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DoodleScribbles

Scribblings and scrawls of a hopeless romantic soul

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optimism

The Sky is Blue, Always Is

sky

I read hundreds were dead today. Another airstrike was launched; another bomb exploded. Another life on death row; another AIDS victim. Tears were shed as blood smeared the earth yet the sky is blue. Even with the hovering depression, frustration and obliteration, it remains blue. No matter how many times it witnessed death and conflict, heard cries of anguish and utter distress, the horizon is a never-ending blue. It never faded into gray. Why is that? I looked at the cerulean sky and found the glorious sun smiling at me. The sun shined brightly as if saying that all these were just passing clouds—they come and they go. On most days clouds peppered the sky, on some days they filled it. But it never lasted, none of the clouds did. And in the curtain call, as the day faded into night, I succumbed to gloom. I looked up, anticipating the darkness that mirrored this world, only to find a star speckled night sky. The moon winked and said, “Have a little faith, child.”

Weary— my eyes closed
I woke up to a blue sky
Smiling, faith revived

© 2016 Maria. All Rights Reserved.


In response to dVerse’s Tuesday Poetics: Breathing in Blue

Tending the bar for Poet’s Pub today is De who’s back fresh from Lake Tahoe. Check out her gorgeous piece, A thousand shards of cobalt glass.😉

P.S. I guess I’m on a haibun rampage this week for dVerse. Will try to flex  my fingers for some lines and rhymes next time. 😉

Head over here to join the fun:

dverse

Crossroads

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Digital Artwork by Giordano Aita

Life is a crossroad

Nameless paths to the unknown

Relish the journey


Written for Written for RonovanWrites’ haiku prompt #92: Life &Path

Carpe Diem

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Life as we know it
Is too short and fickle
Give it all you’ve got


Written for RonovanWrites’ haiku prompt #72: Live & Give

Lost Spirit

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I used to be a modern-day warrior
A brawler in life, my own knight and shinning armor
A deviant at heart and a pensive thinker
Proud of my craft, I’m a real big dreamer.

But what is this? Feels like I’m in a cage.
Living a mediocre life and not as a sage
This is neither me, nor my comfort zone
All my guts and ardor, where have I thrown?

I used to be playful and ardent
In things that I do and things that I’ve chosen
Now my soul is foiled and barren
This is tragic, when did this happen?

I yearn I could unearth my long gone spirit
The fire of my will to bring out my zenith
For at the end of my long-winding road waits
A genuine bliss for the things that I’ve made.


This is in response to The Daily Post prompt, The Great Pretender.

Are you full of confidence or have you ever suffered from Imposter Syndrome? Tell us all about it.

I’ve scribbled this poem on a note a year ago when I was feeling lost. I really missed writing that time and I’ve got a job that doesn’t require such thing. I know, how cruel could that be!? Anyway, I don’t think I suffered from Imposter Syndrome (thank heavens!) but I guess I could relate this to the time where my confidence sank to zero. It was awful.

But gladly, I got back on track and created this blog. So now, I’m a happy girl! Have a great day everyone. 😉

Unearthed dreams

SPF 7

As the afternoon wore on and the clouds began to drift in, she found herself smiling at the thought that for the first time in many years, she’s back to where it all started. Flying a thousand miles from home, she came to this dingy shack, clattered down the stairs and took a shovel. Anyone who would see her must think she’s gone mad. Why would a gorgeous, successful writer be digging a hole in the middle of nowhere, anyway?

Unless she’s some hatchet murderer. But she’s not.

There, she struck her shovel into the earth and she dug and dug, worked the end of the shovel, back and forth, up and down, until she felt something hard. She dug with her hands until she found a wooden box. Teary-eyed, she held the box, recounting the treasured moments of yesteryear, the myriad highs and abyssal lows, the grief of loss and the joy of discovery. Inside was a small piece of scented paper with words scribbled on it.

Live a life worth remembering
Turn your dreams into reality
Travel the world, it’s beautiful
Give love and be loved
Then…
Take me back when all these things come true and smile. You made it!  ♥ ♠ ♣ ♦

Word Count: 203


I’ve been meaning to catch up with some daily prompts and writing tasks but, whenever I do, either my workloads turn threefold or I can’t think straight. Ooh, if I could only ask for an indefinite leave! 😦

I know it would be a sting to let some prompts pass, so—being the slacker that I am—I’ve decided to hit two birds with one stone. This is in response to Sunday Photo Fiction’s prompt and our Writing 101 Day 2 task, Write a list. PS. I hope it’s not a miss! 🙂

Enjoy more stories here.

Kite Runners Still

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Vector image source: www.123rf.com

We were kids who looked at our dad with amazement as he makes our very own kite. We were kids with genuine smile as we hold on to the string preparing for it to fly. We were kids with loud laughter as we run in strong winds watching our kites glide in the sky. That’s the thing, we were once kids robbed of our innocence and now trying to live our lives.

Still I believe we have never lost our kites. We just failed to see that it, too, has been changed through time. As grown-ups we don’t fly colorful kites, we fly kites that we often call life. Life is like flying a kite. We wait for just the right conditions to pursue our life-long dreams and desires. We run into tremendous winds that throw us off the course and into the ground. There are times of no wind at all, leaving us hopeless and unable to fly. We enjoyed several joy rides. We soared right, left, up, and down. We’ve had sharp nose dives. We waited long.

What’s great to know is that as long as we’re living, flying is an option. It’s all a matter of choice. We can let go of the strings– live in fear and defeat. Or we can pick up our kites, throw it into the air and try again—live in hope and wonder. Just like when we were kite runners.

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