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Scribblings and scrawls of a hopeless romantic soul

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Graffiti

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© 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.

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.

The Gift

unnamed (1)

Many years have passed since I left,

In search for a certain gift
As worthy as one’s tears of joy
As prized as one’s last breath

Only to find it in a woman,

An image of love in every inch
Her beauty is eternal like an old photograph
Her heart is pure like a unicorn’s, and

Many years have passed since I found,

The world’s most cherished gift
Unparalleled, priceless, and singular
A treasure. A joy. And I call her ‘Mom’


Just recently, my mom celebrated her birthday and I can’t help but think of her with today’s prompt. She’s always been a gift to me and to our family, well, all moms are.

So here goes my Day 2 entry. A poetry sashimi to all moms out there! 🙂 🙂

Prompt: Gift
Form: Acrostic
Device: Simile

Screen

unnamed

Shackled by no chain
Shadowed figure still remained
Shagged shape sheared of gleam

With nothing but dark and light
With nothing but eyes and mind


If I were a student, my professor would probably be yelling at me right now– “You’re late!”. For days, my mailbox has been nothing but chaos and I lost most of my emails. Good thing I’ve found my Writing 201 assignments. Now, for the late entry, here’s my Day 1 poetry sashimi. 🙂

Prompt: Screen
Form: Tanka
Device: Alliteration

PS. forgive my alliteration, it’s my first time.

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