on aliens and cream borders: a haibun

Piet Mondrian. Broadway Boogie Woogie. 1942-43 | MoMA

Piet Mondrian, ‘Broadway Boogie Woogie, 1942-43, moma.org

More than a year I have been living inside this box with no divisions. Cream borders keep me company without judging my daily dancing alone and my full-hearted concerts on my own.

Identical squared-rooms from my right and left stood the same size as mine.  The closest left one is usually abandoned, an Airbnb available online. The room directly on my right has been occupied by another breath just a couple of weeks ago. We share the same rightful owner, but we remain nameless faces, after coming across each other once.

Wide glass window panes
taste the same April sky’s rage,
walls cage alien guests.

05.26.2020
©2020 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
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For dVerse Haibun Monday: Meet Piet .
For some reasons, the image above reminds me of my apartment. The many identical doors housing strangers side by side.

if only my blanket can speak

rarely do i dream, or
perhaps remember my
private drama series
playing under the

consciousness i can
not deliberately reach,

though when i was
able to grasp some
bits of pieces of an
already fading mid-
night memory it
will always involve

a plane crash-
ing (with full hollywood
exaggerated effects
of giant smoke and
angry fire) either
wreaking against the
vast thigh of a
meadow or on
poorly-spaced
gossiping roofs,
i have since

googled its meaning
resulting in more
confusion than
peaceful resolution
but at the back
of my honest
thought, i know,
perhaps the plane
is me, my ego, my
pride, my desire

to soar ever so high
wrapped with the
a bitter-tasting dread
of committing a
mistake permanent
and lasting, maybe,

maybe i have always
been afraid of falling

maybe i have always
been afraid of failing
.

04.04.2020
©2020 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Catrin Welz-Stein
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For NaPoWriMo 2020: Day Four

love in the time of coronavirus

Our love in the time
of coronavirus is
thousands of miles away,

my tourist visa got
cancelled before it sees
the light of another Indian day,

his feet are planted,
prohibited to fly to Malaysia’s sky,
because it is safer that way,

in the end, perhaps, nation
gates are needed to be locked
to keep the virus at bay,

regardless of the many
hearts sleeping on empty beds,
dreaming on sadness’ sleigh,

regardless of some pair of hands
burdened but enduring,
without home-arms to rest and stay,

like our love in the time
of coronavirus, parted
thousands of miles away,

but we are both here
filled with more love,
blessed on our own way,

at the back of our
surrendered hands—
a constant prayer,

to be inside a
single roof together,
one day. One day.

Note: Title inspired by the classic novel Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel Garcia Marquez
03.2020
©2020 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
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This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

variations of the word uprooting

as a toddler these chubby
set of tiny toes were
buried in brown cake
of forest’s earth, as the
plump fingers reach out
for blood-red wild berries,

as a student these
leather-covered soles
wandered through cemented
schools, universities, as
the mind gulps data after
data, oh so, committedly,

as a two-decade lady
these desperate feet
tried (begged) to belong
in carpeted corporate
floor, as the pocket gaped
with empty plates
waiting at home.

at present, these trotters
gait with certainty from
one plane to another,
on concrete cities to
Himalayan snowed floors,
with the same soft chin
looking up to thank
Him who is above,

prayers work. prayers work.

02.26.2020
©2020 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash
Creative Commons License
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For dVerse Poetics: Impermanence
…I’d like you to think about impermanence, things that are transient, or things that have passed their time. If you want to stick to the seasons, nature, or the weather, that’s fine, but I’d like to challenge you to try to come up with something different or unusual. Your poem can be in any style or form.

counting poems before and after him

thousand poems
have i written
‘fore fate allowed
me to meet him,

oh, how in hush heart-
beats, low key hums,
dearness draws near
me towards him,

oh, how my shy
muse sings hymns,
so sweetly since
i knew him,

oh, how rhymes
roll off in rivulets,
thousands and more
poems now for him.

