winged dreams (a lanterne)

Let
hope be
the wings of
your uncharted
dreams.

03.23.2018
©2018 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash

In response to Blogging from A to Z Challenge and NaPoWriMo 2018.
L is for Lanterne.
Lanterne are:
  1. a pentastich, a poem in 5 lines.
  2. syllabic, 1-2-3-4-1 syllables per line.
  3. is composed with no punctuation and no rhyme, each end-word should be strong.
  4. centered on the page. Since this is a concrete or shape poem, the length of the word on the page factors into the equation, syllable count is not enough to determine the selection.
  5. title optional.

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kiss of faith (a fib)

Come
out
of your
self-made cave,
new morn’s warm kiss waits
to end your night sky’s loss of faith.

03.23.2018
©2018 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash

In response to Blogging from A to Z Challenge and NaPoWriMo 2018.
F is for Fib.
The Fib is the brain child of American screenwriter, Gregory Pincus found in his blog at GottaBook in 2006 . The Fib is his solution for the need to write Haiku with a few more syllables. Based on the Fibonacci concept of the sequential numbers 0-1-1-2-3-5-8, It is a hexastich with progressive syllable count and has become very popular on the internet. The elements of the Fib are:
  1. a hexastich, a poem in 6 lines
  2. syllabic, syllables 1-1-2-3-5-8

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tick tock (a butterfly cinquain)

It takes
many tick tocks
before your wings open,
to taste its first lick of earth’s wind
before
your lightweight feathers kiss earth’s breeze
While the clock is singing
learn patience in
waiting.

03.23.2018
©2018 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash

In response to Blogging from A to Z Challenge and NaPoWriMo 2018.
B is for Butterfly Cinquain.
Butterfly Cinquain isn’t a cinquain at all:it is a nonostich (9 lines)and uses the syllable count of the Crapsey Cinquain and then reverses it, therefore the misnomer.  The elements of the Butterfly Cinquain are:
  1. 9 line poem.
  2. syllabic, 2-4-6-8-2-8-6-4-2 syllables per line.
  3. unrhymed.

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T o M y D e m o n s

As I grew older I learned
to stop hating you,
and start loving you.

For your ruthlessness
is the lamp showing me
to keep my heart kind.

For your darkness
is the night teaching me to find
my own light,

no matter how hard.

02.28.2018
©2018 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash

O v e r f l o w

In Psychology they say,
the glass will be half empty
or half full based on
how you see it,

on my way home
late last night,
I paused a minute
to look up
to the hundreds
of the stars I can see,
and the thousands more
I cannot see.

For some reasons
they reminded me
of the many things that stains
my heart with melancholy,
and the much more things
unknown to me
that should paint me happy.

So I choose
to start my journey
to discovering
each unchartered joys
life has hidden for me.

I’m sure the glass
will not only be full,
it
will
overflow.

02.25.2018
©2018 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo by Yeshi Kangrang on Unsplash

Happy Monday, everybody! 🙂

Music Monday: Into The Deep

Your love is a flood and I’m
Caught in the current of Your living waters
It’s Your love, it’s Your love
Your presence is a flood
And I’m caught in the wonder
You have taken me over
You have won my heart

Citipointe Live, Into the Deep


Have a blessed week, beautiful souls!

I’ll be revealing a book news soon!

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.

homebound

i have wandered far
from Your loving bay,
i believed alone i
can pave my own way.

step one, two, then three
i walked away slowly
from Your presence like
a bird breaking free.

not knowing never have
You locked me inside
of Your words and light,
my God, bring me back.

08.02.2017
©2017 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash

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.

 

Between My Bleeding Lines’ Readers: Sarah Doughty

Authenticity

“In a pool of infinite darkness
called life, don’t fear that light
glowing beneath surface.”

I am more than micro-tales of love or unbearable heartache. I am more than just pretty pictures with shallow words on crinkled paper. I’m not afraid to delve deeper into the human condition and come out the other side feeling that I made some level of connection with the harsh realities of this world. I’m not deterred by unseen, unfeeling, and listless eyes, searching elsewhere for little bits of romanticized half-truths or incomplete thoughts. I’m not burdened with the need to be someone I’m not, but instead choose to show my vulnerabilities and wear my heavy burdens for the world just so others can see they aren’t alone. I am not intimidated by those that choose the easy path, and instead embrace those that devour the depths of my daydreams and the harshness of my nightmares with the desire to continue on those paths with me. I am a weaver of tales, a collector of thoughts, a bearer of truths — a conjurer of magic, and this is the shimmering light in the unforgiving, darkened oblivion known as life.

© Sarah Doughty | Heartstring Eulogies


Meet my BETWEEN MY BLEEDING LINES’ beta-readers: @thesarahdoughty, also of @bookisheulogies and curator at @creativecoterie.

Sarah is the mother of epic books and stunning poems. But aside from being a brilliant writer, one can admire her dauntless and so so so kind heart.

I am more than blessed to be called one of her friends and my book is privileged to have gone through her expert eyes. She suggested helpful edits which helped in refining my poems.

And when i thought i could not ask for more, she offered to help me with the cover and darn, her design is AWE-MAZING! (i am excited to share it to everyone!) My gratitude for you, love, is so beyond words. I owe you a lot.

(As the release of my BETWEEN MY BLEEDING LINES nears (this month!), I would like to feature the amazing writers who guided me (technically and morally) all through out this nine-month journey. I am blessed to have them.)