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DoodleScribbles

Scribblings and scrawls of a hopeless romantic soul

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death

Buried Wealth

garden-of-death

In the middle of the night, like a thief,
fear came with a bending sickle

and so here lie
the untold stories,
unwritten poems,
unsung songs,
unfulfilled dreams , and
unrealized greatness

an immeasurable wealth buried six feet beneath.

© 2016 Maria. All Rights Reserved.


In response to Shapeshifting 13 #75 KICKOFF: GHOUL FESTIVAL! and Poets United Midweek Motif: Wealth

Visual Prompt: “Garden of Death” by Hugo Simberg; 1896; Watercolor and gouache

Audio Prompt: “Piano Sonata No 2 in B Flat Minor, Movement 3 (The Funeral March)” by Frederic Chopin

Cheating Death

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Cheating Death

“Will you take it, child?” The old woman held out a crystal, her eyes shifted from shades of the blue sky into a deep sea.

Does she really want this? Is she really willing to give up her youth, her beauty, her future and half of her life for good? Beads of sweat trickled down Lisa’s forehead as her fingers touched the stone. Her eyes closed and images of the past swirled in her mind. She remembered his dark eyes, his laughter and his voice and the way he say her name. His touch.

Eyes flew open and she was filled with panic, fear and resolve. She wanted him back—alive and breathing by her side.

A while ago, it was her blood that dripped on a clear crystal and stained it pink. A while ago, her skin was beautifully fair. A while ago, the love of her life was dead.

But not anymore.

“It is done.” The old woman said and the last thing she saw was her malevolent smile.

Word Count: 170

© 2016 Maria. All Rights Reserved.


Here is for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers prompt. This week’s photo prompt is provided by my awesome friend, Jade. Thanks PJ for hosting another fun prompt. 😀

Enjoy more stories here:

Memories and Smoke

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Adam settled into his favorite bench, took out his pipe and lit it, and then filled the afternoon with recollection of memories and stories, of smiles and tears.

Autumn has come around and the world is bathed into a crisp ocher and golden brown again. She had always loved this season, he thought. His mind wandered back to the time when he came home to find Eve nestled in the heap of tawny leaves like a bird curled at the core of its nest; her lips arched into a smile. He kissed her the way a prince would have kissed sleeping beauty—only that she never woke up. Eve lay cold and lifeless as he broke into tears and disbelief.

He’d never seen autumn that dreadful. Since then, part of him died each day when the leaves fell from the trees. Lost in memories and smoke, he waited for winter.

Word Count: 150

© 2016 Maria. All Rights Reserved.


Here is for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers prompt. This week’s photo prompt is provided by Phylor. Thanks PJ for hosting another fun prompt.

Enjoy more stories here:

 

The Sky is Blue, Always Is

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I read hundreds were dead today. Another airstrike was launched; another bomb exploded. Another life on death row; another AIDS victim. Tears were shed as blood smeared the earth yet the sky is blue. Even with the hovering depression, frustration and obliteration, it remains blue. No matter how many times it witnessed death and conflict, heard cries of anguish and utter distress, the horizon is a never-ending blue. It never faded into gray. Why is that? I looked at the cerulean sky and found the glorious sun smiling at me. The sun shined brightly as if saying that all these were just passing clouds—they come and they go. On most days clouds peppered the sky, on some days they filled it. But it never lasted, none of the clouds did. And in the curtain call, as the day faded into night, I succumbed to gloom. I looked up, anticipating the darkness that mirrored this world, only to find a star speckled night sky. The moon winked and said, “Have a little faith, child.”

Weary— my eyes closed
I woke up to a blue sky
Smiling, faith revived

© 2016 Maria. All Rights Reserved.


In response to dVerse’s Tuesday Poetics: Breathing in Blue

Tending the bar for Poet’s Pub today is De who’s back fresh from Lake Tahoe. Check out her gorgeous piece, A thousand shards of cobalt glass.😉

P.S. I guess I’m on a haibun rampage this week for dVerse. Will try to flex  my fingers for some lines and rhymes next time. 😉

Head over here to join the fun:

dverse

Windswept Adieu

SYRIA-CONFLICT
A Syrian man holds the body of his child after it was taken from under the rubble of destroyed buildings following a reported air strike on the rebel-held neighborhood of al-Marjah in the northern city of Aleppo, on July 24, 2016. Ameer Alhalbi/AFP

Windswept Adieu

A hopeful heart
Of dreams that soar
A dearth of chance
Life bestows

A father’s tears
On daughter’s wake
Throughout the years
A heart that breaks

A silent scream
To the skies
Who is to blame?
A mouthful curse

A soft whisper
A gentle kiss,
The breeze sends
A windswept adieu

© 2016 Maria. All Rights Reserved.

Image via  Rappler


Today’s Filipino word prompt is “pahimakas” which means “last farewell”.

