on Mars and moth

Man-made machines flying will not satiate humans’ dreaming
from the clouds to the moon, even Mars is under planning.
A brave moth hunting for the fire that can burn its metal wings.

©2019 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo by David Dibert on Unsplash

In response to Sonya of Only 100 Words‘ Three Line Tales, Week 181
If you want to go full Apollo 11, check out Apollo in Real Time – it’s amazing and I can’t wait for the Moon landing on Saturday. If you’re not into space exploration, remember that the picture is only the starting point. You take your lines wherever you want.
If you want to join, here are the simple rules:
  • Write three lines inspired by the photo prompt.
  • Link back to this post.
  • Tag your post with 3LineTales (so we can find you in the Reader).
  • Read and comment on other TLT participants’ lines.
  • Have fun.

One Million Stars to End Violence

Reblogging this much needed initiative.

“One Million Stars to End Violence” project of PERAK WOMEN FOR WOMEN SOCIETY

Dedicated to all women and children who are victims of Violence.

Perak Women for Women Society (PWW) is a registered, apolitical, non profitable and non-governmental organisation (NGO) founded in 2003 to enhance the status and lives of women in Perak irrespective of their race, religion and social background.
They recently launched its “One Million Stars to End Violence” project. It is a global weaving that has inspired individuals, groups and communities to weave stars to inspire light, hope and peace in the world. Ms Maryann Talia Pau, the founder of One Million Stars to End Violence Project has urged the global community to continue her good work in encouraging everyone to end violence.
Let us help PWWS bring back the star in the eyes of every women and every children whose lives have been destroyed and altered by violence.

Please send your stars to them at PWW:
The PWW Centre
15 Market Street
30000 Ipoh
Tel : 05-2469715

Below is the link to learn how to make the stars :

For more information, email at perakwomenforwomen@gmail.com

I am also calling out to all WP bloggers around Malaysia to help me share this cause to your followers and encourage them to participate.

Help save a life; weave a star!!!


“When you wish upon a Star,
Makes no difference who you are…”
-Jiminy Cricket, Walt Disney’s “Pinocchio”

Stars Fled From Your Eyes

stars fled from your eyes
and the shadow of death
cast upon your face
on this dark gloomy night
filled with goodbyes
and unending sighs
of a once promising life

stars fled from your eyes
and you stop dreaming
of what could have been’s
and what if’s
a future you may never see
for it has become so bleak
and gloomy

stars fled from your eyes
and it may never come back
unless you take the courage
to speak up
seek for help
and maybe, just maybe
start anew

stars fled from your  eyes, no, not yet


We have been fascinated by the stars- those shiny bright, little five-pointed dots in the sky that has been illuminating, even before humans exist.  It  presents us with beautiful symbolism over…

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blanket and shame (a dizain*)

Still wrapped in blanket of soft innocence,
like a butterfly fresh from its cocoon,
a young breath given too short existence
by evil desire of a maniac goon.
A lifeless, cold shell wimps a wordless croon.

An animal act, perhaps it is not,
for mammals, reptiles, these kingdoms just ought
to kill to survive. But humans, we have
become brainless, salivating, cracked nuts,
drowned by earth’s urges, a shame of Above.

My lines bleed for the one-year-old boy raped and murdered by a drunk man in my motherland, the Philippines. My heart breaks. My soul is burning with rage. Why. Why. Why. What have we become. What have we become.

©2019 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo by Henry & Co. on Unsplash
For dVerse Poetry Form: Dizain 
Brief History
The *dizain is a 10-line form which – like so many good ones – originated in France. It was popular there in the 15th and 16 Centuries, and has also been used by such famous English poets as John Keats and Philip Sidney.
Basic Structure
The basic rules for the dizain are that it has one stanza consisting of 10 lines, with 10 syllables per line, and the rhyme scheme is ababbccdcd. Do you see how the second half of the stanza sort of mirrors the rhyme scheme of the first? Not using the same rhymes,but reversing the sequence. It’s more obvious if I make a break between sections: ababb ccdcd – though the poem is not usually written with a break.

the definition of home

He walks ahead of me
with his old rucksack
and a carton box
he asked from
a store owner

A couple, giggling in front
of him, stopped laughing
to cross the road, perhaps
afraid of his dirt-filled

I trace his steps
under the faint moonglow
not to say a shy hello,
but to murmur a silent prayer
that he is off to
a roof where his
family’s love

until he stops
in an unlit corner of
the almost empty
walkway, tear his precious
box and make his bed
until the next

My heart, a foreigner
on this man’s motherland,
aching to
come back home,
now breaks for him,
living in his country,
but without a house to call
his own.

©2019 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via my dearest @landlessvillager
For dVerse dVerse Poetics: On Wandering & Observing by anmol(alias HA)
For this Tuesday’s prompt, I would like all of you to wander around for a bit — take an old familiar walk through the sights and smells of your town or city, a remembered journey from when you visited someplace new the last time, a metaphorical stroll through memorized images and pictured memories, a silent observation of one string of thought to its last remnant, et al. and pen down all that you see, feel, touch, know, experience, in its ambit or perhaps its exact opposite. You can think of wandering and observing as an entirely metaphorical construct too.

patawad, Pilipinas (forgive me, Philippines)

Patawad, Pilipinas
Hindi ako makakaboto bukas.
Ang mga paa ko’y nakaapak
sa isang malayong landas.
Kumakayod para sa pamilyang
hugutan ng lakas.

