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Scribblings and scrawls of a hopeless romantic soul

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poem

Duality

 

 

#73
© anonymous-art.deviantart.com

The world should not be
A quest of duality
Between black and white

Defining who’s right or wrong
Judging who’s good or bad


Written for RonovanWrites’ haiku prompt #73: Black & White

Carpe Diem

tumblr_na6mc3aajb1qc2fi0o3_500

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


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

On taking chances

Written for Creative Talents Unleashed’s Inspiration Call.

Inspiration Call - Creative Talents Unleashed 7
© FreeImages.com

Too afraid to fall
She never did get a chance
To fly or to land


In life and love, we’ve all came to this point. How did you take the chance?

 

The Bop: Valar Morghulis, Valar Dohaeris

MM 1

My heart bleeds for the lost men
Who died on a crisp autumn air
Like leaves falling from their trees
Bared against the wind and cold
Unthinking that their end must dawn
Was their final look, a smile or a frown?

Valar Morghulis. Valar Dohaeris.

Of diverse culture and different races
Each deemed ahead of the other
Of varied belief and religion
Each believed to hold the perpetual truth
Lost in the void of eternal darkness
7.3 billion; the number persist to climb
Believing in our own seven heavens
Condemning each to our own seven hells

Valar Morghulis. Valar Dohaeris.

These religious-borne chauvinism and
Culture-biased prejudice and bigotry
Should not be the core of all our actions
For when spring comes after every autumn
And frozen rivers start to flow—
All men must die, all men must serve.

Valar Morghulis. Valar Dohaeris.


In response to Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie’s prompt and B&P Shadorma & Beyond hosted by Bastet.

Today we’re going to look into a fairly recently created poetic form called The Bop.  It was created by poet Afaa Michael Weaver, an American poet (born in 1951, author of several collections of poems and a full length play) during a summer retreat of the African-American poetry organization Cave Canem.

It’s not totally dissimilar to a sonnet … it consists of three un-rhymed stanzas with a repeated refrain after each stanza.

The first stanza is dedicated to the statement of a problem and it is 6 lines long.
The second stanza is dedicated to the elaboration of the problem and it is 8 lines long.
The third stanza is dedicated to the possible solution of the problem and it is also 6 lines long.

And I’d like to add three words to be used inside the poem:  lost – men – crisp.

Ripped from the Headlines: The Blame Game

TDP 2
© rappler.com

This mocking
Bullet-planting scam
Should drown us
To the depths
Of indignity and disgrace
A disdainful truth

For instead
Of trees, we planted
Bullets to
Innocents
And walk with a greedy grin
Scheming, devious, shrewd

Then time comes
For truth to be told
We point fingers
Shake our heads
Weave a web of lies and then
Play the game of blames


I have been avoiding reading the news for quite some time now since they’re either about a world at war, a political “game of thrones”, or a network feud. These are just… disheartening. The human race has certainly turned this world upside down and we’ve come to the point of no return. But since today’s prompt calls for it, I’ve decided take a peek. The world is still a mess. *Sigh*

So here’s my attempt at shardoma in response to The Daily Post promptHead to your favorite online news source. Pick an article with a headline that grabs you. Now, write a short story based on the article. 

HeadlineSenators grill airport officials over bullet-planting scam

Bluer than blue

Day9

Ours was not a wintry weather
A rosebud wrapped in cold, white plague
Nor a walk on a frozen surface
A shiver under sheets of ice and sleet
No, it wasn’t a string of pretense
A game of bleak charade and deceit
We didn’t die in isolation either
Or froze in ennui and dismay

On a cold, white snow we were burning
On a cold, white snow we’re ablaze
Swathed in the warmth of the winter sun
It was a dance round a cold blazing flame
No, ours was not a wintry weather
It was a stride under cerulean skies
Amid the bleached trees and naked frames
Our fire glows, bluer than blue


Our Writing 201 has already come to an end. It was an immensely stimulating two weeks of excellently curated poetry workshop and it was such a pleasure meeting different people of brilliant minds. I’ll be definitely looking forward to our next course. Now, for a very late submission, here’s my take on our Day 9 task. 🙂

Prompt: Cold
Form: Concrete Poetry
Device: Anaphora

Flavor of my days

Day8
© berlinartparasites (artwork by Jo In Hyuk)

Sweet—
Your soft, gentle kisses on a bright, early morn
The wrap of your arms ‘round my waist when I pulled  you down for a cuddle
The warmth of your breath on my nape sending shivers along my spine
Your stare screaming of sweetness as I look at you in the eye
Bitter—
Your voice with a tang of anger on the night of our fight
The roughness of your touch as you pulled me into our couch
The cold silence between us with nothing but the ceiling and walls
Your stare piercing through my beating heart before you walked out of the door
Sweet—
The flowers and chocolates and teddy bear and the note outside my door
Saying you’re sorry and how you hold me dear; that last night you we’re a fool
The bacon and egg for our morning meal atop the table for two
And a cup of coffee with a heart on it, your way of saying ‘I love you so’
Bitter—
The long stretch of time as I wait for you on our table for two
My restless heart getting edgy as the clock strikes noon
The knock on our door by an officer saying how in a car crash, I lost you
The deafening sound of my anguish as I melt down the cold, hard floor

Bland—
The recent taste of my every day since the day that I’ve lost you
A brand new flavor to my day by day, in things that I say or do
With you my days were extra—extra bitter, extra sweet, or a mix of both
But now, without you they’re dull, weak, and tasteless; dismal and cruel.


Day 8 in Writing 201: Today is a day of melancholy, loss and, longing. I had this wild imagination that maybe in a parallel world, a version of me had gone through a tough time and lost the love of her life. (I know, cruel!) But anyway, this is her story and this is for her lost love.

Prompt: Flavor
Form: Elegy
Device: Enumeratio

Forlorn Nights

Day7
© http://www.shutterstock.com

She walked to the door of emptiness
Her spirit is weary and tired
Looking through the side of her windowpane
She reckoned to call it a night
Her home is thousands of miles away
How she misses their kisses and smile
But she carries on and lives day by day
Making each day worth her while
She lives with a pair of zombies
And a neighborhood of varied worlds
A pair—
Who sleeps in her early morn
But wakes by the time she snooze
Neighbors—
Breathing with nameless faces
As she watched them come and go
And back at the windowpane, her eyes closed,
When the sun shines in the morrow
She vowed,
She’ll start anew.


I live oceans away from home, amidst the concrete jungle and city lights. But no matter how lively this city may be, I still crave for those peaceful nights back at home. This is the story of my life, oh well, the story of most of my nights. Here’s for Day 7 Writing 201 task. 🙂

Prompt: Neighborhood
Form: Ballad
Device: Assonance

Beautiful Mess

Day6


Our Day 6 in Writing 201 is all about Faces, Found Poetry, Chiasmus. I’ve written a lot about faces yet it’s my first time to do a found poetry and chiasmus. I intended to cut pieces from old magazines to make it look arty but I got swamped at work and had no time. Still, all ends well– thanks to Shakespeare and Hardy for letting me borrow their words. These poetry sages never did fail to amaze me. 🙂

Prompt: Faces
Form: Found Poetry
Device: Chiasmus

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