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Doodles and Scribbles

Scribblings and scrawls of a hopeless romantic soul

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Graffiti

Processed with VSCOcam with kk1 preset
© http://www.164seven.com/

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.

Beloved

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I have told you so,

Didn’t I? That I love you

Oh, most ardently

If you only take the time

To see with your heart, not mind

I have told you, too

Didn’t I? That I would stay

‘Til the end of time

If you only take the risk

And give this true love a chance

I have always said,

Didn’t I? I’ll prove you wrong

And I’ll hold those hands

Make you trust in love again

We won’t be broken though bent

And I will tell you

Over and over, my love

You are my beloved

Until these words pierce through you

Until you love me back, too


And my late posts for Writing 101: Poetry continues. Prompt 7 is a courtesy of Vijaya Sundaram. My hopeless romantic soul dance in glee for this prompt. I think I may have been a man in my past life for I could write poems from a man’s perspective. 😀 YAY!~

Day 7: Beloved

Something about the very word “beloved” causes a frisson in us. Out of the people that matter to you, who matters the most? Whom do you love, or whom have you loved more than anyone else? What does the word “beloved” summon up in your imagination? What songs, poems, stories, movies spring to mind? Who is your beloved?

Today, write a poem celebrating your beloved. It does not have to be a specific person — you could address an imaginary beloved from the future who’s waiting for you. You could take on the persona of a well-known mythological or historic character and address her or his beloved in your poem. You could create a new type of lover and beloved.

Endings

the-end
© hometheaterreview.com

Stage curtain parted
Story come into play
Only to end soon

All good things must come to an end, said Geoffrey Chaucer in Troilus and Criseyde. If you do think it through, all good things do come to an end. The sun sets, leaving the world in the dark veil of the night; it’s warmth waning amidst the thin, crisp air. Flowers wilt; shriveled speckled leaves make a massacre of all its glory, a shameful end to its splendor. A good song, a movie, a game, a book, a poet— even William Shakespeare, a man of ripeness succumb to a decline. The world is full of endings, of finished chapters, closing circles and shutting doors. Fireworks turn to dust, flames to ash. Hi’s ended in goodbyes, smiles turned to cries. All good things always seem to accelerate and, eventually, come to an end. A love story closed, ended, and tossed to the seas.

So wave to the crowd
Tonight is our curtain call
Take your final bow


Jason Preu, the man behind Devious Bloggery, has come up with an uncanny prompt focus for our day 6 in Writing 101: Poetry course. For someone whose least interest in Philosophy class were the matters of fallacy, it was quite a challenge coming up with a rational reasonably irrational piece. The Haibun above is a poem a wrote on the 1st of January while marveling a fireworks display. It reminds me of an old fallacy I’ve heard so many times.

P.S I’ve always believed that some good things does end but some great things also stays and remains.

Day 6: Fallacy

Unsound arguments. Failures of reason.

Today, let’s write poems that are wholly illogical.
Let’s see how miserably we can get reason to fail; both our reason and the reason that guides our readers.

Try not to consider this prompt as a call to nonsense but rather a call to use your good (creative) sense to arrive at firmly misconstrued ends. Surprise yourself!

Alternatively, make poetry from known philosophical fallacies. Make that straw man stand by a red wheelbarrow, put the genius of the crowd to the test, or tell the tale of a (tautological) tub.

Freedom

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Oil Painting by Thomas Kinkade

Streaks of morning light

Chirping birds in the sky

A smell of coffee in the air

The melody of church bells

Children’s laughter nearby

Loud screams of delight

Waking to my father’s voice

And to my mother’s smile

In another world it is darker
Dimmed by anguish and war
In another world people suffer
Chained by fear and scar

But in this world the sky is clear

Birds chirp; children laugh

In this world the church bell rings

My father sings; my mother smiles

And how I wished to spend a lifetime

Where angels of mirth dance in glee

In a small world that I call, Home

Where I am boundless and free


Last Friday, I’ve decided to post my unpublished poem, Seconds: A Vignette,  for our Writing 101: Poetry course. As a continuation, I am posting yet another LATE entry for our Day 5 prompt (a courtesy of Imposiblebong of My Own Private Idaho). This is the one I wrote last Christmas, during my two-week long holiday vacation. A time when I was in a state of blissful freedom. 🙂 🙂

Day 5: Freedom

Freedom is a fundamental need. It is so powerful that nations go to war for it. People engage in both despicable and heroic deeds to gain it. In the name of freedom we suffer, make sacrifices, and attempt to perform miracles. For freedom we are willing to lose everything and risk our lives, since no life really is one without freedom.

What freedom means is open to interpretation, which is why it’s been a recurring subject in art. In today’s poem, share your take on freedom. While you’re at it, be fearless with your thoughts. Don’t hold back. Unleash your emotions and be honest with yourself. Uncensored writing coming from the heart often produces the most amazing read.

Seconds: A Vignette

It’s a shame I didn’t get a chance to partake in our Writing 101: Poetry course until the very end.  It would have been a tremendous experience for me, well, it still is (though I only managed to sit and write until DAY 3). 😀 I guess WORK got its toll and defeated the poet inside me during that time.

