husband and wife, lockdown edition: a quadrille

elizabeth-tsung-pYd6_Iw8TpM-unsplash

screeching tires
roared back to life
running away from
fuming wife,

leaving minty
toothpaste uncapped,
garlic burnt
with bitter bite,

lockdown birthing
silly fights.

yet once the stars
start blending the night,

wheels will return
to arms so light,

hush, hush,
let’s not fight.

05.05.2020
©2020 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo by Unsplash
Creative Commons License
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.
For dVerse Lighten up a bit!

table of elements and wedding vows

Marriage. Marriage is a pair of destined hands
clap not, cannot, without the other one—
no song needed to taste one’s tears;
no spice to smell one’s burning sun.

Marriage. Marriage is all the sonnets
William Shakespeare (welcomed and
farewelled in Church of the Holy Trinity,
just for your information for marriage
will not make sense, sometimes)
has written, and the tragedies the
Intellectuals have dissected and adored
‘fore the beginning of Gutenberg’s time.

Well. Love. Love can make one mad
and blind and write, usually all at the
same time, until it births its favorite son—
marriage where poems are etched
at the back of their hands, memorised
by heart like the Table of Elements
during your dreaded Chemistry class.

Marriage. Marriage is a pair of destined hands
clap not, cannot, without the other one;
can be clenched fists for a while
tangled fingers most of the time,
until one’s breath is done,
until one’s breath is done.

04.05.2020
©2020 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Catrin Welz-Stein
Creative Commons License
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.
For NaPoWriMo 2020: Day Five

wish come true

You are asking why
I haven’t been writing
lately about love,
well, it’s because

you do not utter
a wish every night
once you can already
hold it with your

bare hands. So why

I haven’t been
writing about love
it’s because I
already have

you.

r. c. gonzales – roy | page 138 of Poems for S
Sharing with you some excerpts of my poetry book, Poems for S!
Kindle and paperback available here: https://amzn.to/379k2Qd

Mockup for Facebook image_v2

©2019 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo is mine

wish come true

You are asking why
I haven’t been writing
lately about love,
well, it’s because

you do not utter
a wish every night
once you can already
hold it with your

bare hands. So why
I haven’t been
writing about love
it’s because I
already have

you.

r. c. gonzales – roy | page 138 of Poems for S
Sharing with you some excerpts of my upcoming book, Poems for S!
Pre-order available here: https://amzn.to/2CSrGAU .

Mockup for Facebook image_v2

©2019 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash

Not Forgetful

Her eyes on the slow, old tram coming. Her hands inside the bag, checking the cold office keys, the leather notepad, the tattered coin purse, the thin phone, her essentials. Lucky day, no forgotten items today.

Her ride to the office is about to arrive when a familiar face crossed her peripheral view. He has aged, but his bright smiling eyes remained the same. The way he wraps his arms around his woman stayed the same.

Her finger, the throne of their once wedding ring, aches. Sometimes she wishes to be forgetful, but the essential memories are stubborn. They remain.

Word count: 100
©2017 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo credit: Yinglan

For Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers (FFfAW) May 30, 2017. 🙂

The Forgetful

My searching hands
were left bare
by the naked bed
which bear
no one but me.

Sighing, I know
the drill
I get out of our
blanket-made hill
to find he.

Welcoming sunrise
kisses my just opened eyes,
the noise of the road
whispers cluttered sighs,
there is he.

Hugging his guitar,
plucking eloquently,
as if no one’s around,
just his music and he.
Please look at me.

In scintilla
of a second,
he looks up with
fingers in chords,
He don’t know me.

I force a shy smile,
as my salty droplets fall,
he only knows his music
and forget almost all,
including me.

Tightly, I hug myself
and pray tomorrow will be different.

Word count: 115
©2017 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo credit: Sunayana MoiPensieve

For Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers (FFfAW) March 21, 2017. 🙂

and for dVerse‘s OpenLinkNight #192 hosted by Grace.

dverse

The Bathroom Pianist

I was three when curiosity was born inside me. I remember the first thing I asked my mom was about the grand piano covered and silenced inside her room’s bathroom.

