calendar leaves

One year ago I dived into another job, left the comfort of the four corners of a white room filled with the smell of fresh news and sweet scent of deadline sweats. With closed fists and shut eyes, I took a leap away from comfort to embrace the unknown new.

Now here we go again.

My soul sifts the autumn’s apple fume slowly succumbing to the mint breeze of winter. My bare feet moving inch per inch towards another cliff too stiff for me to see the bottom cloaked in dead black pitch. My ears can hear the soft crackles of January crackers and a faint love song of June’s giggling sea.

Dry calendar leaves
falling with each dusk and dawn.
Brave breaths ebb and flow.

10.30.2018
©2018 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash

For dVerse Haibun Monday – Transitions.

map of mess

Unfinished coffee,
void of warmth,
aching for last touch.
Oh, the daddy.

Spilled sauces blots
on canvas, wait,
it’s kitchen table top.
Oh, the mommy.

Crumbs of cookies
paved roads for
the hard working ants.
Oh, the eldest.

Traps made of Lego
too tiny, too tough,
barefoot left scathed.
Oh the youngest.

Bedroom scented
with the musk of
used pair of socks.
Oh, the middle child.

This map of mess
proves a house is still
a living,

breathing

home.

10.17.2018
©2018 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash

For dVerse Beauty in Ugliness.

l i m b o

Mechanical wings
wheeze up, up, up.
Rubber wheels
tiptoe, touch
clouds, up, up,

away from the safe
harbor of the
steady ground towards
the limbo of
oblivion, sometimes
with carpet of laughing

stars.

In between
galaxies and mortal
land, I’m here to meet

you.

08.25.2018
©2018 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash

For dVerse Quadrille.

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

Fading Periods

No apologies, no regrets, not a single sorry, from the old mouth of the last man standing from the crew who ended the second world war.

Japan started the conflict, that was how the US closed it— with two exploding periods. Periods that bent the knees of the Land of the Rising Sun. Periods that marked how ending wars could be done.

Fading is the warning of the first nuke’s gravity. There might be more to come, oh, we’ll see. From one bloodshed to another, I wonder when will human lives weigh more than a bloody war.

A fragile new bud
tries to crack leftover snow—
men kill to survive.

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

Inspired by this article.
For dVerse Haibun Monday — Peace Memorial.

 

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

Fingers and Palms

Thin but brave bones
bending but seldom
or just sometimes breaking.
With muscles built
for exercise— gripping,
typing, or clenching.
The puzzle of fingers
and palms, I thought
need not completing.

Until my right had
felt your left—
oh, this is what
complete means.

07.31.2018
©2018 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash

In response to dVerse Quadrille 61.

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!

imgpsh_fullsize

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

In response to dVerse Let’s Get Wild!