autumn bliss (a ya-du)

Shovel summer,
fall whispers death.
Warmer days’ done.
Here comes red leaves,
trees with naked sleeves.

Let autumn’s kiss
lull pain’s hiss, and
dismiss your hate.
Bliss is sweeter
for the forgiver.

03.26.2018
©2018 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash

In response to Blogging from A to Z Challenge and NaPoWriMo 2018.
Y is for Ya-Du.
The Ya-Du or ritú (season) is stanzaic form dedicated to the seasons. The theme should express the emotions the seasons evoke. The form is a 15th century Burmese pattern using a climbing rhyme.  The elements of the Ya-Du are:
  1. L1-L4 tetrasyllabic (4) and L5 may be 5,7, 9, or 11 syllables. 4-4-4-4-(5,7,9, or 11)
  2. stanzaic, written in no more than 3 cinquains.
  3. The form employs a climbing rhyme in which the 4th syllable of L1 rhymes with the 3rd syllable of L2 and the 2nd syllable of L3. L4 and L5 end rhyme.
  4. dedicated to the seasons and the emotions they evoke.
x x x a
x x a x
x a x x

x x x b

x x x x b
or
x x x x x x b etc

images.jpeg

stubborn: a senryu duet

Stubborn thoughts surface
refusing to hibernate
in winter’s cold breast.

Mind’s cotyledons
cracking the thick bed of snow
‘fore the first spring bloom.

12.27.2017
F.T. Ledrew x R. C. Gonzales

(Remember Thomas, friends and poets? 😀 Who missed him like I did?! Raise your hands! 😀
P.S. Thank you for this first collab, Thomas! ;))

All Rights Reserved.
Photo by Jeremy Bishop on Unsplash

mummed magic

the scarlet leaf
of the almost bare autumn tree,
s  l  o  w  l  y , ever s  l  o  w  l  y ,
f
a
l
l
i
n
g
from its home twig
to its grave earth.

the crystal snowflake
of the heavy, winter cloud
g e n t l y , ever g e n t l y ,
d
e
s
c
e
n
d
i
n
g
from its throne in heaven
to its melting ground.

the brave sprout
of the fresh, spring seed
s o f t l y , ever s o f t l y ,
e
s
c
a
p
i
n
g
its cotyledons’ cave
towards the sky’s bright, open shade.

the soft, infant rays
of the smiling, summer sun
g e n t l y , ever g e n t l y,
b
u
r
s
t
i
n
g
into tiny sparkles of warmth
to kiss the waiting land.

these are earth’s mummed magic,
they need no noise to be majestic.

P.S. Is it evident that I fantasize about four seasons too much? 😀
09.06.2017
©2017 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo by Matt Lewis on Unsplash

In response to Magic by Paul of paul scribbles.
So my poetic pals, your task if you choose to accept it, is to pen a poem using the word MAGIC in some form or write a piece that is quite simply MAGICAL. You know you can.
dverse

season singing

traversing the same route five times a week presents me a repeating view again and again and yes, again. the sight of houses, from well-made to thatched huts, occasionally interrupted by massive spaces filled with wild grasses or field of rice stalks, and once with a huge mall. the neighborhood will then be replaced with the passing silhouettes of trees lined prim and proper along the edge of the paved, wide highways. then the homes and factories and taller buildings will wave hello as if to signal the end of the highway and the beginning of the honk-filed and jam-packed city road.

with every single day passing, only the heat of the sun and the cold raindrop dripping are the signals of the Philippines’ two seasons’ ending — wet and dry. (and most of the time, like now, they seem to be fond of overlapping. like summer for the day and thunder and lightning for the evening.) as much as i wish to witness the season’s undressing from winter, spring, summer, and fall, i am only blessed by the summer sun and the sometimes gentle sometimes harsh monsoon showers. 

yet still blessed, yes, for i am among the billions of soul experiencing the warmth of morning sun and the darkness of the velvet evening. to live and to be living, itself is a blessing.

the summer sun and
the monsoon rain take their turns.
my grateful heart sings.

09.05.2017
©2017 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo by Devil_Jameson RAGE on Unsplash

In response to Haibun Monday: Komorebi by Toni of kanzensakura.
I would like you all to write a haibun about how you are affected by season changes, if you do any special activities, what you have done in the past or have planned for the future season between seasons
dverse

 

Spring Melt

He is
clothe in fragrant scent
leaking out of fresh, budding
blooms,
his aura is
bathe in blinding golden rays
lighting up a fully packed
room,
each step he takes towards
me are lilting,
yes, he is my harbinger of
spring.

