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

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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!!!

 

 

 

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

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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.

Cloud of Pain

the thing about sadness is
it’s like a thick rain cloud
clogged inside your throat
blocking your breath,
your words,
even your screams.
you want to melt it,
get rid of it,
but it becomes bigger and bigger
choking you further and further.

but the thing about sadness is
when you finally surrender and bask
on its harsh downpour,
its painful drops
will help you grow,
will help you rise,
will help you heal, until
the suffocating cloud
finally bowed, finally bowed.

and the thing about sadness
being a dark rain cloud is it’s
living in a fading permanence.
it will pass.
it will fade.

but you, you are the sometimes defeated
yet always fighting sun.
you will rise again and again,
until no cloud of pain remains.
until no cloud of pain remains.

—

P.S. This is the poem I mentioned to you, Ameena. 🙂

—

05.06.2017
©2017 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash

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In response to Poetics: Poems that could save your life by kim881.

The challenge is to write a poem to save someone’s life on one of the following themes:

apologies  –  bad hair day  –  bereavement  –  big decision  –  birthday blues  –  career crisis  –  commitment problems  –  divorce  –  does my bottom look big in this?  –  don’t let the bastards get you down  –  first date  –  first wrinkle  –  friendship  –  getting married  – hangover  –  illness  –  insomnia  –  is this relationship going anywhere?  –  is this the real thing?  –  Monday morning  –  money worries  –  moving house  –  parenthood  –  playing away  –  retail therapy  –  rock bottom  –  stressed out  – successfully single  –  when your lover has gone

 

The Afters

notice how the
verdant blanket
look greener
after a stormy night,

notice how the
sun’s glorious rays
shine extra brighter
after a pitch black night,

notice how your
fragile, fearful heart
beats braver
after losing a fight.

for in failing,
in losing,
we grow.

—

06.06.2017
©2017 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash

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In response to Quadrille #34 by whimsygizmo.

Today, I want you to poem us up a perfect STORM.

 

 

Flower and the Bee (Part 2)

sharing the second part of my duet with the bestie, Shubhodeep Roy.  i am the flower and he is the bee. the part 1 is here.

---

my bee, that kiss was sweeter than honey,
brimming with love, i’d choose it ceaselessly.
but after you let go, I saw the look in your eyes,
gazing at another pretty blue bathing in sunrise.

the wind remains warm, but I am freezing inside,
as you fly towards your next flower bride.
i have no choice but to let you go freely,
because I, however beautiful, will never be your only.

angry on me is my favorite flower,
she doesn’t know, how hungry i’m at this hour.
for survival, i might fly to another blue,
but for love, i will always come back to only you.

the queen bee was angry, for i brought only a little honey,
allow me to go to the flower brides, oh they are so many.
your nectar, though only a little, gives me life,
however you misunderstand me, you’ll be my only wife.

—

05.26.2017
©2017 Shubhodeep Roy | A Reading Writer.
All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Shubhodeep Roy

—

Shubhodeep Roy is a new addition to WordPress. 😉 And he tried dVerse Poetics Recently too. 🙂 Check him out here.

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In response to dVerse’s Open Link Night # 197!

One Heart at a Time

can an empty plate be a gift
to the young mouths
and empty stomachs
waiting for elusive food?

can a broken doll’s remaining head
pacify an orphan
after a destructive bomb
snatched her parents?

can an old, tattered blanket
warm up a homeless
sleeping naked
under the frozen rain?

can my hands and yours,
can my smile and yours,
be the calm,
be the balm,
of the wounds inflicted
by hate,
by war,
by injustices,
created by our co-humans?

maybe.
one heart at a time.

—

05.31.2017
©2017 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash

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In response to Wrap it in Ribbons Please! by lillian.

So today’s prompt: write a poem that includes the word “gift”….or is a reminiscence about a gift you received or gave to someone. Gift us with your words!

