spell poem with an I

I the poet, is me the poem.

With lilting rhymes
marking the thumps
of this, this, this,
travelling heart.

With floating rhythms
concocting mem’ries–
faded and unseen–
by this, this, this,
restless mind.

With idioms and
similes, hiding the
evidences of familiar
melancholy,
and glee.

With verses sweet
oh, so, sweet,
as honey or
stinging like
a suicidal bee.

With shapes and
sizes, morphing like–
may be, maybe,
mountain, or melting
like the salted sea.

With this, this,
ten bony fingers,

with millions of nerves
and bustling synapses,

from the fenced chest,
to the skull-covered
throne of hierarchy,

this skin, this flesh,
these 206 set of bones,

are bleeding, breathing,
living, flowing poetry.

This, the poet; the poem is me.

—

12.11.2018
©2018 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash

---

Inspired by dVerse Pubtalk: Identity and Perspective.

midnight wish

open palms, wet with
salt of sweat and tears,
reach out outside as
glass pane’s fog clears,

like a yearning new branch
of a house-caged vine
bending, sneaking,
reaching out for sun,

these palms, brined with
my excreted liquids stretch out
to feel the breath of
the cold December wind,

wishing this same
midnight breeze has
kissed your oh,
so, calm sleeping face.

in one brush of air, floating,
against my skin, waiting,
i can be with you,

at least.

—

12.06.2018
©2018 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash

---

For he who has loved me wholly, written while listening to Ed Sheeran’s Autumn Leaves.

song soup

take that cup, the
china one, dusting
inside the unlit
cupboard. pour

some notes of
G and D, let
your whisking
fingers swirl,

and swirl,

in the key of
C. see how
the dancing
strings strum this
stew of melody.
now let’s

sprinkle, sprinkle,

the lettered
honey dripping
from the flower
inside your
chest, rest

not, rest not,

those inked
fingers, let not
this batter
end up a mess.

patience, more

patience, stir,
stir and stir,
until this mixture
of tune and
rune form your
tired soul’s
much needed

soup of song.

—

12.04.2018
©2018 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash

---

For dVerse Poetics: Secret Ingredient 

last leaf

cheers for choked up tears,
cries without list’ning ears.

cheers for wistful dreams
caught or lost in raging streams.

cheers for days of cavalier
where lone strength perseveres,

cheers for named fears
fin’lly found courage sears,

cheers for ‘nother year,
lost hope grows, reappears.

—

12.04.2018
©2018 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash

---

For dVerse Quadrille #70: Poems of Good Cheer

g o l d s m i t h ( a haibun )

Whenever I look back, I see the zigzag road of twists and turns, of ups and downs, my once proud heart has been through. I was a decorated student. My dad won’t walk with me in graduation ceremonies without a medal. His standard has been my fire. To excel. To be the best. To aim higher.

Whenever I look back, I realize those golden necklaces did nothing but bloat my ego and tire my soul. After college, they became more like a baggage than an honour. I was a Cum Laude (with honors) who can’t land a job for almost a year. A bright student who can’t pass her (many) final interviews.

Whenever I look back, I remember how His hands so holy carefully crack my pride and douse my smoke of arrogance. I remember the pain as my narcissistic temple crumble. I remember how with bowed neck, medals removed, feet blistered, heart surrendered, I learned His goodness and grace as I waited for Him to transform me into a humble, pure gem.

Calloused rock battered,
crushed, melted with brutal flame.
Gold birthed in waiting.

—

11.27.2018
©2018 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash

---

For dVerse Haibun Monday: Waiting

The Entertainer Book Tag

(Note: This tag is stolen from my dearie Jade. I am guilty beyond reasonable doubt; I am willing to pay the price of this crime. ^___^ )

It’s a Monday morning and my work email is (surprisingly) quiet and empty. Perhaps like a little street in a province at 12:30 AM. So I decided to tag myself on The Entertainer Book Tag which I enjoyed reading in my dearie’s blog! (If you want eloquent and emotive poetry, funny and heartfelt and sometimes grim fan fiction and fiction, you better follow her! Come on! Do it noooow! 😀 )

It has been forever since I wrote for a tag and about books, which is a pity! So here I am! Answering these five bookish questions! Let’s goooo!

