booms and bangs

boom!
crumbles the church the city prayed.

bang!
rings the house of an old friend.

boom!
explodes a truck, bodies sprayed.

bang!
runs peace, hope, in a rushed parade.

between the booms, bangs
i plead above
let this bad dream be
cursed and damned.

This is a fictional poem inspired by the still unending war in Marawi, the only Islamic city in the Philippines. I can never fathom the reasons of these groups in killing not just lives but the hopes, the future of the children left clueless and helpless in the middle of this war. May peace blossom again in this corner of my country.

08.15.2017
©2017 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash

In response to Quadrille #38 by whimsygizmo.

Today, I want us to DREAM together.

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autumn spell

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in this maze of bleeding leaves
as if the mighty Him spilled red inks
on top of the lush trees and twigs
to signal the yearly seasons’ shift,

find me lurking not
beneath the tall towers of red and yellow,
find me hiding not
inside the house with the whispering cello,

find me sitting not
on the edge of the long, winding road,
find me breathing not
inside the rushing car, suddenly slowed.

one more inhale,
one more exhale,
soul elevates maybe
to heaven or to hell.

well, the view from the top
of this scarlet autumn spell
makes this final moment
a little easier.

08.14.2017
©2017 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Shubhodeep Roy

homebound

i have wandered far
from Your loving bay,
i believed alone i
can pave my own way.

step one, two, then three
i walked away slowly
from Your presence like
a bird breaking free.

not knowing never have
You locked me inside
of Your words and light,
my God, bring me back.

08.02.2017
©2017 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash

what if?

as death is as normal as birth,
one day my ink will meet
its fading the end.
what if this poem is my last?
what if? what if?
what last lines would i want to leave?
what if? what if?
what final rhymes would i want to breathe?
what if? what if?

would i want to write
a heartfelt villanelle
to glorify the God
who made me well,
to thank the imperfect
yet loving parents
who compensated money with
their love and presence?

would i want to write
a throbbing aubade
to the he’s whom
i have loved?
fill every stanza
with bitter farewells
and warm kisses
they have forever missed out?

would i want to leave
a sweet, sweet sonnet
to the one man
who’ll have me last,
stamp every rhyme
and every line
with the promise of meeting again
inside heaven’s confines?

or would i want to leave
a freely flowing free verse,
about a life well lived
in better and in worse,
etch my last words
with gratefulness
and contentment,
for either way, i’m blessed.

what if this poem is my last?
i think i would be smiling if
this poem would be my parting gift
to those who have loved me
and i have loved unconditionally.

if this is the end for me and my poetry,
then i will park my pen,
beside my final lines and rhymes,
and then, rest peacefully.

08.02.2017
©2017 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash

sneaked in some time to post this poem after my looong hiatus. the lines:

what if this poem is my last?
what if? what if?
what last lines would i want to leave?
what if? what if?
what final rhymes would i want to breathe?
what if? what if?

are inspired by a poem by Davy D. i have a big event (at work) tomorrow and i dropped by to tell you all guys that I miss WordPress because of you all. as soon work calms a bit, i’ll go back. ❤ please don’t forget me. 🙂 Much love!


In response to The End paul scribbles.
This evening I want you to think about ‘THE END.’
dverse

back and forth

sometimes i am a
relentless, untiring,
wave ebbing and
flowing to the
shore, back and
forth, back and
forth.

but today i am
transforming and
evaporating from
the sea to the
sky, yes, i have
surrendered and
turned myself into
a possessive sun.

kindness and
attention are
now my rays that
i won’t let you kiss and
have anymore for
i am tired, tired, tired,

of going back
and forth, back
and forth, without
receiving what i
always give.

love.

07.20.2017
©2017 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash

Confessions, ramblings, and everything in between

Over an hour. That is how long I have been staring at my screen flashing an unfinished article I should finish before the day ends.

Eight tabs. That’s how many articles and resources I have read to be able to start writing and get my mind do what it’s supposed to do.

Numerous words written and deleted. That’s how I have been trying (badly) to write and write and write.

But nothing. My mind is not at it.

Like a boat freely sailing, wandering, on the vastness of the endless sea, my mind seems to be here but nowhere, here but elsewhere. It would be ungrateful to say I feel like a criminal jailed to be stuck in my office chair but that’s how I have been feeling lately.

It took me years to land a job related to my course, Journalism. I have been here for almost three years now and yes, it is fulfilling, tiring, but exciting. But there are days when you want to be as free as a bird. To be a writer tucked under her blanket just reading and writing.

