foggy borders

splat!
goes the blood
and some threads
of bleeding muscles
from his back
to the waiting
concrete wall.

bang!
goes the bullet
as cold as the heart
who pulled the trigger
to put the 17-year-old
to his final, breathless
sleep.

no more!
goes some mouths
to condemn the
brutal purging
and killing
and planting of
fired-guns and drugs
to the hands
none can know if
innocent or not.

i now wonder
where is the
foggy border
between justice
and injustice,
instant law and
due process?

maybe the
monsoon shower
will soon wash away
the kiss of blood
on that cold wall,
maybe our minds
are also fogged
by the mist of
hazy judgments
as we silently ask:
“can these killings
save us all?”

—

Some thoughts after another brutal killing, part of the Philippine government’s war on drugs. Sigh. Sigh.

08.23.2017
©2017 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo by Neven Krcmarek on Unsplash

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In response to Poetics: Border by Grace

My prompt today is about border, that line separating two political or geographical areas, especially countries, or the outer part or edge. More than the physcial boundaries, there are borders which are invisible, such as an imaginary, social or mental borders. These kind of borders are more challening to overcome, don’t you agree?

soul’s song

i wanna go where the mountains
are high enough to echo my song
song of the soul ceaselessly
gearing up to be strong,
strong enough to not
always try to belong,
belong to the world filled
with hazy right and wrong,
wrong or right, i just want
to live as if life is not long,
long enough to think
my tomorrows are like birdsongs,
birdsongs– sweet yet fleeting, soothing yet fading,
like the echo of my soul’s song.

—

08.16.2017
©2017 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash

—

Picked India Arie’s India’s Song:

I wanna go where the mountains are high enough to echo my song
I wanna go where the rivers run deep enough to drown my shame
I wanna go where the stars shine bright enough to show me the way
I wanna go where the wind calls my name

---

In response to Poetics: Musical Muse by  Mish

Today for Poetics, I am asking you to choose some lyrics, preferably one line from a favorite song and grow your own poem from it.

autumn spell

in this maze of bleeding leaves
as if the mighty Him spilled red inks
on top of the lush trees and twigs
to signal the yearly seasons’ shift,

find me lurking not
beneath the tall towers of red and yellow,
find me hiding not
inside the house with the whispering cello,

find me sitting not
on the edge of the long, winding road,
find me breathing not
inside the rushing car, suddenly slowed.

one more inhale,
one more exhale,
soul elevates maybe
to heaven or to hell.

well, the view from the top
of this scarlet autumn spell
makes this final moment
a little easier.

—

08.14.2017
©2017 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Shubhodeep Roy

what if?

as death is as normal as birth,
one day my ink will meet
its fading the end.
what if this poem is my last?
what if? what if?
what last lines would i want to leave?
what if? what if?
what final rhymes would i want to breathe?
what if? what if?

would i want to write
a heartfelt villanelle
to glorify the God
who made me well,
to thank the imperfect
yet loving parents
who compensated money with
their love and presence?

would i want to write
a throbbing aubade
to the he’s whom
i have loved?
fill every stanza
with bitter farewells
and warm kisses
they have forever missed out?

would i want to leave
a sweet, sweet sonnet
to the one man
who’ll have me last,
stamp every rhyme
and every line
with the promise of meeting again
inside heaven’s confines?

or would i want to leave
a freely flowing free verse,
about a life well lived
in better and in worse,
etch my last words
with gratefulness
and contentment,
for either way, i’m blessed.

what if this poem is my last?
i think i would be smiling if
this poem would be my parting gift
to those who have loved me
and i have loved unconditionally.

if this is the end for me and my poetry,
then i will park my pen,
beside my final lines and rhymes,
and then, rest peacefully.

—

08.02.2017
©2017 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash

—

sneaked in some time to post this poem after my looong hiatus. the lines:

what if this poem is my last?
what if? what if?
what last lines would i want to leave?
what if? what if?
what final rhymes would i want to breathe?
what if? what if?

are inspired by a poem by Davy D. i have a big event (at work) tomorrow and i dropped by to tell you all guys that I miss WordPress because of you all. as soon work calms a bit, i’ll go back. ❤ please don’t forget me. 🙂 Much love!

---

In response to The End paul scribbles.

This evening I want you to think about ‘THE END.’

Yes, I Am

he tried to give me
the kiss of eternity,
like a parched flower
he thought i need his shower,
but i don’t.

i felt my warm skin
against the cold wall,
as he pushed me deeper
to surrender my all,
but i don’t.

i sank, scratched my nails
against his back,
he tried to stop me
with a full-blown smack,
but i don’t.

before he gave
another strong blow,
i kicked hard
his tummy’s below,
yes, i do.

before my eardrums
cracked in his screams,
i pulled his gun’s trigger
and ended his dreams,
yes, i do.

for i am a woman
who doesn’t have a man,
but i won’t let anyone
to strip me to undone,
yes, i am.

now, ask me
if i am guilty,
of killing a monster
who could’ve killed me,
yes, i am.