1.) Your favorite form of reading (ebook, audiobook, etc.)?

I’m definitely a librocubicularist. I prefer my bed soft, my coffee hot, and my book printed! (Although majority of my read books are via ebook because I got no book budget before. Please forgive me, books. -_- )

2.) If you could trade places with any other MC in their fictional world facing the same problems as them, who would you trade places with?

(Another confession: I googled MC because, seriously, what is MC? I feel so old. HAHA. For those who are so uninformed like me, it means Main Character. *facepalm* )

I think I would choose to be Annie of The Next Person You Meet in Heaven by Mitch Albom . I have yet to read this book (courtesy of my dearie Jade!!! ❤ ) but I know Annie is the little child Eddie saved in The Five People You Meet in Heaven .

I am excited to know what happened to her; I am sure she will be someone I can relate with because Mitch has that talent–creating characters that will resound to me. ❤

3.) Favorite Movie?

Geez. I am not a movie person but I really love Anne Hathaway’s Princess Diaries!

I can’t remember today if this preference has been updated. So please, don’t judge! 😁

4.) What do you wish you could see more of in books?

I want to see more realistic, odd but inspiring and touching characters. Like Alice of Still Alice by Lisa Genova and Ove of A Man Called Ove by Fredrik Backman. 🙂 These books are truthful, funny, and inspiring without bending with common novel cliches. 🙂

5.) Favorite first line from a book?

“When I was three and Bailey four, we had arrived in the musty little town, wearing tags on our wrists which instructed – ‘To Whom It May Concern’ – that we were Marguerite and Bailey Johnson Jr., from Long Beach, California, en route to Stamps, Arkansas, c/o Mrs. Annie Henderson.” – Maya Angelou, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings

That’s it, friends and poets! You can (also) steal this tag with my consent! 😀 Cheers!

—

©2018 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash, Google, Goodreads

shark words (a quintilla)

Inks turn red with breath of anger.
Spit shark words, too deep, a dagger.
Lost forgiveness in stormy sea,
swirled with hate, no serenity.
Let go or be drowned forever.

—

11.23.2018
©2018 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash

---

For dVerse Poetry form: English & Spanish Quintain.

p r e a m b l e

Softly part my
curtain thick
with innocence
preserved by
conscious choice.

Brick by brick,
please gently
chip, my wall
of fear—

to be charted
by a pair of
searching hands
detached from
my own
wheat arms,

by loose lips
longingly yearning
to take what
has always
been mine,

by unknown,
foreign organ
aching to reach the
so soft cave, I
have guarded all
this time.

With cheeks red,
chest raised,
breaths too short,
skin so warm,
stripped and bare,

“oh, my love,
you’re welcome.”

—

11.21.2018
©2018 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash

---

For dVerse Poetics: Desire and Sexuality in Poetry

 

soon, my love

Faint, fainter, faintest,
goes the winky cars
passing by.

Dark, darker, darkest,
goes the moonless
November sky.

Soft, softer, softest
goes the notes
of lullaby.

Sleepy, sleepier, sleepiest,
goes the tired city
whisp’ring goodbye.

Soon, sooner, soonest,
I’ll be near,
as another day dies.

—

11.06.2018
©2018 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash

---

Written while listening to Sara Bareilles’ City as my heart yearns for my he.

For dVerse Quadrille Wink

 

holy flair

Once upon a
blue blood moon
the mighty Kanchenjunga
said hello, too soon.

Over 7,000 feet
above the earth’s
conquering sea,
before the final farewell
of 2018’s only January,

the midnight sky made way
to let the snow-clothed peak
take a silent peek

to two pairs of eyes waiting,
freezing in almost zero air,

yet warm with awe
of God’s hands
oh so holy flair.

—

10.31.2018
©2018 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo by me!

---

For dVerse Stock Phrases.