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.”

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

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.


bosom (a conachlonn)

Pain swells in the bosom of a song.
Long before the first note of refrain,
restrains fail to cease tears from falling.
Losing you, I wish will be my gain.

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

In response to Blogging from A to Z Challenge and NaPoWriMo 2018.
C is for Conachlonn.
The Conachlonn is simply the Irish version of chained verse, examples found at Celtia.
The elements of the Conachlonn are:
  1. written in any number of lines.
  2. syllabic at the poet’s discretion, often 8 or 9 syllable lines
  3. assonant chained rhymed, meaning the vowel sound of the last syllable of the line is repeated at the beginning of the next line.
  4. written with dunadh, the beginning syllable ends the poem.


butterfly heart

how many days will
it take for a crawling pupa
to hide her legs and
grow her own soft cage
where she will
further evolve into
a winged butterfly?

how much pain will
she survive to transform
from a leaf-beggar to
a fragile air glider who
can freely fly?

how many tiny cells
hidden from the naked eye will
she have to break and birth
to create and be created?

i wonder, likewise
how much loss can
a human heart endure
before one learns to hear
and accept the
goodbyes left unsaid.

©2017 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo Jian Xhin@lyianko

In response to dVerse Poetics: ‘The Heavy Bear Who Goes With Me’.


Our River

the gentle whispers of the trees’ breeze. the tender murmur of river’s flow. the playful tweets of the little birds. these sweet sensual delights are the reasons why we used to visit this river. the river we called ours.

today i clutch unto you, unto your vessel. your vessel made of cold porcelain, a stark contrast to how warm your hands were when you held mine.

slowly opening the lid, feeling what was left of your mortality, i let the salty tears wet my face as i let your ashes be one with the river. the river we called ours.

Note: I wrote this piece with Ed Sheeran’s Supermarket Flowers playing in my ears. Sigh.
Oh, I’m in pieces, it’s tearing me up, but I know
A heart that’s broke is a heart that’s been loved
Word count: 100
©2017 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo credit: My dearie Maria of Doodles and Scribbles

For Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers (FFfAW) April 11, 2017. 🙂


My fingers will never be enough to count how many times you whispered you love me most. Love me more than anyone in the world. Love me more than anything on earth.

How you want to have a home with white picket fence, where you and me and our four little kids will live with utmost happiness.

But then for ten long years of hearing your words, you’ve never climbed even the first step. Your dreams remain dreams, your words remain noises your tongue uttered.

I guess it’s now time to remove my cloak of hope. Maybe when I’m gone you can make your dreams more than a hope.

©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer

Photo credit: Unsplash, Tumblr

Word prompt: Melinda Kucsera of In Media Res (Thank you, dearest friend!)


Still Screams

my heart
still screams
your name,
though mind
says we’ll never
be the same.

your mind’s
now filled
with fame,
true love’s
now not
your heart’s game.

mind tries
hard to
keep sane,
while my heart
still screams
your name.

©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer

Photo credit: Unsplash

Blue Hole

Basked in between
the cerulean sky
and the silent sea of bluebells,
my soul is silently sinking ‘neath
the hole of void and blue,
as my aqua eyes search
for you.

©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.

Photo credit: Unsplash


In response to dVerse‘s Poetics:Breathing Blue by De of WhimyGhizmo. Read her own blue-inspired poem here.


Just a reminder that there is always something beautiful to look at. Sometimes you need only look up.

For this week’s Poetics, I want you to do just that: look up, breathe in some blue, and breathe out a poem. Ponder the hue itself (indigo, turquoise, cerulean, cobalt, aquamarine, sapphire, azure, slate) for a bit, then write. Or listen to some blues, and write us some sadness. Or if you’ve got those late-summertime-can’t-seem-to-write blues, tell us about it – in poem form.

About Him

She left me with nothing but two torn pages
scrawled softly with her sweet, subtle white lies
about him.

©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.

Photo credit: Ronny Garcia Moron

In response to Mindlovemisery MenageriePhoto Challenge #124