—

06.14.2017
©2017 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Public Domain Photo

---

In response to Mugging for the Camera by lillian.

Choose one of these mug shots from the 20s that “speaks to you.” Let your imagination go a bit wild for this prompt. You can be the person, talking to us; or put the person into a poetic “Wanted” poster. Or tell us a tale in verse that “spins” around the mug shot you select. You are limited only by the far reaches of your creativity! The one requirement is that you post the mug shot you choose, in addition to your “mug shot poem.” Surprise me! I’m looking forward to meeting some real characters!!!

 

 

 

Naked

strip me slowly,
it’s fine, i’m ready,
for you.

in your lines, take me
mind, heart, soul, wholly,
not few.

for i’m the real me
when you, poetry
leaks through.

—

06.09.2017
©2017 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash

---

In response to Lai It On! –dVerse MTB Victoria C. Slotto.

This is Victoria, today asking you to write a Lai. Yes, it’s pronounced “lay,” an old French poetry form that was used to tell tales of adventure and courage using octosyllabic lines.

Cloud of Pain

the thing about sadness is
it’s like a thick rain cloud
clogged inside your throat
blocking your breath,
your words,
even your screams.
you want to melt it,
get rid of it,
but it becomes bigger and bigger
choking you further and further.

but the thing about sadness is
when you finally surrender and bask
on its harsh downpour,
its painful drops
will help you grow,
will help you rise,
will help you heal, until
the suffocating cloud
finally bowed, finally bowed.

and the thing about sadness
being a dark rain cloud is it’s
living in a fading permanence.
it will pass.
it will fade.

but you, you are the sometimes defeated
yet always fighting sun.
you will rise again and again,
until no cloud of pain remains.
until no cloud of pain remains.

—

P.S. This is the poem I mentioned to you, Ameena. 🙂

—

05.06.2017
©2017 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash

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In response to Poetics: Poems that could save your life by kim881.

The challenge is to write a poem to save someone’s life on one of the following themes:

apologies  –  bad hair day  –  bereavement  –  big decision  –  birthday blues  –  career crisis  –  commitment problems  –  divorce  –  does my bottom look big in this?  –  don’t let the bastards get you down  –  first date  –  first wrinkle  –  friendship  –  getting married  – hangover  –  illness  –  insomnia  –  is this relationship going anywhere?  –  is this the real thing?  –  Monday morning  –  money worries  –  moving house  –  parenthood  –  playing away  –  retail therapy  –  rock bottom  –  stressed out  – successfully single  –  when your lover has gone

 

The Afters

notice how the
verdant blanket
look greener
after a stormy night,

notice how the
sun’s glorious rays
shine extra brighter
after a pitch black night,

notice how your
fragile, fearful heart
beats braver
after losing a fight.

for in failing,
in losing,
we grow.

—

06.06.2017
©2017 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash

---

In response to Quadrille #34 by whimsygizmo.

Today, I want you to poem us up a perfect STORM.

 

 

Alarm

the noisy alarm dings,
like the starting bell of boxing,
another fight,
another day,
begins.

with the routine task
of waking,
eating,
commuting,
working,
eating,
working,
commuting,
eating,
sleeping,
repeat,
repeat,
repeat,

may I not lost
my value,
my worth,
my purpose,
my dreams,

under the haystack
of mundanes
in the world of
routines,

before my life’s
final alarm
rings.

—

I wanna go where the mountains are high enough to echo my song
I wanna go where the rivers run deep enough to drown my shame
I wanna go where the stars shine bright enough to show me the way
I wanna go where the wind calls my name

—

05.31.2017
©2017 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash

Flower and the Bee (Part 2)

sharing the second part of my duet with the bestie, Shubhodeep Roy.  i am the flower and he is the bee. the part 1 is here.

---

my bee, that kiss was sweeter than honey,
brimming with love, i’d choose it ceaselessly.
but after you let go, I saw the look in your eyes,
gazing at another pretty blue bathing in sunrise.

the wind remains warm, but I am freezing inside,
as you fly towards your next flower bride.
i have no choice but to let you go freely,
because I, however beautiful, will never be your only.

angry on me is my favorite flower,
she doesn’t know, how hungry i’m at this hour.
for survival, i might fly to another blue,
but for love, i will always come back to only you.

the queen bee was angry, for i brought only a little honey,
allow me to go to the flower brides, oh they are so many.
your nectar, though only a little, gives me life,
however you misunderstand me, you’ll be my only wife.

—

05.26.2017
©2017 Shubhodeep Roy | A Reading Writer.
All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Shubhodeep Roy

—

Shubhodeep Roy is a new addition to WordPress. 😉 And he tried dVerse Poetics Recently too. 🙂 Check him out here.

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In response to dVerse’s Open Link Night # 197!