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DoodleScribbles

Scribblings and scrawls of a hopeless romantic soul

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micropoetry

Before the fall folds

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your smile turns summer into a feeling
and my world tilts towards you, babe

i am a teen once again—
blushing pink
‘neath love’s golden rays

and i know seasons are passing
and only fools rush in
but before the fall folds. . .

allow me to relish your summer smile
walk with me along windswept forest
talk about fate, destiny and magic

let me be the flower,
and you be the sun.


In response to dVerse’s Poetics: Impermanence hosted by Merril who asks us to write a poem that speak about impermanence.

Head over here to join the prompt!

dverse

Secrets: A Cinquain

secrets

unknown, unseen

whispers and silhouettes

a moonlit night undressed by truth

no lies


In response to dVerse’s Poetics: Shhhh! Do you want to know a secret? hosted by Merill who challenges us to write a poem (in any form) about secrets.

It’s been a while since I wrote a poem in specific form. This piece is an attempt at Cinquain.

A cinquain is a five-line poem that was invented by Adelaide Crapsey. The traditional cinquain is based on a syllable count. It has five lines consisting 22 syllables in the following pattern:

line 1 – 2 syllables
line 2 – 4 syllables
line 3 – 6 syllables
line 4 – 8 syllables
line 5 – 2 syllables

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Monday Musings: A matter of choice

Today, I will not romanticize love.

Ours isn’t spellbinding or a gift from the gods and goddesses. Nor does it have to do with an arrow piercing two hearts together at the perfect time and place. It’s far from orphic to begin with and the universe isn’t always on our side.

Ours is bitter and sweet. Love and hate colliding— an endless cycle of cuddles and fights. It is coming back after hundreds of walk outs. And we never learn. We keep messing things up only to patch them in the end. With music, long walks on a moonlit night, laughter.

Ours is a downright matter of choice. Holding on to what keep us together rather than those that tear us apart.


Sharing another old IG post for Monday Musings.

I’m not an expert in all matters of the heart but if there is one thing I have been writing about and has come to prove firsthand, it’s about love being a choice. It is seeing the beauty and the ugly in a person — and choosing to embrace them both. 😊

Monday Musings: Do it scared

It’s killing me softly, love is. But I wouldn’t mind this kind of death.

Icarus didn’t aim to burn but he knew it was coming. He felt the wax scorching his back and saw the feathers falling off his wings. He could have stopped but there is so much we do not know about flying.

And, perhaps, this is how I refuse to be. To be like the trolls and sprites who must have watched Icarus in shame. Knowing that they never tried. Clueless of how great it must have felt. Forever wondering why Icarus chose such kind of death.


Two years ago, I wrote this with a promise to myself to do things scared.

I have always been a hermit, preferring the comfort of solitude and quiet. Always been a hopeless romantic, too good with words yet too afraid to apply it.

But here I am, fast forward to 2020, appreciating the beauty of connection. With nature and people. Wide-eyed, silly grin plastered on my face and a whole lot treasured moments to reminisce.

I’m still a hermit and connecting can at times be a struggle. Still a romantic yet now a hopeful one. Definitely still scared, but you know what?

Like Nike, let’s just do it.
Like BDO, let’s just find away.

Fighting! 😊

Vignette: That familiar color of fire

I was taking a bath when a streak of light hit my skin. From the gap between my wooden window, it came with the color of fire — the kind of orange you get when you light a lamp in the midst of a dim room. The ones we used to play with during brownouts.

Shadows. Silhouettes.

The clock strikes 5:49 pm and a wave of nostalgia begins.


Was amazed by today’s sunset and I had to write a little something. Also, linking this to this week’s OLN hosted by Grace. Have a great weekend, everyone!

Head over here to join the prompt!

dverse

 

My Chemical Romance

My Chemical Romance

I sit beside helium, neon, argon, krypton, xenon and radon
the laziest and most boring elements,
they say

Thinking periodically how you came—
and stayed

Perhaps because ours is a chemical romance
like helium that always comes in two
like neon giving colors to my gray days
like argon remaining colorless and true
like krypton giving each other strength
like xenon starting from being strangers
like radon becoming each other’s weakness

This, I think, is why I like noble gases
they were once set aside at first
until they finally found their place

MS


In response to dVerse’s Poetics: Let’s get elemental! hosted by Sarah who challenges us to write some poems inspired by the periodic table elements.

Head over here to join the prompt!

dverse

The Witching Hour

It’s 3 am.

I wake up to the monotonous sound of the fan. An unpleasant feeling starts to claw its way out of my chest and I begin to understand why they call this time of the day ‘the witching hour’.

Perhaps because here, in the quiet, we get to sit side by side with the unknown. That feeling of being sad, anxious, drained and lost for no apparent reason. Or maybe we simply just can’t pinpoint.

Many times I have put my heart out only to end up more dejected. You see, when you have all the reasons to be happy, people think you can’t feel otherwise. When you do, they ask you why. As if I am not as equally frustrated finding out the reason myself.

Somebody once told me that perhaps I’m being ungrateful. I have caring friends and family. A stable job. A pile of books. A passion in writing and exploring the outdoors. I have found love and life. So why would I not be okay?

I look to my left hoping that the bare wall knows the answer. It does not. An hour has passed yet there is still a clamor in my head. I want to go out for a long walk. But I fear they might burn me like they did to witches.

Out of Rich

lying beneath the stars
lulled to sleep by cicadas
waking up to summer mornings
with the song of the birds
this is what happy looks like
this is how we should feel
yes, i may not be rich
yet happiness is on my reach
MS


In response to dVerse’s Quadrille hosted by Kim who challenges to play around the rich inspiration brought by the word RICH.

Like it or not, we have come to live in a world that is obsessed with possession. One must have this or that — nothing is ever enough. Everything feels like race. We always have to have the next big thing, to be the first in line. We are tricked to think that we need to achieve something momentous, earn and spend bags of cash, quantify happiness with materialism. This is why I treasure life’s simple joys in the midst of all its toxicity. Last weekend, my friends and I decided to go on a night trek and camp at Bocaue Peak (also known as Muffin Peak). Even if it was just for a short span of time, we were away from the thoughts of worldly possessions and one with the natural world.

Head over here to join the prompt!

dverse

Trolled trolls

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how many mouths must be starved
or epitaphs must be carved
for these blinded trolls to see
past this fractured democracy
this populist and his isms
his ideology of acquiescence
make cage ‘round free birds
and voices unheard—

trolls you’re trolled,
can’t you see?
MS

 

 


In response to dVerse’s Quadrille hosted by Frank who challenges to put some TROLL with our poems today.

Here’s a short lament for the current state of the Philippines. Sigh.

Head over here to join the prompt!

dverse

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