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DoodleScribbles

Scribblings and scrawls of a hopeless romantic soul

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for the love of writing

“Hope” is the thing with feathers by Emily Dickinson

“Hope” is the thing with feathers –
That perches in the soul –
And sings the tune without the words –
And never stops – at all –

And sweetest – in the Gale – is heard –
And sore must be the storm –
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm –

I’ve heard it in the chillest land –
And on the strangest Sea –
Yet – never – in Extremity,
It asked a crumb – of me.


Sharing another favorite from Em who is celebrating her 190th birthday today. I promise when I get back to writing poetry, I’d write an homage to this awesome soul. 💛

Blog Update: fidgets & widgets

Fidget
verb
-to make a small movement, typically a repeated one, with your your hands or feet
-an act that often reflects discomfort, restlessness and impatience

I guess this word sums up my month. I have been fidgeting with my blog and posts — making two steps forward yet taking two steps back.

But while I am feeling uneasy with my virtual life here, the real world has been kinder to me. The best news of all is that I have found the drive to read my pile of books again. So far, I have ticked off two from my TBR list:

Quick Notes: The Orphan Choir by Sophie Hannah
Book Review: By the River Piedra I Sat Down and Wept by Paulo Coelho

As for writing, I’ve decided to continue sharing that old poems from IG that I haven’t shared here in WordPress. Since I am not in a creative mode yet, I’ve decided to focus on tinkering with my website.

First, I’ve added two new widgets: Goodreads and Instagram. Second, a new profile picture is up — one that shows (slightly) a face. Haha. For a long while, I’ve been hiding my avatar behind a book. I guess now it’s time to slowly reintroduce the fidgety little girl behind this blog. 😁

Hope you are all doing well on your side of the Earth. Have a great day! 💛

we molded this valley of memories with love

i wouldn’t call us
a mistake
this empty valley
that we left behind
once flourished
with laughter
and though the poppies
were long gone
and the river’s
drained with love
i have memories—
i’d go back to them
as I trudge the earth
until, one day,
the trails lead you
back to me

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