Crossing (Her) Bridge

Sweaty, cold hands grip the cold rails,
agonized eyes stare at her almost fading trails–
footprints of all she has done,
mud piles of all her missed fun,
holed-patches of all she has lost,
unturned stones of her dreams still at frost.

Waiting lungs heave one deep, deep breath,
shaky foot finally decided to take its first step–
towards a foggy future she has yet to know,
towards a misty tomorrow no crystal ball can show.

With a hoping heart cloaked with lit-up love,
with a warrior soul armored with fearless faith,
she runs and crosses her own unsteady bridge,
away from her yesterday’s oh, so useless weights.

01.12.2014
©2017 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo credit: Unsplash

In response to dVerse‘s Poetics: Abridged Version by the beautifully-hearted lillian.
Note: This is what happens when your 25th birthday is less than two weeks away. 😉 And it is fascinating that my last dVerse-inspired poem is also about bridges. ❤ 

dverse

Waiting Castle

Let your nervous, jittery footsteps ignore the crashing angry ocean.
Let your weary heart shelve its loud fear-filled da-dums.
Lift your spirit up ‘cause your dream-castle awaits you, love.

©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo credit: William Bout

In response to Sonya of Only 100 Words‘ Three Line Tales Week Thirty-Eight.

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.

To the Holder of my life’s map

I know You since I’m three or two.
You know life’s hell that I’ve been through.
Up, down, and up again
Rollercoaster life feels like I’m in vain.

Surrender, that’s what I did,
as I sink in the sea of grief.
My dream is dead, I said to self,
as I smell my failure’s stench.

I let go, and let You lead,
as my hope slowly fall asleep.
At my lowest, You came finally.
I touched the sky, on bended knee.

10.09.2015
©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer

Photo credit: ilovehdwallpapers
Inspired by: Touch the Sky by Hillsong
Originally written for Blogging University’s WRITING 201: Day 05 Assignment.

Deadly Fall

5

I cannot let him reach me. I cannot.

So I ran, ran as if my life depends on it. Oh yes, my life depends on how fast my legs are. Climbing every step away from him. My legs ached. My feet hurt. But I didn’t stop.

Run. Run. Run. Faster.

Suddenly I bumped into a solid dark mass. I fell hard against the wooden floor then the low light revealed him, the man with a lustful grin.  I slowly, slowly crawled away while he carefully walk towards me.

No. I have no choice left.

One swift pained move, I stood, run fast, then  jumped into a deadly fall.  Face first, I fell not on hell but on my bed’s edge. He’s long gone but he still haunts me every dawn.

Word count: 130
©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo credit: Joy Pixley

In response to Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers (FFfAW) September 20, 2016.

Rules:

  • a flash fiction challenge (stories in 100-175 words or less)
  • each story should have a beginning, a middle, and an end
  • no serial (continuation) stories
  • include a pingback to the challenge post

Thank you for hosting this awesome prompt, Priceless Joy! ❤ 

Read more short stories here:

Nefelibata

nefelibata

I am one of the richest woman. All men bow before me. My words are valued and honored. No one dare to refute thee.

A humongous walk-in closet, houses my finest garments. An equally majestic library serves as fortress of my wordly attachments.

Admiring the glory of my dreams that are now a reality, I can’t help but hug myself and whisper good job, endearingly.

Then I felt a painful prick that ended my daydreaming. Once again I’m alone in this prison, with my body and soul freezing.

©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer

Photo credit: Unsplash, Tumblr

Word prompt: Melinda Kucsera of In Media Res (Thank you, dearest friend!)

Ghost

It has always been my dream to become a writer, a journalist might be the proper term. To see my name in the prestigious by-line of the story that I wrote, would feel like I won a much-coveted Olympic gold.

I never knew until college, that Nanay (mother) shares the same dream. I should’ve figured through the old baby photos inked with her scribbled narratives of my tiniest beams or angriest screams.

And so I tried my luck, with my degree as my backpack, I tiptoed towards an unknown track. Then I found a good samaritan who lead me, guide me through the mountain. Together we climb journalism’s terrain. I can already see the peak, I can almost touch it. That’s when the corporate monster appeared to suck all my wit.

I fall briskly, painfully. But my dream’s too stubborn to abandon me entirely. So now I am working behind. Cloaked and hidden somewhere no one can find.

