P e d e s t r i a n ( A Tanka )

Is it to the right,
or is it to the near left?
Should I cross the bridge
or should I retreat before
the inevitable fall?

02.16.2018
©2018 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash

In response to dVerse MTB — Brevity
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I m p r i n t

catrin-welz-stein-german-surrealist-graphic-designer-tuttart-24

You carry

a bloodline
that has survived years
of hunger and hate,

a mutating gene
that has conquered
thousands of decaying dates,

the sturdy roots
of forefathers who had lived
for your beginning,

the dauntless bones
and bricks of humans
who valued breathing.

Survivor is long imprinted
in your veins.

You are born to break
limiting chains.

02.14.2018
©2018 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Image by artist Catrin Welz-Stein.

In response to dVerse Inspired by Art!
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M o u n t a i n F a b r i c

imgpsh_fullsize

As the battered
wheels climb thousands
more feet above
the unending sea,
my mummed heart
undresses slowly.

My nakedness
embraces the
soft mountain fabric
made by murmurs of
the wind and leaves
of the giant
green guardians of
the endless Himalayas.

I am home.

02.13.2018
©2018 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via my dearest Shubhodeep Roy

In response to dVerse Quadrille #50 using the word “murmur”. This is inspired by my recent trip in India which touched my soul in a different level. 🙂 You can read more about it here.
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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?
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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’.
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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.
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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

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

 

mummed magic

the scarlet leaf
of the almost bare autumn tree,
s  l  o  w  l  y , ever s  l  o  w  l  y ,
f
a
l
l
i
n
g
from its home twig
to its grave earth.

the crystal snowflake
of the heavy, winter cloud
g e n t l y , ever g e n t l y ,
d
e
s
c
e
n
d
i
n
g
from its throne in heaven
to its melting ground.

the brave sprout
of the fresh, spring seed
s o f t l y , ever s o f t l y ,
e
s
c
a
p
i
n
g
its cotyledons’ cave
towards the sky’s bright, open shade.

the soft, infant rays
of the smiling, summer sun
g e n t l y , ever g e n t l y,
b
u
r
s
t
i
n
g
into tiny sparkles of warmth
to kiss the waiting land.

these are earth’s mummed magic,
they need no noise to be majestic.

P.S. Is it evident that I fantasize about four seasons too much? 😀
09.06.2017
©2017 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo by Matt Lewis on Unsplash

In response to Magic by Paul of paul scribbles.
So my poetic pals, your task if you choose to accept it, is to pen a poem using the word MAGIC in some form or write a piece that is quite simply MAGICAL. You know you can.
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season singing

traversing the same route five times a week presents me a repeating view again and again and yes, again. the sight of houses, from well-made to thatched huts, occasionally interrupted by massive spaces filled with wild grasses or field of rice stalks, and once with a huge mall. the neighborhood will then be replaced with the passing silhouettes of trees lined prim and proper along the edge of the paved, wide highways. then the homes and factories and taller buildings will wave hello as if to signal the end of the highway and the beginning of the honk-filed and jam-packed city road.

with every single day passing, only the heat of the sun and the cold raindrop dripping are the signals of the Philippines’ two seasons’ ending — wet and dry. (and most of the time, like now, they seem to be fond of overlapping. like summer for the day and thunder and lightning for the evening.) as much as i wish to witness the season’s undressing from winter, spring, summer, and fall, i am only blessed by the summer sun and the sometimes gentle sometimes harsh monsoon showers. 

yet still blessed, yes, for i am among the billions of soul experiencing the warmth of morning sun and the darkness of the velvet evening. to live and to be living, itself is a blessing.

the summer sun and
the monsoon rain take their turns.
my grateful heart sings.

09.05.2017
©2017 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo by Devil_Jameson RAGE on Unsplash

In response to Haibun Monday: Komorebi by Toni of kanzensakura.
I would like you all to write a haibun about how you are affected by season changes, if you do any special activities, what you have done in the past or have planned for the future season between seasons
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