i’m saving myself this time

i am no longer your old plaything
that craves for love in the shape of canine teeth
i won’t allow any mortal blunder
from your heathen touch or your rabid kiss
i have emptied my marrows of your being
take away your godless sacrilege

Image: Favim

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In response to dVerse’s Quadrille #195: Don’t touch that dial! hosted by WhimsyGizmo who asks us to pen a poem of exactly 44 words inspired by the word “touch”.

It’s been quite a while since I last joined writing prompts. This one’s inspired by a Quadrille I wrote in 2016 titled Filth . Back then, I created a submissive protagonist. Now, she finally finds her voice.

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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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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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The Unfinished Act

Art transforms, Billy.

He wakes up, beads of sweat trickle down his temples as Valis’ voice scurries to the back of his mind.

It has been three weeks. The freak who sees murder as a work of art has long been dead. But why does he haunt Billy still?

Drink your tea. Tie your shoes. Go to work. Billy thought his mundane routine could stop his mind’s engine from running withershins. But they don’t. He hates the man’s bloodlust but deep in the recesses of his thoughts, he is fascinated with Valis’ ingenuity. On how he staged those gruesome acts. Billy’s grief for that passion are tentacles taking grasp of his sanity.

He stared at the ceiling. Another day, another ordinary life.

The sun sets and the night rolls in. At midnight, his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream — the performance must be done.

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Written Neekneraj’s Wordle and dVerse’s Prosery hosted by Bjorn who asks us to write a piece of prose of exactly 144 words inspired by a line from Maya Angelou’s poem, Caged Bird.

his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream

Today, I finished reading Dean Koontz’s novel, Velocity. This is my twist to the ending of the story.

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He sights a leash—he screams

He sights a leash—he screams—
From flattened belly—he leaves the floor—
He runs with million wagging tails—
Proceeds to play a hide and seek—

His voice cracks—circling—whines—
Tilt a head, flash a smile—
He gives a lick and I hug his neck—
Lo, what a lovely collar that is!

Betrayal flashed upon his eyes—
This necklace meant only one thing—
He raise his paws as last attempt—
Hopes he can cheat bath-time again—

© doodlescribbles

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In response to dVerse’s Poetics: Companions hosted by Linda Lee Lyberg who asks us to write about our love (or frustration) for our pets.

This one’s inspired by Emily Dickinson’s She sights a Bird—she chuckles. It’s a poem about a cat on a hunt for prey. I’ve always love Emily and her dashes so I decided to write about Darwin (one of our two dogs) who I always take with me to the river for a quick bath. 🙂

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what her smile does not say

how does it feel to be enough?
to not be too much
or too less?

every day she puts on a brave front,
tries to flush doubt
down her mind

but

shame—
rose to her cheeks
fear—
crept up her nape

every. single. time.

© doodlescribbles

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In response to dVerse’s Quadrille: Don’t Forget To… hosted by Mish who asks us to pen a poem of exactly 44 words inspired by the word “flush.”

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A recipe to start the day

Take a cup of patience
Stir it with respect
Add a dash of wit
And a pinch of praise
No grilling or [pry]ing
Season with the spice of life
Top with love and kindness
And you’re all set—
Serve with the warmth of sunshine.

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In response to dVerse’s Quadrille: Poems Stirred, Not Shaken hosted by De who asks us to stir up a poem of exactly 44 words inspired by the word “stir.”Head over here to join the prompt!