i am still here

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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

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paper dreams

i have a pocketful of folded paper cranes,
inked with agony, worry, fear of my boneless brain.
numb, loss, i’ll wander, maybe after i watch them burn.

08.31.2017
©2017 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo by Dev Benjamin on Unsplash

In response to Sonya of Only 100 Words‘ Three Line Tales Week 83.
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.

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.

 

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.

City’s Chaos

My ears hate the scandalous honking cars and buses. My eyes are hurt by the sight of children sleeping beside roads and under bridges. My nose are irate with the stinky smell of cigarette and engine smoke. My tongue can taste the bitterness this city’s chaos spoke. Yet my skin can feel the powerful tingle of my dream-burning bones.

Hellish oh surely,
for dreamers it’s heavenly.
Work hard, play harder.

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

In response to dVerse‘s Haibun Monday #23 – contemporary cityscape by Björn Rudberg (brudberg) who wrote Cityscape Anatomy.

dverse

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.

Seasons’ Winds

Almost four months from now, I’ll be turning 25. It recently dawned on me, oh, what have I done with my life? I’ve studied hard and earned honors, but my ultimate dream still feels too far. I’m working hard but monetary state remains harsh.Yet looking back, I know my family and I are already far from where we’ve been. I believe the coming years hold a promising future that’s still unseen.

There’s a valiant tree
undressing with seasons’ winds.
Change doesn’t mean death.

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

In response to dVerse‘s Haibun Monday:Winds of Change by Toni of kanzensakura who also wrote about change here!

Thank you for the lovely haibun prompts, Toni! I maybe a newbie in dVerse but I really admire your warmth as a person and your talent as a poetess. I wish you a lovely hiatus.

dverse

Please write for me a one paragraph haibun about change. End it with a nature-based haiku.

Catoptromancy

4

Catoptromancy: A Cinquino*

You showed
a future filled of finished dreams,
where all I want’s now mine—
but why am I
alone?

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

Photo credit: Unsplash.com

Word Inspiration: Sarah Doughty of Heartstring Eulogies (Thank you, Sarah!)


*Cinquino

Cinquino is a gimmicky invented verse form that reverses the syllable count of the Crapsey Cinquain. It was found in a book on poetry for teachers and was created by a 20th century American educatorJames Neille Northe.

The Cinquino is:

  • a poem in 5 lines.
  • syllabic, 2-8-6-4-2 syllables per line.
  • unrhymed

 

Qualm: A Quinzaine

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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.