shhh: a pleiades*

sing to me Polaris’ song
steady, constant of the north.
show my midnight lullaby
softly rocking, back and forth.
see the map on my pillow
salted as sunbathing seas.
shoo my fears, shoo them for me.

—

11.25.2020
©2020 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

—

For dVerse Poetics: Stars that count

*“Pleiades” is a star cluster in Taurus constellation and is also called as “Seven Sisters”. (Greek Mythology)

Going by its properties the form “Pleiades” was invented in 1999 by Craig Tigerman. It consists of seven lines, each line starting with the same letter as the title. The title is a single word.

Later on Hortensia Anderson restricted the length of each line to six syllables. Hence, this form can be defined as a seven line poem with each line beginning with the same letter as the title and having six syllables in each line. The title must be of one word only.

The North Star or Pole Star – aka Polaris – is famous for holding nearly still in our sky while the entire northern sky moves around it. That’s because it’s located nearly at the north celestial pole, the point around which the entire northern sky turns. Polaris marks the way due north.

the invisible cycle: a tanka*

once smooth as petals
will shrink into a crumpled
autumn leaf, waiting
for annual earth’s melting to
fertilise spring’s kids.

—

11.20.2020
©2020 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

—

For dVerse MTB: Jisei (Japanese Death Poems)

The *tanka is a thirty-one-syllable poem, traditionally written in a single unbroken line. A form of waka, Japanese song or verse, tanka translates as “short song,” and is better known in its five-line, 5/7/5/7/7 syllable count form.

see me see you

earth’s coating on late autumn (a
yard of naked trees open for the
early frost) not death but a promise
stamped on your irises’ bows.

—

11.18.2020
©2020 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

—

For dVerse Poetics: Look into my Eyes

Did you see the hidden word? 🙂

take a seat and see

rolled sunset crawls
to kiss whale’s home,
persimmon spilled.

wilted leaves arch
towards foliage tomb,
autumn fulfilled.

cold keys hang
void of fingers, warm,

bite the seed of hope
will it burst some
bitter crumb?

consider the possibility
of wings once
our breaths

succumb

—

11.17.2020
©2020 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

—

For dVerse Quadrille #116: Poem Those Possibles

wishes in the wind

i wish i’ve puppy-paws
to dig through the muck
of this year.

i wish i’ve puppy-eyes
to bend my
Master’s will.

i wish i’ve a puppy-nose
to smell happiness
from a mile.

i wish i need not
to wish for a real,
real smile.

—

11.03.2020
©2020 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

—

For dVerse In need of a happiness project?

hell’s window

there is a painting
outside my window,

hell magneting
the day sun’s glow.

stain of last night
rests on my pillow—

my unraveling
with moonlight’s bow.

feels a few feet from
my reach, the sky,

if only dusk can
give me wings to fly.

—

10.20.2020
©2020 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

—

For dVerse Quadrille #114 – Poetical Magnetism

Finally, a quadrille after a looong time. ❤

on aliens and cream borders: a haibun

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.

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

—

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.

the garden of 17 syllables: a haibun for Basho

Five decades of wandering, in every step perhaps your heels planted seedlings of words, of love,  of wisdom, of life. So much of your history remains a hidden story. We’re you a slave, a samurai, a cook, a poet, or everything and more? We can read scrolls after scrolls but never can we know.

A beautiful name you gifted yourself, Basho, after your beloved word-artist Li Po which carries the tart taste of a white plum. But no, plum did not win over your favourite plant — banana. In 17 syllables you have transformed a pair of cotyledons to a blooming spring’s cherry blossom of poetry. Until Autumn came to dry your ink in a field of golden, lifeless weeds.

short fifty years of
singing cuckoos, sorrowed snows,
timeless lines remain.

—

04.28.2020
©2020 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo by me

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

—

For dVerse Haibun Monday 4/27/20: A Portrait of Two Masters

Basho’s last words:

旅に病んで夢は枯野をかけ廻る tabi ni yande / yume wa kareno wo / kake meguru
falling sick on a journey / my dream goes wandering / over a field of dried grass

inside a journalist’s mind: a book spine poem

wild embers
die trying
the fourth estate

and still i rise.

—

04.24.2020
©2020 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo by me

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

—

For dVerse Finding poems in bookshelves

spring reeks with laughter of birds

April air reeks
of unperfumed killer
floating with spring,
bobbing as
daffodils sing,

there goes selfish
whims ransacking
shelves of kindness,

in a bid to survive
hunger for toilet
paper arrived,

common sense of
supposed “high-
er beings” flushed,

hummingbirds, sparrows,
laugh at us.

—

04.21.2020
©2020 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

—

For dVerse Quadrille #102 – Don’t Forget To…