the echoes you left

bed without bodies
pillows without tresses,

doors only for exit
piano void of music,

new bulb void of light,
lenses with no sight,

heart without art,
lifetime without life,

emp—ty

emp—ty

emp—ty

emp—ty

emp—ty

the song of
me after our we.

12.12.2019
©2019 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash
For dVerse Poetics: Echo. . .echo . . .echo
My upcoming book, Poems for S is up for pre-order. See it here: https://amzn.to/2CSrGAU .
Mockup for Facebook image_v2

 

a land i wish is a myth

in sixteen seconds,
bang…

bang, bang, bang, bang.

two young breaths
cold and glass-eyed.

behind’s a pair
of teen-hands.

instead of his
birthday cake,
with a pistol, he
blows his own
mind last.

in sixteen seconds.
another school joins
an exclusive club
no one dreams or wants.

in sixteen seconds
the sky gulps,
to welcome
another batch
of tender buds

brutally picked off
from earth’s

bullet land.

11.15.2019
©2019 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo by  Unsplash
For 2019 November PAD Chapbook Challenge: Day 14 and for dVerse OLN.
My heart breaks:
Two teens are dead after a 16-year-old gunman shot 5 classmates and himself in 16 seconds, cops say

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. 🙂

The Bathroom Pianist

I was three when curiosity was born inside me. I remember the first thing I asked my mom was about the grand piano covered and silenced inside her room’s bathroom.

I grew old asking why it’s hidden. She has offered me nothing but a teary smile, until today. With the same nostalgic yet melancholic look, she said, “Your dad proposed to me with a song he composed inside his house’s bathroom with this piano.”

“Everyday I wait for him to get this back or to play for me again. I placed it here so he knows where to find it.”

Note: The tiled wall looks bathroom to me. 😀
Word count: 100
©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo credit: Mike Vore

For Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers (FFfAW) March 07, 2017. 🙂 Glad to be back dear PJ! ❤

Red: A Rondelet

Dripping red blood
from her pale wrist she cut deeply.
Dripping red blood
screams her pain she kept hidden, locked.
She relish the pain silently,
her final seconds end slowly—
dripping red blood.

Photo credit: Unsplash

In response to OctPoWriMo 2016 by Morgan Dragonwillow‘s Day 25.

The Rondelet is a relatively short poem using the entire opening line as its refrain. It is French in origin, another member of the 13th century Rondeau Family of Forms which is defined by its use of the rentrement.

The Rondelet is:

  • a heptastich, a poem in 7 lines.
  • in French syllabic. Syllable count per line are 4-8-4-8-8-8-4 In English tends to be iambic in pattern.
  • composed with a rentrement, in the Rondelet the entire L1 is repeated as refrain in L3 and L7.
  • rhymed. Rhyme scheme interlocks between the refrain AbAabbA.

The Plan

I looked at the sky painted in pretty purple and pink.
I counted the building’s floors, trying hard not to blink and think.
Calm down, jumping is fun and surely death will swiftly come.

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

Photo credit: Steven Wei


In response to Sonya of Only 100 Words‘ Three Line Tales Week Thirty-Two.

If you want to join, here are the simple rules:

  • Write three lines inspired by the photo prompt.
  • Link back to this post.
  • Tag your post with 3LineTales (so we can find you in the Reader).
  • Read and comment on other TLT participants’ lines.
  • Have fun.

Am I Gone?

Is there somebody
who’ll be willing to save
my soul, my heart, me.

They say I
only feel
the love I like,
they don’t know I’m
slowly fading
dying, drifting away.

Inspired by City Lights by Sara Bareilles.

04.08.2016
©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer

Photo credit: Unsplash

Velleitie

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.

04.07.2016
©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer

Photo credit: Unsplash

Nelipot

The burning ball seating proudly at the highest height, burns the stoned alley towards a home without a light.

There a nameless man lives with no living thing but himself. Surrounded by less non-breathing things, to him was left.

Once he was known as a dashing bachelor, until a deceitful woman snatched his valor.

Now he lives with almost nothing not even a shoe, well he don’t need one as he lives locked in his light-less house’s own flu.

©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer

Photo credit: Unsplash, Tumblr

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