The floor is a scattered mess—
Of splattered acrylic
Tainted with kiss
Written for Three Lines Tales: Week 130
Take Me Not To Dreamland
take me not to dreamland
to the lands of make-believe
but lead me to a place instead
that swathes of artistry
where faces ashen to the sight
of reality
where pointing fingers curl in guilt
and men spring to take the blame
amuse me, bemuse me
but not with fantasy
© 2017 Maria. All Rights Reserved.
Photograph by David Levene/Eyevine via TheNewYorker
In response to dVerse’s Poetics: Amuse me! Take me for a ride! hosted by the lovely Lillian.
P.S My apologies if this one digress from the fun. 😅 As an avid fan, I couldn’t help but think of Banksy with today’s prompt. In 2015, the world was shaken when the artist opened his bemusement park, Dismaland. Situated in the Weston-super-Mare seafront, the themed park displayed demented assortment of bizarre and thought-provoking artworks from Banksy and more than 50 artists around the world— from street art, spoof fairground rides, derelict Cinderella castle, grim reaper exhibit, a dystopian model village and many more. Ah, if only I could teleport! 😦
You can find more info and images of Dismaland from these links: Colossal, Reuters, The Guardian
Head over here to join the fun:
Tired Souls Wait On Riverbanks
Tired souls wait on riverbanks
Tired souls wait for a welcoming heart
Lost in a kudoclasm of what lies ahead—
A knot of fear in stomachs tighten.
Will there be sparrows singing songs of hope,
Or an ominous hymn from a murder of crows?
Will there be walls and deadbolts on homes?
As they somaticize grief—naked and cold.
© 2017 Maria. All Rights Reserved.
Painting by Ally Saunder
In response to dVerse’s Tuesday Poetics: Ally Saunders – A Closer Look hosted by the lovely Mish and MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie’s Wordle #140 by Yves
I still can’t get the world’s distressing news out of my mind. The second I saw this particular painting, my heart immediately went out for the victims of war and the poor refugees. 😦 So here’s a little follow up to my previous post, Have we had enough? *Sigh*
Head over here to join the fun:
Old Whang-od
Amid the verdant mountains
Wild rivers and slopes
Reside the countless culture
And the mambabatok
The tattoos etched on her skin
Flaunts beauty and grace
The history of headhunters
She wears on her face
Old Whang-od taps the bamboo
And the tattoo session begins
Officious tribal patterns—
Ethic outlines worth the pain
The tapping sound of bamboo stick
Sends a hum of thrill and fear
For at the end of the citrus thorn
The charcoal ink shall smear your soul
© 2017 Maria. All Rights Reserved.
Photo Credit: Lantaw
In response to dVerse’s Tuesday Poetics: Artisan.
Tending the bar for Poets Pub today is Kim who challenge us to write a poem about an artisan or wright emulating the style of Irish poet, Seamus Heaney.
This one is a tribute to the 99-year-old Whang-od who is considered as the last mambabatok (traditional Kalinga tattooist) from the Butbut tribe in Buscalan, Kalinga and the oldest tattoo artist in the Philippines.
Head over here to join the fun:
T0 the man who thinks I’m frail…
Bathe me not in your sweet talk
Cloud this head with flattery
Flawed— I am incomplete
Candor is what I need
Heal me not with honeyed words
But trace my scars and wounds
For I am my own warrior
And you are no shield
© 2016 Maria. All Rights Reserved.
Illustration by Camila do Rosário
In response to dVerse’s Quadrille– 18: Cloud and The Daily Post prompt: Flattery
Tending the bar for Poets Pub today is Kim with her piece, Busting Clouds. Please do check it and be inspired.
Head over here to join the fun:
I was once your six-year-old, messy-hair, oversized-shirt, make-believe artist back in Mrs. Grelina’s class.
“Live your dreams.” Our teacher used to say and we’d come to her class dressed as the person we would soon become. One classmate brought with her a toy stethoscope and the other wore polished suit like a business tycoon. Meanwhile, I was the quite boy acting strange and weird because that’s what I thought artists should be like—peculiar.
I remember one day, Mrs. Grelina asked me why I dreamed to be an artist. With a pencil tucked behind my ears, I told her that I wanted to impress everyone. She warmly smiled and said, “That’s a good start. But soon you will realize that art craves to express rather than impress.”
Thirty years later, I stood beside my pride during the Splash of Extraordinary Art competition. A rival artist came and gave a mocking remark. “You’ll never impress the judges with those cows, pal.”
“Maybe. But I bet they’ll never forget these for a long time.” I gladly replied.
Word Count: 175
Here is for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers prompt. Thank you S for the photo and PJ for another fun prompt. ❤❤❤
I found myself writing another story about Mrs. Grelina and her class. I hope you don’t mind. 🙂 🙂 🙂
Enjoy more stories here:
