She finds loneliness in crowded hallways
He finds isolation in busy streets
They are two ghosts, breathing
Living in silent screams
On a bleak night she finds solace
Amongst stars he finds peace
They are two ghosts, breathing
Chasing madness and dreams
We paid the price for a bite
Rejected, cursed, forever blamed
When a predator creeps on an eerie night
Our voice is drowned with shame
Even sunlit fields bare witness
To starving lips that taste of lust
Every place we go, awake or asleep
Cross our legs, hide our breasts — we must
Bodies pried open in plain sight
With jokes, punchlines, lecherous gaze
And the lawman denies our every right
Hope is a meteor that never stays
What use is vox populi
When to power and money it fades?
Do I have strength within me
To bathe them in blood orange stain?
Written for MLMM’s Photo Challenge #322 and Wordle #197.
This one is a sequel to the poem I wrote last March, A Woman’s Bite. I need not go far to see the worsening plight of women when it comes to abuse, sexism and misogyny. I live in a country where those who have sworn to serve and protect the people blame women’s choice of clothes for sex crimes. We have a broadcaster who thinks the way women dress could led to inviting the beast. We have a lawyer who would bitch-slap a woman for having a mind of her own. And just when you thought nothing could go worse, we have a president who have a long list of sexist and demeaning remarks.
Last night we talked about childhood
Walked down memory lane to recall past antics
You painted a picture of your early years:
Smart kid, chubby cheeks—
Probably a little too plump
coz you were constantly teased,
But you used your wit to you your advantage—
Traveled far and wide
Winning contests.
Here’s a boy who likes solving puzzles,
reading newspapers,
raising hands
You got a treasure trove of bests
And I wish I could say the same.
You see, I have very few memories of childhood
I have images lacking backstory
And voices with no picture in mind
At a young age, I was torn
Between two languages—
Tagalog and Bisaya, clashing,
twisting my tongue which is probably why
I came to love silence—
And English
Here’s a girl who likes Edward Lear,
book reading reports,
hour hands
I’m a hunter of the treasures of my past
And I wish you stick with me ’til I find them at last.
LUNES
Binukas ang mga mata sa bagong umaga
Muling umaasa sa panibagong sana
Sana mabigyan ng pansin ang mga hinaing
Pakinggan ang mga boses na humihiling
MARTES
Itong gusaling umangat sa rurok ng kalingitan
Tila biglang nakalimot na kami ang pumasan
Bawat suntok sa tagumpay kamao namin ang gumalaw
Ngayong kami’y nangangailangan bigla kang bumitaw
MYERKULES
Sadya namin ay tinapay, umulan ay bato
Hindi ka kumilos, ni hindi kumibo
Nasaan na ang bangkang sabi mong lulan natin?
Bakit kami lang nakakapit sa dulo ng patalim?
HUWEBES
Simpleng mangagawang binulag mo ng pangako
Pinaasa, pinabayaan, pinagkanulo
Dukhang marapat sana’y dakilain at itanghal
Tinanggalan ng pag-asa at natitirang dangal
BYERNES
Kaya ‘wag mong sasabihing pantay ang ating halaga
Kung hindi ka kaisa sa hirap, dusa’t luha
Kung hindi ka nangambang mawalan ng tirahan
At naranasang matakot para sa kinabukasan
SABADO
Ipikit ang mga matang pagod nang umaasa
Tama na ang paghihintay sa malinaw na wala
Panahon nang isigaw ang aming bulong
Hindi na aasam sa iyo ng tulong
LINGGO
Sa mapanghamong buhay makikipaglaro
Ang sistemang baluktot dudurugin ng pino
Liwayway ng paglaya ay darating din
Pag-unlad at tagumpay sa iyong inalipin
For a long while I chose not to write poetry because, with what I’m carrying in my heart, I know nothing positive will come out of it. And I didn’t want that. I would love if my words can inspire or bring a smile to the few readers who take time to notice my writings. So I chose silence for the meantime. Until, perhaps, I genuinely feel happy about life and living again. But the struggle is real. And I need to unload it, even just this one. </3
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.
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.
Head over here to join the prompt!
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
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. 🙂
Head over here to join the prompt!
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
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.”
Head over here to join the prompt!
Hope is an illusion
A lie behind the blinds
It walks you into the wind—
Points you to distant bergs
Where refuge hides
Ask a child from Quneitra
Or the slums of Manila
And both will give you a laugh
For life has taught them what hope is
A vanishing mirage, not an oasis
No food, no water
Not a breath left for a dream
For a deserter trapped in the desert
Does hope even matter?
Does anybody cares?
Tilt those heads slightly
Perhaps, from a different angle, you’ll see
The lives of the lost, last, and least
Trampled down by privilege, indifference, and greed
A scene less click-worthy
Uninteresting for the media frenzy
Day 2 of NaPoWriMo and I am not feeling well. Emotionally, mentally, spiritually – I feel drained. Whenever I mull over something that strikes a chord within me, I experience a relapse of depressive episodes. Now, the obvious reason is the global pandemic COVID-19. And I am not only saddened by the number of deaths it brings but by the extent of hatred and greed it ignites. I need not zoom out because my country itself is thrown in disarray. It hurts. 💔
Let it be where winds may sweep
Through forest trees soft and deep
The murmur of the giggling brook
Calm every head that shook
And the thriving eastern wood-pewee
Bring broken hearts with glee
Let it be where a bluebird freely flies
Verdant meadows lie before our eyes
Harvest fields reaped and trod
To farmers a gift from God
And falling raindrops sing
For a family hopeful for spring
Let it be where stars may shine
O’er creatures living, peaceful and fine
Where the crescent moon watches over
Longing hearts that look yonder
And the rain once again
Heal the world in pain
Let it be where men breathe with love
And intent is as pure as a dove
Into each life rain must fall
But the sun still shines upon all
At the end of the long road is peace
Let it be where hatred and greed cease
Wordsmiths and poets make a sound, it’s National Poetry Writing Month everyone! Kicking off Day 1 with rhymes instead of today’s optional prompt. What are your April plans? 🙂
