last leaf

cheers for choked up tears,
cries without list’ning ears.

cheers for wistful dreams
caught or lost in raging streams.

cheers for days of cavalier
where lone strength perseveres,

cheers for named fears
fin’lly found courage sears,

cheers for ‘nother year,
lost hope grows, reappears.

12.04.2018
©2018 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash

For dVerse Quadrille #70: Poems of Good Cheer

g o l d s m i t h ( a haibun )

Whenever I look back, I see the zigzag road of twists and turns, of ups and downs, my once proud heart has been through. I was a decorated student. My dad won’t walk with me in graduation ceremonies without a medal. His standard has been my fire. To excel. To be the best. To aim higher.

Whenever I look back, I realize those golden necklaces did nothing but bloat my ego and tire my soul. After college, they became more like a baggage than an honour. I was a Cum Laude (with honors) who can’t land a job for almost a year. A bright student who can’t pass her (many) final interviews.

Whenever I look back, I remember how His hands so holy carefully crack my pride and douse my smoke of arrogance. I remember the pain as my narcissistic temple crumble. I remember how with bowed neck, medals removed, feet blistered, heart surrendered, I learned His goodness and grace as I waited for Him to transform me into a humble, pure gem.

Calloused rock battered,
crushed, melted with brutal flame.
Gold birthed in waiting.

11.27.2018
©2018 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash

For dVerse Haibun Monday: Waiting

calendar leaves

One year ago I dived into another job, left the comfort of the four corners of a white room filled with the smell of fresh news and sweet scent of deadline sweats. With closed fists and shut eyes, I took a leap away from comfort to embrace the unknown new.

Now here we go again.

My soul sifts the autumn’s apple fume slowly succumbing to the mint breeze of winter. My bare feet moving inch per inch towards another cliff too stiff for me to see the bottom cloaked in dead black pitch. My ears can hear the soft crackles of January crackers and a faint love song of June’s giggling sea.

Dry calendar leaves
falling with each dusk and dawn.
Brave breaths ebb and flow.

10.30.2018
©2018 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash

For dVerse Haibun Monday – Transitions.

map of mess

Unfinished coffee,
void of warmth,
aching for last touch.
Oh, the daddy.

Spilled sauces blots
on canvas, wait,
it’s kitchen table top.
Oh, the mommy.

Crumbs of cookies
paved roads for
the hard working ants.
Oh, the eldest.

Traps made of Lego
too tiny, too tough,
barefoot left scathed.
Oh the youngest.

Bedroom scented
with the musk of
used pair of socks.
Oh, the middle child.

This map of mess
proves a house is still
a living,

breathing

home.

10.17.2018
©2018 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash

For dVerse Beauty in Ugliness.

w i n t e r g u m s

Cold against the bare skin
of warm, deep-lined palm,

colder like a December midnight
against the tastebuds of tongue.

Brick-hard on top of a hand—
so fragile and so soft.

Sweet, chewy ‘side the calcium cave
with teeth-made loft.

Perhaps, humans are winter gums—
sugar-coated, guarded, armored
at first glance,

melting, undressing, when inside
a found home with sincere,
summer warmth.

08.25.2018
©2018 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash

For dVerse Mindfulness and Poetry.
Here is the gum I held to birth this poem. 🙂

2018-09-26 12.51.43 1.jpg

 

fogged up

photo-20180910162502118

While the roof sings to the tune of the monsoon keys, the leaves outside dance with the storm’s cold breeze, with a warm, fresh cup of coffee, my eyes stare blankly at the road void of wheels and feet— empty— wishing I can say the same with my mind.

The antonym of empty is full yet my thoughts are spilling and brimming a gusty storm of fear, uncertainty.

Today, a rejection letter opened the can of insecurity I thought I have kept locked tightly.

Perhaps, I’ll let the fog sits comfortably on the glass window, and inside my troubled mind.

Word count: 100
©2018 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo credit: wildverbs

For FFfAW 182nd by PJ! 😊

On Continuity

One…
two…
three…

what is there
for you to see?
Will there be
a bubbly bee—
bringer of
positivity,
yet with bite,
oh, so feisty.

Four…
five…
six…

what is there
for you to seek?
Is there a
bullet-size hole
where some light
will somehow leak—
to free the words
you cannot speak?

Seven…
eight…
nine…

Moving forward
is divine; giving up
is a landmine.
Once you step
on it— boom!



All is gone.

Your remnants
will then
go back to one.

08.03.2018
©2018 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash

In response to dVerse MTB: Punctuation and enjambment in poetry.

s a n c t u a r y

Clothed pair of soles
dressed in faux leather top
and synthetic rubber pants,

clanking, clanking,
against the cobbled,
sometimes cemented
concrete jungle paths,

dreams to be
bare and naked
against the foliage
of the fallen petals
of Autumn trees,

ready and brave
to be pricked with
the crisp and thin
sun-dried twigs,

for the slave feet of the city
yearns to be the lost queen
of the wild—

the sanctuary
of the soul’s respite.

05.02.2018
©2018 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash

In response to dVerse Let’s Get Wild!

verbs (a vakh)

Know the meaning of brave, break.
Learn the meaning of love, lose.
Swallow your unsaid words, breathe.
Think death is coming soon, live.

03.26.2018
©2018 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash

In response to Blogging from A to Z Challenge and NaPoWriMo 2018.
V is for Vakh.
Vakh (Sanskrit – “speech” interpreted by some as “verse teaching”) is a 14th century stanzaic form, originated by a woman poet, Lalla-Devi or Lallashwari, a Kashmiri Shaivite mystic and Sufi saint. 258 poems by Lalla were preserved in this form ranging from songs, proverbs and prayers. This form is found among the earliest Kashmiri literature and records when the Kashmiri language emerged from a descendant of Sanskrit.
The elements of the  Vakh are:
  1. a tetrastich, a poem in 4 lines although it has occasionally been found in a couple of stanzas of 4 lines.
  2. syllabic, lines of 7 syllables each, with 4 stresses per line.
  3. occasionally rhymed with true or near rhyme.

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