Fading Photograph

i stumbled upon my five-year-old smile pasted on a fading photograph. it was just me and my sister. she was crying. i was clapping. (mean me?). my small mouth was wide open, wide enough to show the three blank, toothless-gaps. while my sister, a year younger, was red in her wailing feat.

looking at the once child me, i wonder when did my innocence fade? where did my child-like, pure bliss go? who snatched my genuine smile? is it the cruel world? or is it my own bitter words? but then the present mirror shows i may be tired, i may be sometimes sad, but i am braver. i am kinder. i am stronger. i am broken but better.

storm-battered sappling
turns into a dauntless tree.
breaking’s bravery.

—

05.24.2017
©2017 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash

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In response to Haibun Monday #38, Kintsugi: The Art of Broken Pieces by Grace.

Our challenge is to write about finding beauty in the broken pieces or imperfection and/or the process of mending the broken pieces. You can write about a “broken” object, cityscape or landscape, or personal experience of mending and embracing imperfections. Please write 1 to 2 tight paragraphs of “prose”, followed by a nature-themed “haiku”.

Being that this is Haibun Monday, please write a haibun based on the prompt, ending with a seasonal haiku.   Don’t forget to visit and comment on others poetry, especially to those who have visited you.

Crossing Continents

we agreed to
dig and dig,
down under where
the worms and seeds
sleep and sleep.

for at the middle
of this continental-crossing
tunnel,
we promise to
fin’lly meet.

let’s say pardon
to the roots our
shovels will
step on.

let’s say bye
to the above earth
we’ll forget as we
move on.

for we will meet
underground,
beyond borders
of the map.

for we will live
underground
away from hate,
yes, towards love.

—

05.24.2017
©2017 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash

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In response to Underground by paul scribbles.

Bring me a poem from your underground travels and haul it back to the surface for us all to read. Happy writing.

Forest Orchestra

the sweet tweets of the birds,
the crisp cracks of dried twigs,
the whispered whistles of the wind,
the sounds of the forest orchestra.
oh, surreal and soothing
flora and fauna.

yet they can’t calm me like
how your heartbeats’
thump,
thump,
thump
can.

—

05.23.2017
©2017 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash

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In response to Sound Off! dVerse Quadrille #33 by Victoria C. Slotto.

I have a sound (adjective) reason for sharing this with you today and ask you now to use the word SOUND in a poem, following the very fun Quadrille form, a poem that soundly (adverb) embraces exactly 44 words, excluding the title. Check out the dictionary. I found a plethora of ways to sound-off. Maybe you will even want to play with assonance, consonance or one of the many ways that sound adds beauty, texture or feeling to a poem.

—

My debut book Between My Bleeding Lines is now available on Amazon and Createspace! Please see the following links:

• https://www.createspace.com/7023994
• http://www.amazon.com/dp/1544810997
• http://www.amazon.ca/dp/1544810997
• http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1544810997
• http://www.amazon.de/dp/1544810997
• http://www.amazon.es/dp/1544810997
• http://www.amazon.fr/dp/1544810997
• http://www.amazon.it/dp/1544810997

Thank you!

 

 

Buried Deep

her feet buried
in a deep, deep soil of grief
and self-doubt.

a larva cocooned so long,
afraid to break free,
to break out.

until the wind of change
made her shell dance,
wiggle, wriggle,
jiggle, wobble,
shake, bounce.

life’s gonna hurt
but it’s meant to be felt.
come out now,
free yourself,
be brave.

—

P.S. Another piece inspired by India Arie. This time it’s her song Break the Shell.

Child its time to break the shell
Life’s gonna hurt but its meant to be felt
You cannot touch the sky from inside yourself
You cannot fly until you break the shell

05.10.2017
©2017 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash

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In response to Soil poetics by Björn Rudberg (brudberg).

May is here and at least in Sweden it’s when we finally have spring. This is when all the strength of soil and seed spring forth. Every day is just another shade of green.

Today I want you to write poetry about soil. To me soil is both the source of life, and destiny for death. Soil is where we come from and soil you’ll be.