Damp Box

The box made of
thin tree-meat walls,
closed by a
curtain door,
sealed with
hole-filled, rusted
roof, again
sinks under the
merciless river
overflow, yet

the eight hearts
it has been carrying
will remain afloat—

with warm love,
with fearless faith,
with ceaseless hope.

—

08.14.2018
©2018 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash

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For dVerse Quadrille #62.

Please pray for flood victims in Kerala, India and in the Philippines (including me).

Soon

Feet floating on
notes of a love song
we call ours,

with blooms of
baby’s breath tuck
in between my
dark hair strands,

each step I make
will lead me towards

the end of my life;
the start of ours.

Take my hand,
it’s now all yours, my love.

—

08.09.2018
©2018 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash

Colored Strangers

While I was walking home,
someone called my name.
A genderless body
wearing a sunny smile,
a mist-kissed scent,
and a sunset orange glow.

“Hello, my name is love.
I know I might be hard.
But would you come
with me, tonight?”

Before my surprised tongue
could let a word roll out,
another face came,
wearing the blanket of
a pitch black night,
and the smoke of
a melting rubber
on its upward flight.

“Hey, I am hate.
No, don’t hesitate.
I am an easier
company, mate.”

My unsure feet
step back, one…
and then two…
Inhale and exhale,
my choice is due.

I’d rather be fried
under a sun angry
with love,
than sip
whiskey under
a calm moon
without love.

—

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

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For dVerse Unseen Things.

Paired or Not

We are made with working pairs. Your right hand got your left. Your left ear got your right. Your right eye got your left. Your left lung got your right.

We work with built-in pairs. A scissor will never be a scissor, it should be scissors even when added with the phrase “a pair”. Trousers or some called jeans will never be a trouser nor a jean, for the right leg needs the left leg, always.

But we are from a single cell. We are run but one mind. We live with a uni-heart. We are made by one God.

In nights like this, when the clock struck past 12 midnight and you have no one but yourself, you will learn best:

with a pair, or without, your home, your only home, is nowhere but inside

you.

 

—

08.02.2018
©2018 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash

NEW BOOK: Between My Bleeding Lines Extended Edition

I was gone for quite a long time, now I’m back with a big big big news about my second poetry collection: Between My Bleeding Lines Extended Edition!

From last year’s first edition with 100 poems, this new collection contains over 160 pieces and more are now in the hopeful part of the book, which is the third chapter, Forbearer (one who endures).

Between My Bleeding Lines Extended Edition is also now published in the Philippines via my publisher, Yamada Publishing owned by Kota Yamada.

Interested to order? See the book price and the shipping cost here: goo.gl/forms/hMzkOwVz8YaeImxq1

I’m back with more poems, poets and friends! 🙂

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

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In response to dVerse Let’s Get Wild!

yours (a zejel)

My written words are now sweeter.
My sword sharper, my soul softer.
Your love made me better, braver.

Aboard the Himalayan air,
you trekked slowly near my heart’s chair,
braving love’s daunting, unmapped lair.
I felt your presence crawl nearer.

With tongue with none but honesty,
you brought not roses, sugary,
instead rhododendrons, spicy.
I smelled your soul’s songs closer.

With your hands, beside the road fire,
I heard my heart’s plea of desire,
“in my soon home you’ll be the sire.”
I’m now yours alone, forever.

—

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

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In response to Blogging from A to Z Challenge and NaPoWriMo 2018.

Z is for Zejel.

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

autumn bliss (a ya-du)

Shovel summer,
fall whispers death.
Warmer days’ done.
Here comes red leaves,
trees with naked sleeves.

Let autumn’s kiss
lull pain’s hiss, and
dismiss your hate.
Bliss is sweeter
for the forgiver.

—

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

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In response to Blogging from A to Z Challenge and NaPoWriMo 2018.

Y is for Ya-Du.

The Ya-Du or ritú (season) is stanzaic form dedicated to the seasons. The theme should express the emotions the seasons evoke. The form is a 15th century Burmese pattern using a climbing rhyme.  The elements of the Ya-Du are:

1. L1-L4 tetrasyllabic (4) and L5 may be 5,7, 9, or 11 syllables. 4-4-4-4-(5,7,9, or 11)

2. stanzaic, written in no more than 3 cinquains.

3. The form employs a climbing rhyme in which the 4th syllable of L1 rhymes with the 3rd syllable of L2 and the 2nd syllable of L3. L4 and L5 end rhyme.

4. dedicated to the seasons and the emotions they evoke.

x x x a

x x a x

x a x x


x x x b


x x x x b

or

x x x x x x b etc

parched (a xiaoshi)

Pregnant clouds crawl
as the voice above growls.
While the parched earth opens
its mouth thirsty for rainfall,
a waiting heart whispers,
“wind, bring him home.”

—

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

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In response to Blogging from A to Z Challenge and NaPoWriMo 2018.

X is for Xiaoshi.

Xiaoshi, (small poem,shi = poetry / xiao = little, diminutive or small) is a genre of Chinese poetry from the 1920s. It is a fragmented poem with minimal explanation. It teams seemingly unrelated images with little indication of cause and effect. The frame is at the discretion of the poet although in sync with most Chinese poetry, it is common to be written as a quatrain.

barefoot (a wayra)

Wayward, barefoot steps
search the path untamed, cluttered
with rocks of doubts, holes of flaws
ready for blisters, scars,
knowing to rise means to fall first.

—

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

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In response to Blogging from A to Z Challenge and NaPoWriMo 2018.

W is for Wayra.

The Wayra (Quechua – wind ) is a popular verse form of Peru and Bolivia. It appears it originated in an indigenous Quechua language but has found its way into Spanish literature. It is a short syllabic verse form found at Vole Central and some other sites around the internet.

The elements of the Wayra are:

1. a pentastich, a poem in 5 lines.

2. syllabic, 5-7-7-6-8

3. unrhymed.