Currently, I have 22 pending post in my drafts, some of which were for this course. I know it’s TOO LATE but it would be as waste not to share them. So here goes something… 🙂 🙂

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© thespiritscience.net

In a gaze, a startling meeting of the eyes

Two hearts stopped drumming; a sudden smile

Two hour hands slowed and came to a halt

Two souls collided and shared a divine dance

And in that second, a fleeting moment in time

Forever started and ended at once

Hearts resumed beating; hour hands began ticking

Two souls too frightened, let their chance slip by


Day 4: Seconds

Prompt 4 is a courtesy of a lovely friend, Rosema of A Reading Writer. DANK JE WEL! 🙂

Unimportant as it may seem, a split second can change our lives in ways we can never imagine. So today, write about the basic unit of time, seconds. Reflect on those few seconds when a loved one was in a life-and-death situation. Relive the few seconds when you held your eldest child for the first time. Recount those seconds when you were waiting for big news that was about to change your life.

Ghosts

Day 3
Artwork by Tu Hongtao

Ghosts no longer live

In haunted houses

And peepal trees

No, they no longer reside

In abandoned buildings

And eerie streets

Ghosts now live within me

In a memory

A nightmare in my sleep

And how dire it is

To be haunted at night

By someone

Who’s still alive


 

In response to Writing 101: Poetry

Day 3: Sleep

For Day 3, Rohit Pandey (aka R ‘I’ P) offers us a prompt on a theme we all care about: Sleep.

Sleep: a world where our thoughts rule.

A place where reality is overshadowed by dreams. A time when we transport our soul from the real world to the virtual. For some, the hours we spend asleep, alone and in peace, are the best of the entire day; for others, whether haunted by nightmares or unable to fall asleep in the first place, not so much.

It’s time to think deeply about sleep. Dive into the pool of night and let whatever it is you find there take poetic form. (I hope this prompt doesn’t make an insomniac out of you!)

 

A playful veil

Day 2
© zastavki.com

I stared at the girl in a little black dress

She stood looking youthful and classy

I recognized her and her bright auburn hair

Those red-tinted lips speaks of fierce

Her eyes fixed on mine and then I realized

She was not a stranger, she was me

From rags to riches, grief to bliss

She made through it all, she should be happy

But her smile is a shroud

To the depths of her misery

To the pits of agony,

A playful veil

For she may have gained the rest of the world

But in meaning and purpose, she failed.


In response to Writing 101: Poetry

Day 2: Reflections

Prompt 2 is a courtesy of Melinda Kucsera.

On water, in puddles, in glass, in mirrors – reflections can clarify, blur reality, or fracture it altogether. They can serve up surreal images or a perspective that’s unexpected. Whether it’s street light-reflected raindrops or the sky distorted in a half-melted patch of ice, reflections are nature’s funhouse mirrors.

Reflections are not limited to non-living objects. Our bodies reflect our internal health and our clothes reflect our lifestyle. We also reflect internally upon our world, our physical state, or on ideas bouncing around inside our skulls.

Clear or distorted, in your poem today tell us something about the reflections you see — in the world or in yourself.

Magic Tricks

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When I think of magic, I think of your tricks

And the deck of cards in your pocket

How you came to me and asked for my name

Showing me an old trick, you were classic

“Pick a card, any card, any card at all”

That’s what you said and I did as told

Little did I know, I’ll be your Queen of Hearts

When I picked the Ace of Diamond

But like all tricks, yours was a ploy

A joke. A prank. A caper

For I never saw what was under your sleeves

Until you broke me to pieces

52 cards, 52 weeks—

That’s a year if you were counting

When you turned that diamond into a ring

You were Jack of all trades, I should have seen.

 


 

In response to Writing 101: Poetry

Day 1: Magic
The first prompt of the course is out, courtesy of @laduchessederat. It invites you to write a poem involving magic, whatever your take on the magical might be.

I wanted to write something light and jolly but, yeah, madness happens. I enjoyed this bitter piece though. 😉

Unearthed dreams

SPF 7

As the afternoon wore on and the clouds began to drift in, she found herself smiling at the thought that for the first time in many years, she’s back to where it all started. Flying a thousand miles from home, she came to this dingy shack, clattered down the stairs and took a shovel. Anyone who would see her must think she’s gone mad. Why would a gorgeous, successful writer be digging a hole in the middle of nowhere, anyway?

Unless she’s some hatchet murderer. But she’s not.

There, she struck her shovel into the earth and she dug and dug, worked the end of the shovel, back and forth, up and down, until she felt something hard. She dug with her hands until she found a wooden box. Teary-eyed, she held the box, recounting the treasured moments of yesteryear, the myriad highs and abyssal lows, the grief of loss and the joy of discovery. Inside was a small piece of scented paper with words scribbled on it.

Live a life worth remembering
Turn your dreams into reality
Travel the world, it’s beautiful
Give love and be loved
Then…
Take me back when all these things come true and smile. You made it!  ♥ ♠ ♣ ♦

Word Count: 203


I’ve been meaning to catch up with some daily prompts and writing tasks but, whenever I do, either my workloads turn threefold or I can’t think straight. Ooh, if I could only ask for an indefinite leave! 😦

I know it would be a sting to let some prompts pass, so—being the slacker that I am—I’ve decided to hit two birds with one stone. This is in response to Sunday Photo Fiction’s prompt and our Writing 101 Day 2 task, Write a list. PS. I hope it’s not a miss! 🙂

Enjoy more stories here.

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