My heart breaks for the people of Aleppo after the series of airstrikes that befall them. These needless wars and deaths are draining the last faith in humanity that remains in me. We, human beings, must stop killing each other and use our religious faith as an excuse to do so. Because truth is, TERRORISM HAS NO RELIGION. It never did and it never will. 😥

Come on! Write a poem or a fiction
Snap a photo under the sun
A six-word tale or a long post, perhaps?
Let’s all get word-high this July!

Want to join the fun? Find the prompt words HERE! Don’t forget to pingback & use the tag WordHighJuly. Mazel tov! 😉

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Twilight Prayers

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When I reach the twilight of my days, I pray
That I have written enough of unicorns and moonbeams
That I have never missed to marvel the beauty of sunrise
Of sunsets, rainbows and verdant greens
That I could smile at my sorrow, anguish and pain
That my poetry and prose screamed enough of my joys
My tears, ups and downs

I pray that when I reach the twilight of my days
I have slit my rib cage open enough for you to see
That amidst the world’s series of charade, I was real—
Unmasked and untamed
So you could write me a lovely eulogy
Make me chuckle at my epitaph
When I lay, in peace, six feet beneath the ground

© 2016 Maria. All Rights Reserved.

Photography by Christa Taylor


Today’s Filipino word prompt is “habilin” which refers to “anything given to  somebody for safekeeping”.

Come on!
Write a poem or a fiction
Snap a photo under the sun
A six-word tale or a long post, perhaps?
Let’s all get word-high this July!

Want to join the fun? Find the prompt words HERE! Don’t forget to pingback & use the tag WordHighJuly. Mazel tov! 😉

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A Scent of Peace

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A Scent of Peace
A Dizain

Must we walk along blood speckled street?
Hearts drumming, teeming with fears.
Must we cower in silence on our defeat?
Watch men die, cry a river of tears.
Fighting battles with bombs and spears
Have we had enough of this death and uproar?
We must put an end, to you I implore—
This pointless game of kill and destroy.
For isn’t the scent of peace sweeter than war
And tears more priceless when of joy?

© 2016 Maria. All Rights Reserved.

Graffiti by Banksy via Tree of Life


In response to dVerse’s Tuesday Poetics: Empire of Scents

Poet’s Pub today is hosted by Grace with her scents of childhood. Our poetry challenge is to dive into the world of scents. Drizzle your verses with spices, if you are a lover of food.   Make us happy or sad, even lusty and sensual, to evoke memories. Fill our plate with your scented words, and fill our nostrils with emotions.

*My heart bleeds for the lives lost at Istabul and it scorches with rage towards the pointless reasons behind these crimes. Sigh. The image above is a graffiti by Bansky entitled, “Rage, Flower Thrower”. This artwork is reminiscent of 1960’s campus and street riots. The colorful flowers are in exchange for a grenade is a bid for peace and the end to all massacres in the name of war.

Behind Closed Doors

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Behind Closed Doors
Rispetto

A little girl who counts to three
An old man on a rocking chair
A man, a woman, a family
Tears and laughter; a heartfelt prayer

In a flash, all these were gone
In a blast, ceased the rising sun
An endless ruin behind closed door
Of misery, the ruins roar

© 2016 Maria. All Rights Reserved.


In response to dVerse’s Tuesday Poetics: Open a new door with me

Poet’s Pub today is hosted by Lillian who took us to an Alice-adventure with her poem. Looking forward to sharing more cups of coffee with you, too! 🙂

P. S. The photo above is an artwork by a British graffiti artist named Banksy who found a canvas in  the war-scarred ruins of Gaza after the 50-day battle between Israel and Hamas last 2015. Banksy was able to depict the misery and distress of the people in his satirical murals. This image of a weeping goddess that he had spray-painted on the iron door of a destroyed home, for instance, has stirred myriad of emotions around the world.

dverse

The Day

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© Roger Bultot

The Day
Satirical Fiction

I stared out the window, little birds are clustered on live wires across the empty street. The world outside was ominously still— no cars and not a hint of soul.

Where is everyone? I wondered.

Then I realized, today is the day. The defining moment wherein a new governing body will be established. A new head of the state. A new ruler. A new legacy.

I wonder who’ll win the election. Whose dirty tricks worked? Whose sugar-coated words thrived?

A deafening firing disrupted my reverie but none of the birds came spiraling down.

Then I realized, today is the day.

Word Count: 100

© 2016 Maria. All Rights Reserved.


In response to this week’s Friday Fictioneers prompt. Friday Fictioneers is a weekly writing challenge hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields where a photo is used as a prompt for a hundred-word piece of fiction. Thank you!

PH is three days away from its national election and the country is in clamor. This game of thrones has led families and friends fight among each other, insisting and brawling that one candidate is better than the other. I found this series, Imagined President, from Rappler interesting and thought-provoking. But who really is the lesser evil? I wish I knew.

There is just one thing I hope on May 9. I hope it won’t be a bloody end.

Enjoy more stories here:

 

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