01.31.2020
©2019 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash
For dVerse The music of alliteration, assonance, and consonance.
Today I would like you to try using different types of assonance and consonance in any poem of your choice. Try to listen to how it sounds, and see how you can enhance the connection between the letter you use and the meaning of the poem. Maybe you can add the beat of the poem with accentuated alliteration.
Inspired by my book Poems for S.

Mockup for Facebook image_v2

of bushes and spilt seeds

and so we

thought we
are just writing a silly
tale of the blue bloom
and the honey-hungry
bee

and so we

I mean I wrote
with sprinkled dusts
of jealousy while you
vowed to love me
the flower
only

and so we

let the days fall
like leaves of autumn
so bloody until December
wind knocks with
a bag full of
bravery

and so we

I mean you let
the tender beans of
love spilt out of
your quite
fickle mind but
so sure heart

and so we

I mean I
measured your
question with wary
and agony thinking one
day your words will
be swallowed again
yet we did
survive

and so we

after a long act
of beating around
the messy bush we
ran for the unknown cliff
and dove hand in
hand not knowing
how we will land
but here, we are
we did
survive

and so we

become a
we.

01.22.2019
©2019 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash
For dVerse Poetics: Shhhh! Do you Want to Know a Secret?

 

 

 

 

 

before you

But you arrived
with the blushing
sunset, you clothed
me with shared bravery.

As we heal, hand
in hand with the
balm of every tomorrow’s
morning dew, 

let me tell you,
I didn’t know
this heart, this heart
could carry this
much love

before you.

r. c. gonzales – roy | page 31 of Poems for S
Sharing with you some excerpts of my poetry book, Poems for S!
Kindle and paperback available here: https://amzn.to/2CSrGAU .

Mockup for Facebook image_v2

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

excerpt 4: the vow

I love how you made me brave. Like a spineless caterpillar you turned me into this brave but still soft butterfly, flying from one milestone to another because I know you always got my back. 

And I love you for choosing to break out of your shell to choose me. For your bravery to choose us.

r. c. gonzales – roy | page 145 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

for you: a zejel*

To you, who will hold my dear heart
with its hidden, broken sharp parts,
for you, dear, I write this word art.

Love’s a known sea I did explore.
Yes, I have loved some hims before.
Yet I know for us it’ll be much more.
Let’s wait until our story starts.

For now, let me just write to you,
a nameless man I don’t know who.
To let you know that this is true,
my heart is waiting for your heart.

r. c. gonzales – roy | page 8 of Poems for S
Excited to share with you some excerpts of my upcoming book, Poems for S! Pre-order available here: https://amzn.to/2CSrGAU.

Mockup for Facebook image_v2

Zéjel is a romantic Spanish form with Arabic influence related to the Qasida and adopted by the Spanish troubadours of 15th century.
*Zéjel are:
  1. syllabic, most often written in 8 syllable lines.
  2. stanzaic, opening with a mono-rhymed triplet followed by any number of quatrains.
  3. rhymed, the rhyme of the opening mudanza establishes a linking rhyme with the end line of the succeeding quatrains. Rhyme scheme, aaa bbba ddda etc
©2019 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo by Jake Melara on Unsplash

Crossing (Her) Bridge

Sweaty, cold hands grip the cold rails,
agonized eyes stare at her almost fading trails–
footprints of all she has done,
mud piles of all her missed fun,
holed-patches of all she has lost,
unturned stones of her dreams still at frost.

Waiting lungs heave one deep, deep breath,
shaky foot finally decided to take its first step–
towards a foggy future she has yet to know,
towards a misty tomorrow no crystal ball can show.

With a hoping heart cloaked with lit-up love,
with a warrior soul armored with fearless faith,
she runs and crosses her own unsteady bridge,
away from her yesterday’s oh, so useless weights.

01.12.2014
©2017 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo credit: Unsplash

In response to dVerse‘s Poetics: Abridged Version by the beautifully-hearted lillian.
Note: This is what happens when your 25th birthday is less than two weeks away. 😉 And it is fascinating that my last dVerse-inspired poem is also about bridges. ❤ 

dverse