My mind thinks.
My fingers type.
My eyes read.
My mind edits.

The article’s done, but I don’t recognize the name on the by-line.

©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.

Photo credit: Unsplash


In response to dVerse‘s Let’s Kick it Up A Notch by Victoria C. Slotto.

dverse

Search your archives and choose a poem, even if it’s one you thought was already done, and see if you can add a little spice to it through the use of sensory description, replacing metaphor, or tightening up your word count. (If you write prose, maybe you could choose a paragraph and make it into a poem, still applying the prompt.)

Read Victoria’s own poem titled Death Imagined.:)

———

NOTE: Here is the original poem where this prose came from. 

Ghost 
(October 21, 2014)

It has always been a dream to be a writer.

A writer who can be able to see her name in the prestigious ‘by-line’.

But now, I have settled to write ‘behind’.

My mind works.

My mind thinks.

My fingers type.

I finish the article.

But the By Line’ isn’t mine.

 

Qualm: A Quinzaine

q

Qualm: A Quinzaine
©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer

I believe I can do it.
Is it possible?
Oh, can I?

Photo credit: Cam Adams


In response to Blogging from A to Z ChallengeQ is for Quinzaine

Quinzaine

The Quinzaine is an internet form found at Shadow Poetry and Instant Poetry for Kids, named from the French qunize (fifteen) for the 15 syllables the poem contains.

The Quinzaine is:

  • a tristich, a 3 line poem.
  • syllabic, 7-5-3 syllables per line.
  • unrhymed.
  • composed of: L1 a statement, L2 and L3 questions related to the statement.

Missed a letter/poem? Read all Poetry from A-Z here.

Dear News: Three Sept*

cA4aKEIPQrerBnp1yGHv_IMG_9534-3-2

Dear News: Three Sept*

Once
I dreamed
of writing,
seeing my name
in front of
daily
news.

As
I read
chaotic
election, war,
I can’t help
but just
sigh.

My
dream snapped
like tulip
killed by winter.
Dear news, I
once loved
you.

©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.

Photo credit: Sergey Zolkin


In response to Daily Post: Snap and Napowrimo Day 16.

 

Today, I challenge you to fill out, in no more than five minutes, the following “Almanac Questionnaire,” which solicits concrete details about a specific place (real or imagined). Then write a poem incorporating or based on one or more of your answers.

Almanac Questionnaire:

Weather: Winter

Flora: Tulip

Architecture: Cave

Customs: Giving

Mammals/reptiles/fish: Rabbit

Childhood dream: Writing

Found on the Street: Cars

Export: Fruits

Graffiti: Bold

Lover: Dear

Conspiracy: Politics

Dress: Skirt

Hometown memory: Streams

Notable person: Mitch Albom

Outside your window, you find: Hummingbirds

Today’s news headline: Election

Scrap from a letter: I once loved you.

Animal from a myth: Phoenix

Story read to children at night: David and Goliath

You walk three minutes down an alley and you find: Trash

You walk to the border and hear: Jason Mraz and Sara Bareilles

What you fear: Dead

Picture on your city’s postcard: Buildings

*Sept

The Sept is a simple invented form patterned after the number 7.

The Sept is:

  • a heptastich, a poem in 7 lines.
  • syllabic, 1-2-3-4-3-2-1 syllables in each line.
  • unrhymed.

Read more of my Napowrimo 2016 poems here!

 

Fly: A Fib

Fib

Fly: A Fib
©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer


Soar
high,
leave thy
weights and loads,
tear off doubting cloak,
follow the sun, let go, just float.

Photo credit: Kupono Kuwamura


In response to Blogging from A to Z Challenge: F is for Fib

Fib

Fib or fibonacci poem is based on the Fibonacci sequence. The number of syllables in each line of the poem is the sum of the previous two lines: 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8.

Missed a letter/poem? Read all Poetry from A-Z here.

Chase: A Cinquain

Cinquain

Chase: A Cinquain
©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer

Chaser
of hazy hopes
believes impossible
in time will become possible,
dreamer.

Photo credit: Serhat Duygun


In response to Blogging from A to Z Challenge: C is for Cinquain

Cinquain

Cinquain is a short, usually unrhymed poem consisting of twenty-two syllables distributed as 2, 4, 6, 8, 2, in five lines.

Missed a letter/poem? Read all Poetry from A-Z here.