It might be because of age but lately, I have been yearning for a simpler life. A life in a quaint house, by the sea and near the forest where I can wander and wonder. A life without a rushed phase. A life not limited by deadlines. A life not commanded by corporate bosses.

But that kind of life, as simple as it may sound, is too expensive. Expensive because you need money while living a life away from the city and the 9-to-5 job. Because I have responsibilities, and I have a life that isn’t only about me.

It’s been almost two months since I released my debut book, and I am quietly wishing and praying for its success because I dream to be like Lang Leav. Living in New Zealand, writing. But the road to becoming like her seems foggy and bumpy. Am I losing faith? Maybe.

I may not be hungry to make millions for my book, but I am dreaming of living a life as a writer. A creative one. Not someone locked inside a corporate box. But then as the eldest daughter, I got to move. I got to earn. For the family.

How can I pursue my passion and provide for the family? That I have yet to find out. And yes, I am trying to knock doors and windows to turn my dreams into reality.

Like what Ms. Maya Angelou told me again last week, “All great achievements require time.” I need patience and endurance. But most of all faith.

Faith that my time will come. Faith that my book’s time will come. Faith that everything happens for a reason. Faith that no time is wasted. Faith in things I cannot see as of the moment. Faith that He is moving and guiding me.

Easier said than done, I’m trying. Every single day.

For now, let me get back and write the article I need to finish today.

 

Remember Rain (A Poem for Mich)

i remember you
when the rooftop laughs
once the raindrops
start their tickling
session,

i remember how
you write about
the monsoon’s
crystal kids.
how they made
your lines dance,
in love,
in grief,
in hope,
in faith.

i remember you
in drizzles of surprising
summer rains,
when the supposed
parched earth
was kissed by the
mysterious, impromptu
shower,
when you write about
your endless love
for your father.

i remember you,
when the heavy clouds
let go and cry,
i remember you,
a friend from afar,
i haven’t seen
through the eye,
but has touched
my heart,
my soul,
in ways no hands
can ever did.

i remember you,
and pray for you,
when it rains.
i hope this friendship
we have,
forever remains.

Happy happy happy happy birthday to my dear Mich of Poetry in Motion. May ou good good God continue to bless you and your beautiful family! Sending hugs to you! ❤

P.S. I hope to see you soon! (with Maria! :D)

06.23.2017
©2017 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash

 

 

 

Yes, I Am

he tried to give me
the kiss of eternity,
like a parched flower
he thought i need his shower,
but i don’t.

i felt my warm skin
against the cold wall,
as he pushed me deeper
to surrender my all,
but i don’t.

i sank, scratched my nails
against his back,
he tried to stop me
with a full-blown smack,
but i don’t.

before he gave
another strong blow,
i kicked hard
his tummy’s below,
yes, i do.

before my eardrums
cracked in his screams,
i pulled his gun’s trigger
and ended his dreams,
yes, i do.

for i am a woman
who doesn’t have a man,
but i won’t let anyone
to strip me to undone,
yes, i am.

now, ask me
if i am guilty,
of killing a monster
who could’ve killed me,
yes, i am.

06.14.2017
©2017 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Public Domain Photo

In response to Mugging for the Camera by lillian.
Choose one of these mug shots from the 20s that “speaks to you.” Let your imagination go a bit wild for this prompt. You can be the person, talking to us; or put the person into a poetic “Wanted” poster. Or tell us a tale in verse that “spins” around the mug shot you select. You are limited only by the far reaches of your creativity! The one requirement is that you post the mug shot you choose, in addition to your “mug shot poem.” Surprise me! I’m looking forward to meeting some real characters!!!
dverse

 

 

 

Naked

strip me slowly,
it’s fine, i’m ready,
for you.

in your lines, take me
mind, heart, soul, wholly,
not few.

for i’m the real me
when you, poetry
leaks through.

06.09.2017
©2017 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash

In response to Lai It On! –dVerse MTB Victoria C. Slotto.
This is Victoria, today asking you to write a Lai. Yes, it’s pronounced “lay,” an old French poetry form that was used to tell tales of adventure and courage using octosyllabic lines.
dverse

Bravest Moment

on the day when her grandchildren will be sitting on her lap asking for the bravest thing she has done, she will be looking back at this moment.

she’s in no danger. no noise. no death-defying acts. but with peaceful tree-whistles, lullaby-like bird-tunes, embrace-like forest air. and her heart and mind who were both dauntless enough to walk out of a life in the concrete jungle and be with the one she prefers, a simpler, slower life.

she will tell them, for only the brave knows living is not owning. living is making each breath counts. with money or without.

Word count: 100
©2017 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo credit: Pamela Canepa

For Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers (FFfAW) June 06. 2017. 🙂