little girls with chocolate cake feet

A two-minute quick sprint
out of a wooden house
with wiggling eight-step stairs
(“our” because we live there,
but is not really ours at all)

and I and my two sisters
are out of reach of our mom’s
arms carrying the fourth
young mouth of the family.

Under a soft-roast summer noon,
bare feet and little town mud
turns into a chocolate cake licking
our tiny toes — mushy and tickling.

Dressed in all white sando and thin
cotton shorts, we dance with the
pair of green blades and the
tender tropic wind, as if we will not

get our asses smacked with
tiny stick from a fallen twig
once our mom, done with
dinner chores, call us back,

“Time to go home.
Time to go home.”

I still wish to have
the soles of my legs free

of leather, or cover,
of whatever the magazines
say it need be,

I am still the little girl
running away, though clumsy.

Well, distance cannot,
will not erase identity.

When can I go home?

04.02.2020
©2020 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Catrin Welz-Stein
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For NaPoWriMo 2020: Day Two .

so we think we’re smarter than God: a haibun

Once I have read the stars are becoming less visible more than ever. With human knowledge soaring higher and higher (I hope we will not find our specie crashing soon), our mortal hands (tainted with scarlet juice of many wars) have made our earth-based stars, letting our eyes and minds awake round the clock.

Last month I went to a remote village tucked inside the snow-covered arms of the Indian Himalayas, almost 10,000 feet above the sea. There, oh there, the hidden stars stripped bare in front of me. I am again reminded of how significant and insignificant my breath is, our breaths are. One day, warm oxygen. Another, floating with frozen air.

Blushed Mars giggles with
blinking February stars,
nothing beats His hands.

03.03.2020
©2020 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
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For dVerse Haibun Monday 3/2/2020: Mars
Whether it’s the God of War or the Red Planet, write your haibun that alludes to Mars.
Remember, a haibun is combination of prose and haiku. For the purposes of this prompt, the prose may be non-fiction or speculative. The haiku, while not needing to be in the 5-7-5 syllabic format, must include a kigo (season word) and present a complement of seemingly divergent images, such that there is a moment of insight. For more on haibun writing, click here.

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.
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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.

open your eyes, see how the world undresses: a quadrille

(revolving earth
undresses, each
season unravels)

spring, peeler of
silent blue winter,
blush in pastel young
blooms, will then
succumb to laughing
rays of golden sun,

salted seas curdle
to scarlet red as
autumn conquers
the rusting lawns,

(revolving earth
undresses, each
season unravels)

02.25.2020
©2019 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.
For dVerse Quadrille #98 – Peelings, Nothing More…
Today I offer you the word “peel” to include in your quadrille.
You may use it as a noun or a verb or play with it as a derivative….peelable, unpeelable. unpeeled.
You can “peel off” or “peel out”.
Are you a “peeler”? Do you save your peelings or throw them away?

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.
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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.

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soft arms and midnight crumbs

soft arms of dawn
sneaks in between
half-closed
bedroom blinds,

(wake up, wake up)

infant sunshine
sweeps leftover
crumbs of late
stars’ snack,

(come back, come back)

i sat, unmoving,
inside the swaying
boat of an
ended dream,

(wishing, wishing)

our sheet isn’t
empty of you.

01.29.2020
©2019 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
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For dVerse Tuesday Poetics with Lillian.
how about writing a poem that takes us inside a dream? It can be your dream or someone else’s dream. Are you sleeping in a bed during this dream? Sitting on a train dozing? Leaning up against a tree staring at the clouds? Does your dream take you beneath the seas? Into the clouds? Or maybe you’re on a stage flooded with the smoke of dry ice? Is your dream triggered by a scent? By a song? By a photo you came across? Let your imagination drift and take us with you into a dream!

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.
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For dVerse Poetics: Shhhh! Do you Want to Know a Secret?

 

 

 

 

 

find me inside this hodgepodge: a haibun

For some reasons, a year ending has never made me reflective. I always feel like my heart is sprinkled with pastel joy from December until the first few days of January. It is the time of rest, no, not really. It is the time of doing and travelling a lot, but not for salary, but for dear friends and family.

When the calendar leaf shifts from the last month of a finished year to the first one of a fresh new one, this is when I drown in nostalgia and melancholy. This is when I pause and ponder. This is when I sink into this familiar abyss of the unknown drowning me with questions like what have I done, what will I do next, why did I do this, how should I do this, how can I do this, and more.

As steady as the ebb and flow of the sea, my overthinking overpowers me every January. Perhaps because it is my birth month. Perhaps because it is another clean slate. And how carefully we carry things that are new and shiny, right? But perhaps, this feeling of being lost will be sweeter when the answers are found. This soft petal of fear will bear fruit as my roots sink deeper into this life’s fleeting ground. Perhaps.

Endings breathe restart,
these feet hang high yet again.
A new tough seed cracks.

01.07.2019
©2019 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
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For dVerse Beginning (again) – Haibun .

sareureuk

I heard the
hushed melting
of the last flake
of winter on the
drying road bathed
with the first infant
rays of spring,

I felt the
spinning earth
waited a bit,

I saw a
second lasted
more than a minute,

when you smiled at me
for the first time.

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 .

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©2019 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
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Submitted for dVerse OpenLinkNight #257

weightless earth

where flood goes beyond murky dirt,
transforms into the lightness of a sea’s
cerulean hands guiding transparent streams,

where lighthouses mark the arrival
on a safer place to land, free of clawing
ghosts of the past’s unstitched seams,

where guns burst life instead of endings,
rescuing preys from predators, away
from disturb mind’s cruel schemes,

where kitchens leak of onion and garlic
a prelude to satiated stomachs courtesy
of porcelain plates filled to the brim,

where calendar leaves exhale oxygens
filling gasping lungs with breathing hope,
for the fresh January moonbeams,

where mother earth’s dress dances
with unbearable weightlessness, free from
dark hate, clothed in faith’s balming cream,

where humans are humans being,
living in a new world, a new peace-filled world—
please let not this be an impossible dream.

12.18.2019
©2019 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
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For dVerse’s Poetics: New Year – New World
My book, Poems for S is now available here: https://amzn.to/2CSrGAU  and in India via Pothi.com: https://bit.ly/2M4KwK3
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