Tell the stars of his name

above the india-inked sky
pinpricks of light tremble
as he takes his wordless fall
while the gods play on filthy floors
one last call…
one last plead…
for any kind of recognition
hear his sorrow, feel his pain
tell the stars of his name

Image from Unsplash

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In response to dVerse’s Quadrille: A Star (Poem) is Born hosted by De Jackson, aka WhimsyGizmo, who asks us to use some form of the word STAR and incorporate it in a 44-word poem.

Today, I’ve decided to honor Charles Dickens, one of the greatest novelist of the Victorian era, who was born on this day in 1812. This piece was inspired by a quote from his book, Great Expectations.

“I looked at the stars, and considered how awful it would be for a man to turn his face up to them as he froze to death, and see no help or pity in all the glittering multitude.”

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One again with the gods

It’s 5 A.M. when streaks of light start painting the sky with shades of pinks and purples. As we hike further, the sky turns from hazy burgundy to rose, then to rich yellow. Some of us pause to take that treasured snap; some just lovingly stare at the riot of colors. By the time we reach the peak, we are face to face with the sun. Everything the light touches turns golden — the grass, our skins, our hairs. And everything I do is stitched with its color.

Finally, I let go of my backpack and the worldly worries I have been carrying are no more. Money? Politics? Climate change? War? All gone. This is what I live for. To experience the feeling of returning home. Neither my labored breaths nor my shaky steps will hinder this renewal. I am one again with the gods.

Word count: 144

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In response to dVerse’s Prosery hosted by Lisa, who asks us to write a prose of 144 words using a given line from a poem. Today’s line is Everything I do is stitched with its color taken from W.S. Merwin’s “Separation”.

This challenge immediately took me back to my 2019 climb at Mt. Wiji. Sunrise in this mountain is still — by far — the best one I have witnessed. The low quality photo above which I took from my old phone may not give it justice, but hopefully these words will do.

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Demeter’s Vow

i shall take everything away
from the bystanders and witnesses
who saw a god turned into a bull
and another into a stallion;
them who boldly turned a blind eye
on that midnight sacrilege,
pick a god—pray
for i will leave naught behind

Image from Unsplash

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In response to dVerse’s Quadrille: BOLD-ly Go hosted by De Jackson, aka WhimsyGizmo, who asks us to use some form of the word BOLD and incorporate it in a 44-word poem.

Lately, my curiosities led me to delve into the life of Demeter—particularly her divine lovers. Zeus, the king of the gods, violated her in the form of a bull. Poseidon, the god of the sea, raped her in the form of a stallion. While I know incest is at the center of Greek mythology, here’s my “other side” of the story. Demeter, in her full wrath, decides to exact revenge.

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A wager with fate

one day she will get through these dystopian days
look at the mirror and see blue irises growing
from her painted bruise
she will take fortune out of misery—
make a wager with fate;
there’ll be no more sad mornings
or skeptical days

peace will propel this crepuscular creature
who no longer breathes
between alternate universes
and thousand ironies
this will be her renovation—
rebirth to the nth degree.

Image from Unsplash

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Written for MLMM’s Wordle #304. Picked 10 out of 12 words and came up with this little Monday motivation.

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The night has me by the neck

the night has me by the neck
its claws tightening around my throat
i ache
i heave
i choke

i am once again Calypso failing to tame the mighty hero
he laughs — smiles like i was never there
not even for seven seconds,
seven minutes
or seven years

is it madness to still think
that love is not lost?

the night has me by the neck
as tears befall the sorry sheets

Image from Unsplash

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In response to dVerse’s Poetics: Are you listening? hosted by Merril who asks us to incorporate at least two of the podcast titles below into a poem.

Articles of Interest: American Ivy
I Was Never There
Legacy of Speed
Not Lost
Pivot
Reveal: After Ayotzinapa
Rumble Strip
Serial
This American Life
Ghost in the Burbs

It’s been a while since I last joined the prompts here. Looking forward to fun reading and catching up. 😁

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January 1

Here comes rain pouring
Along with new year’s blessings
A grateful soul smiles.