Subalit, Pilipinas,
dinig ko ang iyong hikbi.
Umiiyak din ang aking puso,
na para bang ako’y sawi
sa nakikitang mga pangalang
sa malamang ay magwawagi.

Oo, Pilipinas,
mahina ako sa Filipino.
Sa simpleng ng at nang
ako nga ay litong-lito,
subalit hinding hindi
sa mga taong dapat iboto.

Oo, Pilipinas,
nagtatanong din ako
kung bakit nga ba mas marami
ang boboto sa mga manloloko.
Marahil mas mainam ang kilala
kesa sa mga bago.

Oo, Pilipinas,
nakakatakot nga ang bukas.
Marahil may himala,
baka matalo ang likong pantas.
Baka ang nag-iisip,
sa wakas ay magsilabas.

Patawad pa rin, Pilipinas
hindi ako makakaboto bukas.
Baunin mo ang aking dasal
mula sa malayong landas.
Kainin ka man ng dilim bukas,
Pilipinas, hindi ito ang wakas.


Forgive me, Philippines,
I cannot vote tomorrow.
My feet are stepped on
a far land where calm winds blow,
working for my family
the home where my strength grow.

But, Philippines,
I can hear you wimping.
My heart cries with you
like I am also breaking
to see those names
whom most may be voting.

Yes, Philippines,
my Filipino skills isn’t good.
In simple use of “ng” and “nang”,
I’m like lost in the woods,
but not on who to vote
for your greater good.

Yes, Philippines,
I am also wondering
why a lot will vote
for experts in plundering.
Perhaps old names are better
than a new beginning.

Yes, Philippines,
tomorrow is quite scary.
Perhaps, there’s miracle,
the fools will lose, maybe.
Perhaps those who think
will be heard finally.

Still, I am sorry, Philippines
I cannot vote tomorrow.
Please bring with you my prayers
from a far land where calm winds blow.
Even if the darkness wins tomorrow,
Philippines, this isn’t your end, no.

©2019 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo by Jeremy Perret on Unsplash

Please help me pray for my country.

claws and boxes

Office ended today with some lashing
caused by sharp claws of ego
from a mouth whose mistakes
is something she cannot chew.
My burdened back carried
the weight of her spitted words,
as I drag my tired feet out
as if it was the end of the world.

After dinner, I went to buy water
and saw a man in dirty clothes,
gingerly counting his precious cents
to buy a ringgit of popsicle twirl.
Before leaving he asked
for a carton, discarded.
After getting the approval, he left,
with sweet cream ‘tween his gapped-teeth
without a single penny on his pocket,
but with jolly spring on his feet.

Perhaps the heaviness of life
is based on perspectives.

©2019 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo by Peter Hershey on Unsplash

postal code stamps

Our tongues are dancing muscles
sprinkled with the magic dust of languages,

as if before birth we’re treated
on a buffet of diverse dialects and accents

where we select how our mouths will circle and arch
to utter each twisted word’s lyrical march, but

pause and place your vein-hand
in the middle of your breasts, there,

there is a polyglot organ,
tapping ceaseless da-dum, da-dum,

tasting the kindness in a stranger’s smile,
touching the tendrils of love’s blurry profile.

There is where we learn,

our tongues may be the dancing muscles
sprinkled with the magic dust of languages,

but our hearts are our postal code stamps
proving this big, big world is our residence.

©2019 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo not mine

For dVerse Open Link Night #241

words’ way

Perhaps, there is, maybe,
a biological malfunction in me,

instead of a mouth singing
to the tune of bell-voiced hymns

the language of my soul speaks
not with dust-tongued shrieks

but with the dancing lettered-runes
under a smiling owl-light moon,

tiptoeing from my scarlet muscle-cave
flowing, twirling with each brainwave

until they reach the tip of my waiting fingers
where they will be freed, and on earth, they will linger,

across the ringed-sea, they will float,
until I am onboard my only heaven-bound boat.

©2019 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo by MItodru Ghosh on Unsplash

Inspired by dVerse Poetics: love the words

fading murmurs (a villanelle)

Soft murmurs say the end is near,
this earth will crumble, disappear.
Will you let your story end here?

Mouths gurgling aged, frozen beer,
choosing to leave peace’s hemisphere.
Soft murmurs say the end is near,

tired earth sinks under cloud of fear,
birds choke with vows so insincere,
will you let your story end here?

Even spring delays its annual cheer,
while fragile buds still persevere.
Soft murmurs say the end is near,

more hands now filled with bloodsmear.
Helpless in this cruel atmosphere,
will you let your story end here?

No, you cannot save all humans, dear,
but you can be: change’s pioneer.
Soft murmurs say the end is near,
please don’t let your story end here.

©2019 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash

Inspired by dVerse Toolkit: Rhymes and Slant Rhymes

f l u i d f a i t h

Feeble waves made
of infant dusk’s soft wind,

liquid mirror glows
with sunset’s pastel rind.

Fallen plumeria floats,
decaying but still blooming,

faith, be fluid like water —
rippling, shape-shifting, unending.

©2019 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo by Chelsea Audibert on Unsplash

Inspired by dVerse Poetics: Water, Water Everywhere .