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DoodleScribbles

Scribblings and scrawls of a hopeless romantic soul

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Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie

She is a bad liar, that girl.

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She is a bad liar, that girl. She can seamlessly hide behind words and metaphors but her eyes will always betray her. Beneath the layers of finery, if you look closely, you can see the pale glimmer of blues she has bottled inside. Wounds from years of baring her soul open only to zip it back up because she’s either too much or not enough. Scars from falling in and out of love too deeply. Stains, flaws, imperfections all trying to claw out of her skin.

She’s a bad liar, that girl. But if you stare long enough, she won’t look away. If you listen a little closer, she will tell you her story. No lies this time. Will you stay?
MS


In response to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie’s Photo Challenge #191 hosted by Nekneeraj.

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The girl who was made of moonbeams

couple, cuddling, moon, night, watching

The girl who was made of moonbeams

“It’s waning.” Her voice breaks the silence as she eyes the moon amid the blanket of stars.

She is her own kind beautiful. The type of beauty that that goes beyond the naïve skin. Her eyes, aflame, glint with passion. Two windows opening to a new world of fantasies— of hidden histories. A touch of fata organa. And her smile… Her smile was the key that fits perfectly into his heart’s keyhole. He can’t help but grin.

What is she? The thought crosses his mind as he imbibes the quiet between them. On nights like this, there is no need for tongues for they are free from the trammels of the world. No rules. No walls. Blinking in reality, he turns to face the sky and asks, “What is waning?”

“The moon… and love.” She mused.
MS


In response to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie’s Wordle #169 and Sunday Writing Prompt: The girl who was made of… Image source: Favim

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Dead-reckoning

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Dead-reckoning

With a languid gait, she walks towards the stream. The scent of fall leaves hang in the air as her feet press the ground. She is a natural beauty, that’s what they say. But before her reflection, she only sees sadness hiding beneath a feigned smile. Her face embedded with years of self-doubt. The water feels like a looking glass and she dives into the labyrinth of her gritty past. She swims into the muffled silence, recalling her feats and defeats, descending to the very beginning of her life. And she surfaced proud. Today is her dead-reckoning.

Rivers of the past
Coursing through her memories
Running wide and deep

MS


In response to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie’s Wordle #168 hosted by Yves. Photography by Alessio Albi

This week’s words are: Feign, Gait, Torn, Press, Left, Labyrinthine (complicated, torturous, resembling a labyrinth), Look, Embed, Malformed, Gritty, Natural, Dead-reckoning (In navigation, dead reckoning is the process of calculating one’s current position by using a previously determined position, or fix, and advancing that position based upon known or estimated speeds over elapsed time and course.)

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Submission

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Submission

I submit to your dominance
Like a foolish myrmidon
Jump in circle if you need—
This soul’s entangled to yours
My virtues are figments
Lost in the willowwacks
Your love enslaves me and
With a glint of utter fear
I tremble of being free

© 2017 Maria. All Rights Reserved.

Photo Credit: MKAphotography


In response to dVerse’s Quadrille: Fear hosted by Victoria C. Slotto and MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie’s Wordle #166 hosted by Yves.

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dverse

Breaking Free

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Breaking Free

I will let no ill words permeate
This heart. No more vacant
Eyes from a soul left abashed.
I will tear the walls that caged
Me for years. No more waning
Hope and sagging will. Sharpen
Your knives, throw them at me
Like a bird of prey, today I will
Seize. You can call me a sinner—
Cast the stones but I will never
Conform and worship deceit.

© 2017 Maria. All Rights Reserved.


In response to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie’s Wordle #165 hosted by Yves and Sunday Writing Prompt: Fly Like An Eagle hosted by Pat of Scribbler’s Dipstick.

I think I have developed a habit of merging MLMM’s Wordle and Sunday Prompt. 🙂 I would especially like to thank Pat for providing a lot of interesting and intriguing storyboards. Now that you’ve used this reference, I feel the urge to read Wilde’s The Picture of Dorian Gray again.

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The Baptism

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The Baptism

My feet trudge the dark earth
Outlining little puddles
The furious sky flaunts its prowess
Upon us lowly creatures
My dress is drenched in the downpour
But my eyes flicker with hope
Like a child blessed with holy water
Within this rain is my baptism

© 2017 Maria. All Rights Reserved.


In response to dVerse’s Quadrille: Flicker hosted by Grace and MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie’s Photo Challenge #174 hosted by Nekneeraj.

Last April, I’ve had the chance to work with Reylia Slaby during the A to Z challenge. Although I was 8 letters short in completing the challenge, it was fun and exciting expressing her photos through poems. The photo above is entitled, We Summon Our Own Rain. Interesting title, eh? 

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dverse

 

The Lies Of A Fool

Bukowski

The Lies Of A Fool

Four days. It’s the fourth day since you left yet the flowers are still in full bloom. They bask under the sunrays with the colors of whites, greens, and purples. A madman would drink opium down to the last drop after a heartbreak and abdicate the lust for life. But not me. I only needed lies. Lies, you see, lessen the pangs of sadness. I will live with lies if it means climbing the stars with you. I will trick myself with a vague truth if only to get back to you. Back to where we started. A neolithic era of planting love with polished stones. And if, one day, you suddenly reappear, I will thank lies for being my nepenthe. The flowers will never perish and so will this fool.

© 2017 Maria. All Rights Reserved.


In response to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie’s Wordle #164 hosted by Yves and Sunday Writing Prompt: Fine Dining Kitchen Tricks hosted by Pat of Scribbler’s Dipstick.

I managed to jump into blogosphere (after another hiatus) for a quick peak but when I saw Pat’s storyboard, I couldn’t help but write. Argh! Who could resist Bukowski?! ❤
Anyway here’s my take combining the two prompts. Though I’m not sure this has something to do with fine dining kitchen tricks. Hehe. Will be reading your posts in jiff!

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Mockery

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Mockery

I stand above the building of what seems like the edge of the world. The wind blows a soft hum as my eyes make love to moon. “Are you listening?”, my heart asks. Beneath me is a clutter of city lights— opaque and blurred. I pull for a stick of cigar but a crumpled paper falls out of my pocket instead. Ah, love breaks my bones but here I am laughing with cupid’s cabal. “Are you listening?”, this time it’s my voice. The moon is in absolute silence. An utter quiet that precedes a crackling mirth.

© 2017 Maria. All Rights Reserved.

Image Source: Pinterest


In response to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie’s Wordle #162 and Sunday Writing Prompt: Love Flowers hosted by Pat of Scribbler’s Dipstick.

This one is inspired by Bukowski’s quote: “Love breaks my bones and I laugh.”

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In The Quiet Of The World

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In The Quiet Of The World

The world can scream to my ears
That I have the wrong kind of skin
That I have the wrong kind of love
That I am never enough

But there is madness within me
That long to be set free
No more casket for my worries,
Hiding a heart on a sleeve

I will plunge underwater
Where noises are muffled
And in the quiet of the world
I shall find my voice

© 2017 Maria. All Rights Reserved.

Photography by Natalia Fadejeva


In response to MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie’s Photo Challenge #171 hosted by Nekneeraj.

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