I write because I read. I read because I write.
my sweet little muse has beenasleep on a cornerdressed in specks of dust. unsure if she's down from glove punches or Hawaiian punch. i don't mixdrinks with ink. call me boringall you want. justwake my darling,fermentingmuse up. — 09.20.2022©2022 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.Photo by Diane Picchiottino on UnsplashThis work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.… Continue reading writing on writer’s block
rope. there is no rope nor a glassplatformnor a hand orthin twig to hold me up.my feet dang-lingin this period of forced pause.static seconds delayeven the wingsof a soaring eagle.someone press the playbuttonplease. — 05.05.2022©2022 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.Photo by Daniil Silantev on UnsplashThis work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License. For dVerse: Quadrille… Continue reading mid-air: a quadrille
at times wheni feel like You're just looking at me - insoaked prayers - albeit with Your eyes closed, as if Your power is to silent stare. i remember the sparrow outside my window, warm under December snow. You love me,even in silence. — 03.08.2022©2022 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.Photo via Unsplash.This work is licensed… Continue reading silent stare
aboveearth's ceilingused to be a floating sea where flying boats careen sofree. until, likeautumn leaves, millions are dead. tiny things inhaled-death. open up like daffodilsof baby spring baiting for bees. unzip the clouds. allow hellosto happenagain. — 09.14.2021©2021 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.Photo via Unsplash This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International… Continue reading letter to the sky
walking bones and fleshtalking nerves cartilagesmachinery - dark inside - yet summer warm with heart as suni wonder those with long long gunsas they fire bang see blood and brain splattered who is the god who honors what their masked lips prayed? — 08.20.2021©2021 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.Photo by freestocks on Unsplash This… Continue reading bang: a quadrille
heard it's bad to stand so longthink ankle hurting calves groaning but spine will also complain about sitting from first roosters call to the sun's departure ihave been standing stillagainst the wind ofvirus that killed my airplane-bound-homeuntil how long? — 08.04.2021©2021 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.Photo via Unsplash This work is licensed under a Creative Commons… Continue reading someone stood still on a globe for 50 minutes
born in the era of wide-legged pantshis limbs - bamboos - his hands - cloudto touch. his eyes,thin eyes, disappearwhen he smiles. he dances, sings without juke, Elton and Michaelcroon inside his heart.no wonder, no wonderhe is my darlingdad. — 18.06.2021©2021 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.Photo via Unsplash This work is licensed under a Creative Commons… Continue reading darling
my brain, moresmudge than wrinkled-thinking-machine,eye-to-eye — last week's cold coffee & I — where is the milkin this sugarlessgoodbye. we're lockedbut we're also the key. there is a story withinthese cracks in timid tremble float, afloat.up, up, andaway. — 15.06.2021©2021 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.Photo via Unsplash This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives… Continue reading can you catch me?
out of curiosity, how does it feel to be the middle month free of fireworks, carols,and turkey? the juicymango sun, the nod-ding daffodils, the terracotta leaves, all are not in your hands. June, doyou feel heavy or light as sand? — 01.06.2021©2021 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.Photo via Unsplash This work is licensed under a Creative… Continue reading the weight of june
rolled sunset crawlsto kiss whale's home,persimmon spilled.wilted leaves archtowards foliage tomb,autumn fulfilled. cold keys hangvoid of fingers, warm, bite the seed of hopewill it burst somebitter crumb? consider the possibilityof wings once our breathssuccumb — 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.… Continue reading take a seat and see
A Reading Writer 