A Mother’s Heart

8

I almost dropped the two full paper bags when I saw the familiar blue car parked in front of our home. So they are back after a month.

Seated in front of my husband, my daughter and her rugged boyfriend sat in full-of-fear silence. I walked in without looking at them. I might not be able to stop myself from hugging my stubborn child who loves to escape with the “love of her life”.

“I’m pregnant,” her shaky voice revealed before she finally broke into tears.

“We’re not surprised,” I said as I gripped my husband’s shoulder.

I looked at my fragile 16-year old girl with an aching mother’s heart. What have I done wrong? I’m afraid I’ll never know.

Word count: 120
©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo credit:Yinglan 🙂

In response to Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers (FFfAW) October 25, 2016.

Rules:

  • a flash fiction challenge (stories in 100-175 words or less)
  • each story should have a beginning, a middle, and an end
  • no serial (continuation) stories
  • include a pingback to the challenge post

Thank you for hosting this awesome prompt, Priceless Joy! ❤ 

Read more short stories here:

Morning View

aug 10

Awakened by the loud jeers, cheers of the playing boys outside, I slowly went out of bed. He’s standing just outside our bedroom door staring, waiting for me. He offered his hands with a weak smile. I smiled back and took his hand to his surprise.

Outside, I gripped his hands tighter as my eyes adjust to the shining sun. Then I saw the cheerful and loud boys. Stubborn tears fall. The vivid memories of my four soccer-playing sons rushed back.

Wrapping his around me, he softly whispered, “It’s okay, love. Our boys are surely playing in heaven too.”

Word count: 100

©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.

Photo credit: Yinglan


 

In response to Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers (FFfAW) August 09, 2016.

Rules:

  • a flash fiction challenge (stories in 100-175 words or less)
  • each story should have a beginning, a middle, and an end
  • no serial (continuation) stories
  • include a pingback to the challenge post

Thank you for hosting this awesome prompt, Priceless Joy! ❤ 

Read more short stories here:

Word-High July: Kinaadman

25

Kinaadman

Her knowledge
isn’t from
four corners
of a school room.

Her wise words
are from her mistakes,
she hopes will be
her child’s boon.

©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer

Photo credit: BuzzFeed, Unsplash


In response to Word-High July: 30 Beautiful Filipino Words: Day 25 – Kinaadman.

Banner 1

A Mother’s Wish

In this light-less blood-filled room,
my screaming thoughts escape my head,
my stubborn heart’s beating, I wish I was dead.

I wish to smell your innocent scent.
Experts say newborn’s fragrance is like drugs.
I wish to be high on you, even once.

I wish to feel the softness of your skin.
They say your illuminating cover is like silk.
Oh, how soft will your lips be when you taste my milk?

I wish I heard you cry.
They say your wail could tear my ears in two.
I don’t care. I just wish I heard even a coo.

All these wishes could have been true.
If only I was brave enough to carry you.

©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.

Photo credit: Unsplash


In response to dVerseMeeting the Bar; the Elegy.

dverse

Today I’m presenting how to write an elegy. The word is derived from the Greek word elegus which means “song of bereavement.”  An elegy is a poem written to lament the loss of someone or something special to you.  It is a poem of mourning that expresses three stages of grief:  sorrow, admiration and acceptance.  Elegies can be written for a personal loss, a public figure or a particular event.

First Forever (A Repost)

First princess
for them, that’s me.
First forever
that’s them, for me.

I am a champion
among millions of racers.
They are conquerors
of life’s stumbling glaciers.

I am a dreamer
chasing high goals.
They’re the cheerleaders
who push me to brawl.

I will marry and
have family someday.
But surely they will be
with me all the way.

Because, first princess
for them, that’s me.
And first forever
that’s them, for me.

©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
First published: January 23, 2016

Photo credit: Unsplash


A poem for my beloved Nanay and Tatay whose celebrating their wedding’s silver anniversary!

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They are my first forever. ❤

The Colours of the Flag

Surrounded by bright almost blinding camera flashes, carpet as red as fresh human blood, bodies in ensemble more expensive than my house, I felt overwhelmed and lost at the same time.

I am an indie actress with a promising film nominated in Cannes Film Festival. This is big. Bigger than my dreams as a kid.

As the world waits for the show to start, my eyes widely surveys the festive scene. Then I saw the blue, the yellow and the red drinks— the colours of my country’s flag.

They took me home. Away from the limelight and shimmering cinematic sight. Near my beloved yet almost hungry-all-the-time children. 

If only my eyes can swallow all they see, I will take them all and free my children from the prison called poverty.

Word count: 130

©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.

