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.

04.19.2019
©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.

04.17.2019
©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.

04.12.2019
©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.

04.10.2019
©2019 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo by Chelsea Audibert on Unsplash

Inspired by dVerse Poetics: Water, Water Everywhere . 

v i r t u o s o

virtuoso, oh no,
i am no ace of (many) no’s,
i am not numb (yet)
against spades of (vicious) no’s,

but I’ve my shield
of self-belief,  just

enough to help me
swallow (sharp) eyes menacing,
(brute) words piercing,
(twisted) life unveiling,

on my own.

03.18.2019
©2019 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo by Cristina Gottardi on Unsplash

Inspired by dVerse Quadrille #77 – Ace of Poems.

e x c h a n g e g i f t

Words are the gifts I have always wanted for myself.
They are my bars of chocolates,
my calorie-free slices of cheesecake.

My words is the gift I can give to the world.
Carefully wrapped in thin papers of prayer —
stamped with a wish that they reach

the soul who needed them

the most

even after my own gift

of life

is done.

04.07.2019
©2019 R C. Gonzales | A Reading Writer.
All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash

For NaPoWriMo 2019Day 7.
Our prompt for the day (optional, as always) is also inspired by McKibbens, who posted these thoughtson her Twitter account a few months back:

What do you deserve? Name it. All of it. What are you ready to let go of? Name that too. Then name the most gentle gift for yourself. Name the brightest song your body’s ever held. Summon joy like you would a child; call it home. It wanders, yes. But it’s still yours.

Today, we’d like to challenge you to write a poem of gifts and joy. What would you give yourself, if you could have anything? What would you give someone else?

in seven stanzas

i

There are two
not singing Asian
koehls dancing to
the tune of April
drizzle, playing
with brown, and a
bit smaller mynahs.

ii

The plane above
looked c     r      a     w      l     i     n      g ,
ever so s l o w l y ,
gliding on a noon
sky void of fluffy
nor heavy clouds,
yet with Math it’s
actually eating hundreds
of miles for its lunch.

iii

There are two
women – one wearing
a delicate, lilac hijab,
while the other
possessed eyes like
the small cracks
of a for-sale piggy bank –
sitting with a grey-eyed
man, with mane so blond.

iv

Before I was able
to sew the story of
their chit-chat, I
can’t get rid of imagining
their races’ proud flags,

v

like bokeh halos
floating on their head tops,
flying, flying, flying proud.

vi

Perhaps in that table
without kissing nor hearts,

vii

I tasted another flavor
of love.

04.02.2019
©2019 R C. Gonzales | A Reading Writer.
All Rights Reserved.
Photo by Slava Bowman on Unsplash

For NaPoWriMo 2019Day 3.
And now for today’s prompt (optional as always). Today’s prompt is based in a poem by Larry Levis called “The Two Trees.” It is a poem that seems to meander, full of little digressions, odd bits of information, but fundamentally, it is a poem that takes time. It takes its time getting where it’s going, and the action of the poem itself takes place over months. Today, I’d like to challenge you to similarly write something that involves a story or action that unfolds over an appreciable length of time. Perhaps, as you do, you can focus on imagery, or sound, or emotional content (or all three!)

evening snake

Where is my home?
Outside, the evening snake is lit,

on right it’s filled with patches of white,
on left it’s a strawberry jam of red.

Wait, perhaps, it’s not a snake,
it is but, a curved paved skin of earth,

where tiny, tiny, earthlings who
think they own the world,

are scrambling inside their
wheeled machines who promised

to take them home.
Home.

Where is my home?

04.02.2019
©2019 R C. Gonzales | A Reading Writer.
All Rights Reserved.
Photo from Unsplash

For NaPoWriMo 2019: Day 2.
Today’s prompt (optional, as always) is based on this poem by Claire Wahmanholm, which transforms the natural world into an unsettled dream-place. One way it does this is by asking questions – literally. The poem not only contains questions, but ends on a question. Today, I’d like to challenge you to write a poem that similarly resists closure by ending on a question, inviting the reader to continue the process of reading (and, in some ways, writing) the poem even after the poem ends.

b o t t o m l e s s (a pantoum)

Sip those sunsets, time isn’t bottomless.
Let that cold wind kiss your deep dark tresses,
while your soul sinks with ‘nother day’s eggress.
Sshh, be still, as evening sky undresses.

Let that cold wind kiss your deep dark tresses.
Tired feet, be bare, let dusts be your toes guests.
Shh, be still, as evening sky undresses.
Solace’s not a clear map, it’s a wild quest.

Tired feet, be bare, let dusts be your toes guests,
tough, thick skin is formed with sharp thorns’ scratches.
Solace’s not a clear map, it’s a wild quest.
You’re never lost, this earth is your address.

Tough, thick skin is formed with sharp thorns’ scratches—
scars of blood-golds, only you can possess.
Yes, you’re never lost. This earth’s your address.
Sip those sunsets. Time isn’t bottomless.

03.18.2019
©2019 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo by Cristina Gottardi on Unsplash

Inspired by dVerse Poetry–a Piece of Written Art.
My second try on dear Gina’s of Singledust prompt:
*Pantoum
The pantoum is a poetic form derived from the pantun, a Malay verse form: specifically from the pantun berkait, a series of interwoven quatrains and rhyming couplets.
Basic structure
It is similar to a villanelle with repeating lines throughout the poem. It is composed of a series of quatrains; the second and fourth lines of each stanza are repeated as the first.
The pattern continues for any number of stanzas, except for the final stanza, which differs in the repeating pattern.
The first and third lines of the last stanza are the second and fourth of the penultimate; the first line of the poem is the last line of the final stanza, and the third line of the first stanza is the second of the final.
Ideally, the meaning of lines shifts when they are repeated although the words remain exactly the same: this can be done by shifting punctuation, punning, or simply recontextualizing.
A four-stanza pantoum is common (although more may be used), and in the final stanza, lines one and three from the first stanza can be repeated, or new lines can be written.
The basic pantoum form is as follows:
Stanza 1
A
B
C
D
Stanza 2
B
E
D
F
Stanza 3
E
G
F
H
Stanza 4
G
C
H
A

a c r o n y m

Watch her arch her burdened back,
Open her bruised arms, far and wide,
Murmur tearful yet grateful chants,
As she inhales hate and breathe out
Nothing, oh nothing, but love.

03.08.2019
©2019 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo by Larm Rmah on Unsplash

For dVerse OpenLinkNight #238