reminded of our mortality — our vulnerability despite having played like gods over other creatures. As death threatens to knock on our doorsteps, we realize the value of living.

To live, not merely exist. But have we made the most of life?

Continue reading “Fallin’ Down South: A weekend of feast, fog and falls”

Beginnings

“Was I?”

I look at him hoping to see mischief in those Houdini eyes. Perhaps ten years have blurred my memory. It wasn’t I who followed a stranger to that bookstore along Rue de la Bûcherie. What was it called? Ah, Shakespeare and Company.

I did not go out of my way pretending to eye those weather-beaten shelves, fingering book spines, thinking of a way to start a conversation.

“James Joyce lies buried in the cellar” was your desperate did-you-know. I can’t believe how I fell for that—

How I fell for you.

Paris is indeed full of exotic swindlers.

Word Count: 100


Written for Friday Fictioneers, a weekly writing challenge hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields where a photo is used as a prompt for a hundred-word piece of fiction. The photo prompt this week is a courtesy of C.E. Ayr.

It has been a while since I’ve written for Friday Fictioneers and I am happy to be back this week. This one is inspired by Ali’s micro story titled Endings. As I have said (am I’m sure I’m not the only one), it’s rare to see him write about love and heartbreak. My hopeless romantic muse got thrilled and so here’s a prequel to his tale.. 😉

Head over here to join the prompt!

 

He sights a leash—he screams

He sights a leash—he screams—
From flattened belly—he leaves the floor—
He runs with million wagging tails—
Proceeds to play a hide and seek—

His voice cracks—circling—whines—
Tilt a head, flash a smile—
He gives a lick and I hug his neck—
Lo, what a lovely collar that is!

Betrayal flashed upon his eyes—
This necklace meant only one thing—
He raise his paws as last attempt—
Hopes he can cheat bath-time again—

© doodlescribbles


In response to dVerse’s Poetics: Companions hosted by Linda Lee Lyberg who asks us to write about our love (or frustration) for our pets.

This one’s inspired by Emily Dickinson’s She sights a Bird—she chuckles. It’s a poem about a cat on a hunt for prey. I’ve always love Emily and her dashes so I decided to write about Darwin (one of our two dogs) who I always take with me to the river for a quick bath. 🙂

Head over here to join the prompt!dverse

what her smile does not say

how does it feel to be enough?
to not be too much
or too less?

every day she puts on a brave front,
tries to flush doubt
down her mind

but

shame—
rose to her cheeks
fear—
crept up her nape

every. single. time.

© doodlescribbles


In response to dVerse’s Quadrille: Don’t Forget To… hosted by Mish who asks us to pen a poem of exactly 44 words inspired by the word “flush.”

Head over here to join the prompt!dverse

Silent Spring: A Triolet

It was a spring without voices, devoid of man and his obsessions
Warm light bathed, for once, the stricken world that was silenced
For what worth were our gold and our Earthly possessions?
It was a spring without voices, devoid of man and his obsessions
Love is what carries weight, not money or possessions
Nor hatred and greed can answer mother nature’s siren
It was a spring without voices devoid, of man and his obsessions
Warm light bathed, for once, the stricken world that was silenced

© doodlescribbles


Sharing this piece that I’ve written for #WorldofWords prompt that I am doing with Jade M Wong and A Reading Writer on Instagram (Jade’s IG, Rose’s IG and my IG). This one is inspired by the current global pandemic and Rachel Carson’s Silent Spring, a nonfiction that became one of the most-influential writings in the modern environmental movement. The book documents the adverse environmental effects caused by the indiscriminate and eloquently questions humanity’s faith in technological progress.

Triolet is a short poem of eight lines with only two rhymes used throughout. The requirements of this fixed form are straightforward: the first line is repeated in the fourth and seventh lines; the second line is repeated in the final line; and only the first two end-words are used to complete the tight rhyme scheme. Thus, the poet writes only five original lines, giving the triolet a deceptively simple appearance: ABaAabAB, where capital letters indicate repeated lines.

logo-napowrimo

Vignette: Into the land of the unknown

and then she melted
on the bed, her hands circling
the pillow while her mind drifts
away into the land of unicorns
and magic wands
and cotton dreams

pixies dance to an unknown
melody, strange yet familiar
soft duh-dums getting louder
at every second — alas!
it was the steady sound
of her heart all along


Day 3 of NaPoWriMo. I miss feeling dreamy like this. It’s been a while. 🌻💛🥺

Hope is an illusion

Hope is an illusion
A lie behind the blinds
It walks you into the wind—
Points you to distant bergs
Where refuge hides

Ask a child from Quneitra
Or the slums of Manila
And both will give you a laugh
For life has taught them what hope is
A vanishing mirage, not an oasis

No food, no water
Not a breath left for a dream
For a deserter trapped in the desert
Does hope even matter?
Does anybody cares?

Tilt those heads slightly
Perhaps, from a different angle, you’ll see
The lives of the lost, last, and least
Trampled down by privilege, indifference, and greed
A scene less click-worthy
Uninteresting for the media frenzy


Day 2 of NaPoWriMo and I am not feeling well. Emotionally, mentally, spiritually – I feel drained. Whenever I mull over something that strikes a chord within me, I experience a relapse of depressive episodes. Now, the obvious reason is the global pandemic COVID-19. And I am not only saddened by the number of deaths it brings but by the extent of hatred and greed it ignites. I need not zoom out because my country itself is thrown in disarray. It hurts. 💔

logo-napowrimo

At the end of the long road

wp-1585733780815.jpg

Let it be where winds may sweep
Through forest trees soft and deep
The murmur of the giggling brook
Calm every head that shook
And the thriving eastern wood-pewee
Bring broken hearts with glee

Let it be where a bluebird freely flies
Verdant meadows lie before our eyes
Harvest fields reaped and trod
To farmers a gift from God
And falling raindrops sing
For a family hopeful for spring

Let it be where stars may shine
O’er creatures living, peaceful and fine
Where the crescent moon watches over
Longing hearts that look yonder
And the rain once again
Heal the world in pain

Let it be where men breathe with love
And intent is as pure as a dove
Into each life rain must fall
But the sun still shines upon all
At the end of the long road is peace
Let it be where hatred and greed cease


Wordsmiths and poets make a sound, it’s National Poetry Writing Month everyone! Kicking off Day 1 with rhymes instead of today’s optional prompt. What are your  April plans? 🙂

logo-napowrimo

 

Up ↑