Photo credit: Sunday Photo Fiction


NOTE: The three wine glasses have the colours of my country’s flag. 🙂

In response to Sunday Photo Fiction for May 22, 2016.

Sunday Photo Fiction is a weekly writing challenge hosted by Alastair Forbes where a photo is used as a prompt for a piece of fiction using around 200 words. The piece doesn’t have to center around exactly what the photo is, it can be just used as a basis for a story.

Enjoy more awesome stories here:

Beneath the Mango Tree

Beneath the Mango Tree: A Spoon River Verse*

My heart hasn’t beaten, lungs didn’t breathe even. No one knows my fragile body was laid beneath the mango tree, behind a house that’s shabby, where she lived— my unknown mommy.

It was war time when she was raped, a faceless man brought her early grave. In split second, I felt the magnitude, of her pain, and love, her motherly attitude. But I am weak and I gave in, away from her arms towards hundred years of solitude.

©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.

Photo credit: Unsplash


In response to May Book Prompts –  by Sarah Doughty and MahWrites.

Today’s prompt is One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcí­a Márquez.

One Hundred Years of Solitude

*Spoon River Verse is a subgenre of Mask or Persona poetry. The term is inspired by the Spoon River Anthology by Edgar Lee Masters, American Poet (1869-1950). The anthology is a series of poems written as if each poem was being spoken by the dead. The setting is a cemetery in an imaginary western town, Spoon River. The voices make up a ‘history’ of the town’s past residents and their relationships.

The Spoon River poem is a poem of voice. The poem speaks from and for a person, not necessarily the poet. The subject, diction and imagery should reflect the character who is speaking through the poem.

Spoon River Verse is:

  • framed at the discretion of the poet.
  • dramatic.
  • written in the voice of a character of a particular time and place. Usually the voice comes from the grave. The person, the era, the location should all be heard through the words of the poem.

 

Special Child

Special Child

I am used to kids with autism being called ‘special’ until I have given birth to one. Since then, I hated that term.

I gradually figured out they call kids with autism special to sugarcoat the word abnormal. My son isn’t normal. I’m fine with that. No sugarcoat needed.

He can only say one word, not papa neither mama. Just ‘nanasor’ which means dinosaur. He was lost in his own Jurassic Park. As he aged that doesn’t changed. I thought his speech-inability is the worst part of his autism, but I was wrong.

One hot afternoon, an old lady was hit by a truck. No one was able to see the fast-paced accident, only my five-year old son with autism.

He shouted ‘nanasors’ until I figured out his one-word message.

That moment I knew, he is indeed a special child.

Word count: 140

©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.

Photo credit: Yinglan of This is Another Story


In response to Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers (FFfAW) May 17, 2016.

Rules:

  • a flash fiction challenge (stories in 100-175 words or less)
  • each story should have a beginning, a middle, and an end
  • no serial (continuation) stories
  • include a pingback to the challenge post

Thank you for the cute yet tough prompt, Priceless Joy! ❤ 

Read more short stories here:

Dying, Darling

mono

Dying, Darling: A Monorhyme*

As I lay dying
I’ll be rememb’ring…

Your tired hands so caring,
sharp words yet encouraging,
big round eyes yet endearing,
non-singer voice yet calming.

Most of all as I lay dying,
my soul will be smiling,
with the faith it is carrying,
the best heirloom from you, mother darling.

©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.

Photo credit: Unsplash


This is written for my dearest Nanay, who celebrates her 45th birthday today. ❤

In response to May Book Prompts –  by Sarah Doughty and MahWrites.

Today’s prompt is As I Lay Dying by William Faulkner.

As I Lay Dying

A *Monorhyme is a poem in which all the lines have the same end rhyme.

 

Mother’s Choices: Two Kimo*

mother

Mother’s Choices: Two Kimo*
(A poem for the strongest woman I call Nanay)

She gave birth to a baby she called Rose.
Loving beyond borders, walls.
She somehow made the right choice.

Miles from home she ran with the man she loves.
Her beating heart overruled.
Her innocence captured.

©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.

Photo credit: Unsplash


In response to Napowrimo Day 28. (yes, I’m catching up! :D)

 

And now, for our prompt (optional, as always). Today I’d like to challenge you to write a poem that tells a story. But here’s the twist – the story should be told backwards. The first line should say what happened last, and work its way through the past until you get to the beginning. Now, the story doesn’t have to be complicated (it’s probably better if it isn’t)!

*Kimo

The Kimo is an Israeli version of the haiku, found at Poetry Kaleidoscope. There should be no movement in the imagery.

The Kimo is:

  • a tristich, a 3 line poem.
  • syllabic 10-7-6 syllables per line.
  • unrhymed.

Read more of my Napowrimo 2016 poems here!