I grew old asking why it’s hidden. She has offered me nothing but a teary smile, until today. With the same nostalgic yet melancholic look, she said, “Your dad proposed to me with a song he composed inside his house’s bathroom with this piano.”

“Everyday I wait for him to get this back or to play for me again. I placed it here so he knows where to find it.”

Note: The tiled wall looks bathroom to me. 😀
Word count: 100
©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo credit: Mike Vore

For Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers (FFfAW) March 07, 2017. 🙂 Glad to be back dear PJ! ❤

Four Bullets

One. Two. Three. Four.

His seven-decade-old hands hold tight on the rusting rails of his lightless room’s window. His darkened eyes stare at the now fallen tree and then to the triumphant men who successfully defeated the lush pine.

The lush pine planted and reared by his wife. His wife who died last month.

He slowly turns his tear-stained face away from the laughing men and the defeated tree as his old hand unlocked the drawer hiding his pistol. He reaches further for the bullets and slowly loads the gun.

With a dark smile, he whispers…

One. Two. Three. Four.

Word count: 100
©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo credit: Shivangi Singh

Here’s my dark comeback for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers (FFfAW) January 17, 2017. 🙂 Miss you, PJ!

Read more stories here:

 

 

Book Review: Fates and Furies by Lauren Groff

Fates and Furies

“Paradox of marriage: you can never know someone entirely; you do know someone entirely.”

39th – Fates and Furies by Lauren Groff

   Rating: ❤❤ (Not for me, sorry.)

What is it about: Every story has two sides. Every relationship has two perspectives. And sometimes, it turns out, the key to a great marriage is not its truths but its secrets. At the core of this rich, expansive, layered novel, Lauren Groff presents the story of one such marriage over the course of twenty-four years.

At age twenty-two, Lotto and Mathilde are tall, glamorous, madly in love, and destined for greatness. A decade later, their marriage is still the envy of their friends, but with an electric thrill we understand that things are even more complicated and remarkable than they have seemed.

What I Love: This book is filled with beautifully poetic lines. I actually thought this will be as great as All the Light We Cannot See but…

What I Don’t Love Much: As you kept reading, the book somehow losses its glory. The length is too long, the twists are too much. There are parts that are a bit too dramatic.

Wise Words: “Grief is for the strong, who use it as fuel for burning.”

“Struggle forms character. No struggle, no character.”

©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo and Story Summary: Goodreads and Unsplash

Last Ride

28-30
This is the last part of my ‘Ride’ short story series. For best the reading experience, please read Ride and Second Ride.❤

I am ashamed of myself while he’s laughing his heart out.

This is always the scenario when our friends, our families and even our little kids recalled that fateful second ride.

The tale of that beautiful woman on his shoulder, apparently a complete stranger to him, has been a laughing matter for him, a shameful scene for me and a hit plot twist for our friends and family.

He never saw me on that day, and even the next Monday and even the next month.

Our second ride has been our last ride together.

As days became weeks and weeks became months, I have lost all hopes for a part three for our bus-inspired-love-story. I erased my fantasies. I made myself believe that he’s no way my soul mate. I tried to forget him and that girl on his shoulder.

It was a bright Saturday morning when fate surprised me in no way I have imagined.

I saw him in front of my house… talking to my Dad! My Dad! Like my scary-looking Dad!

My heart jumped out, my eyes went wide when I realized that he is indeed in front of my house…with a bouquet of flowers.

I have no idea, until now, how he knew my address. He said it’s a beautiful secret he will keep until his last breath.

But his courage to ask my Dad for permission to court me on their first meeting sealed his seat in my heart.

It took him a year for me to said yes.

It took him another three years for me to be his fiancee.

It took us a year to prepare for our wedding.

It took us two kids to give our lives’ new meaning.

And it took us a bumpy yet full-of-love two-decade ride on marriage to somehow prove that our story has no ending.

01.22.2016
©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer

Photo credit: Favim