Oh, I’m melting.

03.13.2017
©2017 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo credit: Unsplash

In response to dVerse‘s Quadrille #28 with the word “spring” by kim881. 🙂

dverse

Dear Seasons

Like an elusive dream I silently hope to see how you undress—
from cold white to fresh green then to shy yellow and then to scarlet red,
from freckled to plump and lush to skinny and then to skeletal bare.

Like an enchanting perfume I secretly imagine your scent change—
from chilling trace of frost to charming whiff of blooming flowers
and then to sweet vibrant smell of the sun and finally to loamy, rustic earth aroma.

Like a locked desire I hope to bask my senses into your stunning metamorphosis,
my dear seasons.

Note: Living in a country with two seasons (wet and dry), autumn and winter have been my fascinations since I am a little girl. This is why they are mostly the inspirations of my poems and fictions. 😉
©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo credit: Unsplash

In response to dVerse‘s Open Link Night # 182 by Bodhirose  who wrote about Florida’s Fall.

dverse

 

Seasons’ Winds

Almost four months from now, I’ll be turning 25. It recently dawned on me, oh, what have I done with my life? I’ve studied hard and earned honors, but my ultimate dream still feels too far. I’m working hard but monetary state remains harsh.Yet looking back, I know my family and I are already far from where we’ve been. I believe the coming years hold a promising future that’s still unseen.

There’s a valiant tree
undressing with seasons’ winds.
Change doesn’t mean death.

©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo credit: Unsplash

In response to dVerse‘s Haibun Monday:Winds of Change by Toni of kanzensakura who also wrote about change here!

Thank you for the lovely haibun prompts, Toni! I maybe a newbie in dVerse but I really admire your warmth as a person and your talent as a poetess. I wish you a lovely hiatus.

dverse

Please write for me a one paragraph haibun about change. End it with a nature-based haiku.

Seasons: Epilogue

First three parts were published last Tuesday, Wednesday and yesterday.

Warm wind’s blowing. Loud silence’s piercing. With blank mind and an about-to-burst heart, I remained still as I look at your grave.

Our story ended, more than five years ago. On that fateful autumn day, when I waited for you. But you never waited for me.

I admit I am in denial, for five years. I never visited that bench, I never stepped my feet on that park, not until… I almost died.

And you came to fetch me, or my soul, or whatever I am during that moment.

I almost said yes.

Yes, I want to die right then and there with you. I want to be with you. I want to feel your lips again. I want to badly feel your love again.

With broken ribs, fractured arm, and almost cracked skull, who would know I will not die? It’s a miracle, some said. But for me, my miracle happened six months after I was back to life.

It happened when I cannot move. It happened when I can’t even eat. It happened when I can’t even do anything. It happened when I realized that this is how it feels to die. It happened when I realized that I want to live again even without you.

Live as in live, not live like a breathing zombie that I was for so many years.

I still miss you, my love. I still want to be with you. But I guess… it’s now time… for me… to breathe again.

12.12.2015
©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer

Photo credit: Unsplash
This is part of my first-ever flash fiction series. This is the ‘not-planned’ fourth and last (promise) part of my short fiction series “Seasons”. This epilogue is also inspired by ‘Breathe Again’, a song by Sara Bareilles. You can listen to it here.

Seasons: Part 2

First part was published yesterday.

Chilling shivers crawled in my veins when I saw my bloody-self inside my wrecked car.

“So what am I now? Am I a soul now? Am I dead? Am I alive?” I shouted but no voice left me.

The ambulance arrived. Several medical staffs tried to retrieve my blood-soaked body. The unfolding scene is nauseating but I urged myself to think straight.

I collected myself and prepared to run to get inside the ambulance.

But I stopped as I felt a warm yet slightly cold hand touch my arms.

I am unsure if my heart is still alive but it surely beat fast once my skin recognized this hand.

This hand belongs to the man I was supposed to marry five years ago.

This hand belongs to the man I cried and yelled at when he was not able to see me on that fateful day of October.

I waited on our corner but he did not come because he died.

But this hand… is definitely….

“No, no, no, no.” “This is couldn’t be. This couldn’t be.”

But my senses say otherwise.

This is how his touch feels like.

And this is how he makes me feel.

I slowly turned around.

And urged myself to look up.

My heart stopped.

Because the hand resting is my arm is indeed… his.

09.28.2015
©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer

Photo credit: Unsplash
Originally written for Blogging University’s WRITING 101 Day 16 Assignment. This is my first-ever flash fiction series. ❤