Blog Update: Back, maybe?

Or more like trying to be.

Hello, you!

If somehow this blog post passed the algorithm and made it to your reader, I hope you are having a good day.

Truth is I don’t know where to start. A simple post won’t suffice to explain my long AWOL here. I tried to keep this site alive by sharing snippets of my life outdoors. It became the short wick keeping my candle aflame. But those who know me well knows that the soul of Doodles&Scribbles is poetry. And my muse is still in deep slumber.

Anyway, I am continuously learning the art of slowing down. Of not putting too much pressure on myself. It’s still a tedious daily task though, but we’ll get there one day.

The last time I wrote and completed a piece was March when I published Driftwood wishes and indigo dreams. It was a very personal entry triggered by anxiety and guilt, which I still carry to this day. Most days I am fine but, occasionally, emotions become too overwhelming. So I made myself scarce. We all have our inner battles and not everyone has the emotional bandwidth to help others with their burden. Hence, my silence.

Now back to this update. I’m taking the first steps to writing again — re-reading my old posts, reworking my old drafts. Hope to connect with you all again!

Remembering Mt. Apo: Part 2 (The journey to the summit of Apo Sandawa)

“Somewhere between the bottom of the climb and the summit is the answer to the mystery why we climb.” This quote by Australian-born rock climber and mountaineer, Greg Child, perfectly summarized our three-day Mt. Apo climb.

As I have shared in Part 1, this climb was two years in the making. So with still sleepy eyes, but excited hearts, we woke up on the second day knowing that something important is about to happen.

It’s 2 am. Save the light from the night sky, outside was pitch dark. The air was cold but thankfully our guides prepared hot soup before we break camp.

break camp mode

From Tinikaran I, it would take an estimate of 4 to 6 hours to the summit — depending on your pace and your stops. Kuya Babu briefed us what to expect along the trail. He told us not to stray away from the group since there were many confusing forks ahead. He warned us of the steep ascent. That it would be long and grueling and somewhat endless. At quarter to 3 am, we began. To make sure that no one would drag the hike and none of us gets left behind, we decided on the lead, midpack and sweeper group. As for me, I chose the latter.

As I walked at the back of the pack, I saw the string of headlamps snaked to the sky. We hiked through a thick forest, passing by Tinikaran II. We used the roots of bigger trees as foothold and means to pull ourselves up the trail. Some fallen branches also acted as hurdles. We hoped and crawled our way through until we reached the forest’s exit.

4:30 am. The first light started to break by this time.

ang nawong sa excited sa boulder face

Driftwood wishes and indigo dreams

Someplace else, I find myself mid-air. Suspended like a bewildered ghost; a half-read poem filled with hope. Here, there is no time or space. There are no relics of your presence leaving me disconcerted – breathless.

I am a a riot of color; a burst of light. I stomp my feet on pretentious laurels. I cut ties with sharpened tongue. Here, in the midst of the night, I am not a misplaced fragment. I am sought, not seeking.

But daybreak is such a jealous lover. It comes with ticking knives – stripping each layer of my disillusionment. I am back to my boring flaws. I plead for another second of peace; press my cheeks on the pillow. By no means. Reality struck me with all its hate.

And the stars weep.

I find myself on tiptoes. A danseuse on high relevé; the second half of a poem filled with woes. Here, there are no more tulips beneath my feet, and feelings don’t wilt as quickly as flowers do.

How do I marry dreams and reality? Can the laws of nature bend for a sappy miss who got courage as her only feat?

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Today, I found myself scrolling through someone’s IG account. She’s been one of my closest girlfriends and it’s a wonder how our different personalities kept us binded for many years. As I look at her pictures and read its captions, I am reminded of how bad of a friend I have become. I hid behind lame excuses (time zones and distance) but truth is I got too caught up in the troubles of the world that I fail to see the troubles of those most important to me. I feel sad that the strong person that I know she is, is fighting the emotional and mental battle on her own. And I feel worse that I don’t have the best words to make things better. This one is inspired my some of her captions.