I write because I read. I read because I write.
Do the crows knowa group of them is called a murder?A murder, their lunch,delivered by guns onhumans' hands.Do the rooks wear some suit and tie, to fit their name--- a parliament. Do they get to decide wherethe next bomb willspit out its wreak? Oh, that's on us, again.These corvids probablythink these terms soundbest to describe… Continue reading i wonder
"For how can I be sure I shall see again the world on the first of May." My window was a painted sunset, in floating strokes of purple, orange, and raspberry's blood. I played a song about roses and taste of hope, my hips swaying free of audience, but mindful of the noodles not to… Continue reading plot twist: a 100-word story
sold on a morningMay to him whosehands the clock hascolored gray, for agrave under a bowedoak tree where lieshis ring's eternalpair. — 05.04.2022©2022 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.Photo by Daniil Silantev on UnsplashThis work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License. For dVerse: dVerse – Poetics – Small Change or Big Bucks
rope. there is no rope nor a glassplatformnor a hand orthin twig to hold me up.my feet dang-lingin this period of forced pause.static seconds delayeven the wingsof a soaring eagle.someone press the playbuttonplease. — 05.05.2022©2022 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.Photo by Daniil Silantev on UnsplashThis work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License. For dVerse: Quadrille… Continue reading mid-air: a quadrille
When I was a child, our rusted roof is usually dotted with sparrows looking for leftover rice. Hop. Hop. Hopping every morning. Singing to the tune of my mother's waking up pots. We are pardoned from the persimmon leaves of fall. The spooky skeletons of winter. However, our pockets are filled with flood that knocks,… Continue reading sparrow songs: a haibun
after Caroll Crush March sun spills likea runny yolk in betweendry twigs of tall oaks. The foliaged groundwakes up, feet free of slippers crack crisp leaves with wormsbeneath. Above, early birds sing a tune only they can understand as ifhushing two melting dark-candy eyes. — 03.09.2022©2022 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.Photo by Maarten Deckers on… Continue reading komorebi*
when i find it hard to see things that can make my old heart glad, i remember the scared eyes of my one-year-old self. my small arms hugging my then thin dad. at early 20's, with his hair middle-parted. on his left hand was a pink, birthday balloon, on his lips a small smile. his… Continue reading safe
aboveearth's ceilingused to be a floating sea where flying boats careen sofree. until, likeautumn leaves, millions are dead. tiny things inhaled-death. open up like daffodilsof baby spring baiting for bees. unzip the clouds. allow hellosto happenagain. — 09.14.2021©2021 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.Photo via Unsplash This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International… Continue reading letter to the sky
sonnets no longer needed,era of legend-loveended before our birthmonth cracked its firstegg yolk sun, surelysome lovers of eagle know neverever should wings yearn for the sunoverly close or turn tougly ashes no poet will mourn about. — 08.25.2021©2021 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.Photo via Unsplash This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International… Continue reading hiding: an acrostic plus*
walking bones and fleshtalking nerves cartilagesmachinery - dark inside - yet summer warm with heart as suni wonder those with long long gunsas they fire bang see blood and brain splattered who is the god who honors what their masked lips prayed? — 08.20.2021©2021 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.Photo by freestocks on Unsplash This… Continue reading bang: a quadrille
A Reading Writer 