neurotic grooves

Neurons and synapses
used to grooving 
fast and relentless
then comes the
sudden screech,
stop, brake.

The drum’s
beating groove
surrendered to
the piano’s gentle
melancholy,
a shift in melody,
slowed down
the catastrophe,

for the first time
the neurons learned
how to pause
and take a break.

P.S. The change in job is giving my mind a bittersweet feeling. I am used to having a lot of tasks to do, resulting to a stressed out mind. Now I have less work to do, inching to almost boring. But then, change is as constant as breathing. So there. 🙂

12.13.2017
©2017 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo by Tadas Mikuckis@tadasmikuckis

In response to dVerse Poetics: How Are You Feeling Today?
dverse

 

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maybe mismatch

Maybe it was the noise
of the honking fears inside me,
or maybe it was the clink and clanks
of the battling mind and heart inside you.

Maybe I was ready to be brave,
just in time when you surrendered to be afraid,
and these maybes were too loud
enough to create a strong storm out of

our mismatch love.

11.23.2017
©2017 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo by Claire Nolan on Unsplash

 

butterfly heart

how many days will
it take for a crawling pupa
to hide her legs and
grow her own soft cage
where she will
further evolve into
a winged butterfly?

how much pain will
she survive to transform
from a leaf-beggar to
a fragile air glider who
can freely fly?

how many tiny cells
hidden from the naked eye will
she have to break and birth
to create and be created?

i wonder, likewise
how much loss can
a human heart endure
before one learns to hear
and accept the
goodbyes left unsaid.

11.23.2017
©2017 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo Jian Xhin@lyianko

In response to dVerse Poetics: ‘The Heavy Bear Who Goes With Me’.
dverse

 

dust and breaths

seasons inevitably change.
a tree transforms from
a yellow green bud-baby to
a daring, scarlet lady to
a bare and naked oldie.

humans will inevitably fade.
a mortal body from its
innocent infancy
grows bones after bones,
endures scars after scars,
wrinkles skin after skin,
expires cell after cell.

fleeting cloud of dusts and
fading bag of breaths,
oh, humans and seasons,
inside the complex cosmos
forever beyond anyone’s
comprehension.

11.08.2017
©2017 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via  ESA/Hubble;  European Space AgencyNASA, and J. Hester (Arizona State University)

In response to dVerse Lookin’ Up! by lillian.
dverse

 

 

for your information

kick me out
of your life
yes, you can.

kick me out
of my own love,
oh, you just can’t.

i am locked,
chained, tethered,
inside the cave
of my self-sufficient
heart.

it’ll beat
with a thump,
with a thump,
with you
or without.

11.07.2017
©2017 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash

In response to dVerse Quadrille#44 by whimsygizmo.
dverse

my passengers

the blinking thin
line stares back at
me, as it beats
with my heart
jumping for
you so silently. there

is a poem inside
me, a poem i want
to let out badly, but
the words are
scrambling like train
passengers on their
final stop, rushing
to come out. there is

too much that i
want to write, as if
the words in the
dictionary will not
be enough, because,
listen. from thousand
miles away from
me, i am not even

sure if this will
reach you, hopefully,
but there maybe one,
no, it’s a thousand
poems inside me, and
maybe i will not
be able to spill
them out successfully,
but this one i
think i can say

surely, you are
my heart’s poetry.

11.03.2017
©2017 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo by Geoffrey Arduini on Unsplash

In response to dVerse Open Link Night byGrace. 🙂
dverse

i am still here

20171012_112933

i am still here,
juggling balls named
work, poetry, and life.

i am still here,
trying hard to tally
the shifting of day and nights.

i am still here,
working ceaselessly to support
those who matter.

i am still here,
resuscitating the heart
of a hopeless dreamer.

i am still here,
lurking in between the blank pages
filled with waiting words.

i am still here,
discovering and hunting
this fleeting life’s worth.

i am still here
to write, to breathe.

i hope, you are
still there.

10.25.2017
©2017 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo of me in Phuket, Thailand

temporary guests

your body is not an apartment
available for temporary love guests.

your body is a home, a permanent residence,
that deserves consistency, and a love that stays.

if he shows no plans of staying,
darling, don’t let him in.

09.2017
©2017 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo by Jason Schjerven on Unsplash

Apologies for being MIA, dear readers and poets and friends! Life is happening aka work is happening. 🙂 I miss writing and participating on dVerse! 🙂 I’m regularly on Instagram as posting is a bit easier there while I’m on the move. 🙂 If you are there, let me know. 🙂
Have a lovely weekend, everyone! ❤

when rain reigns

while i try
to rein on my
stubborn and elusive
sense of worth,

the rain reigns
against the sun rays
with its freed droplets
of crystals
kissing the waiting,
parched earth.

may i find
the purpose of my
birth, with the petrichor’s
coming mirth.

09.14.2017
©2017 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo by Liv Bruce on Unsplash

In response to Quadrille #40 by whimsygizmo and Rein ’em in! lillian! (i hope i am not too late! :D)
dverse

 

history and poetry

“Among other things,
you’ll find that
you’re not the first person who
was ever confused and
frightened and
even sickened by
human behavior.

You’re by no means alone on
that score, you’ll be excited and
stimulated to know.

Many, many men have been
just as troubled morally and
spiritually as you are right now.

Happily, some of them kept
records of their troubles.
You’ll learn from them—if
you want to.

Just as someday, if
you have something to offer,
someone will learn
something from you.

It’s a beautiful
reciprocal arrangement.
And it isn’t education.
It’s history.
It’s poetry.”

—  J.D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye


This is originally a quote from this infamous classic book (which I am ashamed I haven’t got my hands on yet). I chopped it into some phrases and lines to make it look like poetry. It is a technique (I forgot the name, unfortunately) I learned from an online poetry course which is about the use of a quote / paragraph from a book and breaking it down into lines to transform it into a poem.

This quote spoke to me. Isn’t it nice and true? 🙂

Happy weekend my dear friends!