on borders and tea

Processed with VSCOcam with a6 preset

brown, a burnt one, is the colour
of this table with edges as perfect
as the borders of some nations
with OCD in geometry, atop there are

tea, two types, the calming chamomile
i take during those days of the month
because it helps relieve the cruel

clenching of my ovary, and there is
green tea to cheer up my gut—
digest, digest, digest, faster,
faster, faster. i remember, my feet
as pink as a newborn mouse, a sign

of its tiredness carrying the excess
number on the weighing scale.
since fourth grade. i learned
that fat and beautiful is never
used in one sentence.

i think i need a cup of chamomile now.

08.14.2020
©2020 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash
Creative Commons License
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For dVerse MTB: Stream of Consciousness Writing
Briefly: In stream-of-consciousness writing, the poet or novelist turns to the flow of ideas, observations and emotions that invade our consciousness, many times hovering just below the surface. Novelist Virginia Woolf described this process as “an incessant shower of innumerable atoms.”

 

honest august

deak-adorjan-b14MM60oKZM-unsplash

Come in, don’t
be afraid, August,
our blunt fists won’t
bite your innocence,

we just want you
to please be honest,
when can we
taste the harvest
of our last months’
chaos and mess?

See, our nails
are filled with dirt
digging some
seeds of winter hope
to plant some
spring fruit of faith,

our tongues are
white with prayer,
our eyes salted as
blue sea in summer,

our feet chained
as a bruised flyer,
so can you whisper
to September and
her gangs of -ber’s
to make up for
the first half’s blur?

We promise to take
the lessons of this
cruel semester,
perhaps as much
as our mortal minds
can remember.

08.01.2020
©2020 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash
Creative Commons License
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.
For dVerse Just Sayin’ . . .

come in, June

brian-patrick-tagalog-Zcl9rMwflmw-unsplash

Come in.
I am sorry for the
lack of energy,
would you like
some lukewarm
tea? Well, we
are tired zombies,
avoiding (or wait-
ing) for the wind
of death, we are
suffocated not by
the unseen killer
but the cruel knee
on our throat for
centuries, (we
chose to close
our eyes on) well,
probably you know
what May did, and
all the months before,
yes, there were
some cherry blossoms
blooming, some
midnights with
crickets singing, but,
our muscle wings
are quite rusting, our
tiled feet itching, this
year is a candle
dying, fading like a
half evening
moon, so June, can you
please bring healing

soon?

06.01.2020
©2020 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash
Creative Commons License
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

t w o w o r l d s

Find me in silent
corners where the
horizon’s mouth
swallows another
burning ball,
licks the cool sky
in pastel blush
in front of all.

Find me in soft,
tender nighttime
blanket, sipping a
the third cup of my
daily coffee haul.

Find me inside the
chosen shell of
solitude where
thoughts are
slowly eaten,
gingerly chewed.

Find me on the lap
of whistling rhymes
and twirling rhythms,

for I live in two worlds—
the real and the written.

09.25.2019
©2019 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo by Thought Catalog on Unsplash

Meaning

Binded but never blinded collection
Of letter conniving to form words
Of timeless wisdom freeing up minds
Kept inside the dark room of ignorance.

08.10.2018
©2018 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash

For dVerse: Celebrate with me today!
I’m celebrating National Book Lovers Day!

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

Lost Lavender

Forgive me, my creator
but I feel you are a traitor,
for painting me with friendly color
and gifting me with healing odor,
but letting me be a protector
of a poisonous aggressor.

In this human court
judging me physically,
my defense is my fragrant grace,
and my pale petals’ serenity,
yet the prosecution argues
I am a symbol of distrust only—
my soft stalks cloaked in fallacy
is the home of fangs so deadly.

In between this irony,
who am I really?
I guess you have to tell me,
your humans are too divided,
I can’t trust them, I’m sorry.

05.02.2018
©2018 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash

Inspiration is the Lavender
Lavender
Serenity, Grace, Calmness,Distrust*
*Primary sentiment for “lavender” is based in the superstition that poisonous asps live under
lavender plants; therefore, “distrust” lavender plants. This is probably the most extreme example of a flower sentiment that is not really associated the actual flower blossom.
In response to dVerse The Language of Flowers

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!

paper glides (an object poem)

Thin paper glides
with the hanging air
disrupting the
curtain of silence.

Thick, hard cover kisses
the wooden surface
of the mahogany table,

A page aching for ink
waits for the sweaty palm,
the first press of pen’s tip
the drop of the first blot.

New chapter starts.

03.23.2018
©2018 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
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In response to Blogging from A to Z Challenge and NaPoWriMo 2018.
O is for Object Poem.
The Dinggedicht or Object Poem is a things poem.This is a genre of poetry in which communication of mood or thought is made through acute observation of things and symbolic concentration. It was introduced in the early 1900s by Austrian poet, Rainer Maria Rilke while studying impressionist paintings.
Dinggedicht are:
  1. framed at the discretion of the poet.
  2. formed by acute observations of concrete images in the world around, expressing symbolically an event, social condition, mood or idea.

images.jpeg

P a s s a g e

The fading light, this old day done,
the endless sea swallows yet another sun.
As moon rises high over waters calm –
calling out stars hiding in the velvet night’s arms –
morning’s close by with a brand new dawn.

01.18.2017
F.T. Ledrew x R. C. Gonzales

(Thank you for the second collab, Thomas! ;))

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