TRAIL

Trail

To the library, I go, station by station.  

You,  peak of my dreams.  

Those pigeons come to gather around my terrors, and for a time, say hello, daring on my palm, swift, ascending for a next flight.

I sit in the park, waiting for your call.  My phone is dead, as your voice far and away.

“I’ve tried to hitch, Baby –“   become a flowering shrub like althea – but that isn’t just me; because I rake fire, kneel side by side with the sun or just stay a plain blade of grass.

A monument of mountains, St. Jude in my pouch, that winter, facing all the seasons of the earth, I face empty graves, most beautiful to make love.  I mine every corner of katakana and kanji.

“So where are you?”

Sparkling shops of wedding gowns in front of dull pavements glazed with ice - an elegant silk for a dress razing my guts, a crow burrowing a steeple, posts lighting one by one - 

Wither our promise?

“Never stop,” my footsteps tell me.

“Just don’t  stop…”

Shadows start to peep, night burns the afternoon, sinuous wind blowing from the ground,

I run -

My socks seem just so heavy.

I run; I run - for the next ride -

My heart has, yet, to catch on the subway.

/rosevoc on iwrotefiction.jan 20.2013

The Mystery of Moths

What is it with moths, insects and flies?

Why in their minute bodies or heads, they threaten humans?

Why in their strangeness, they symbolize wrath, fun, seasons, danger or calm?

I'm fond of fireflies. When I was younger I thought they were sent by fairies from deep dark forests. I asked my grandfather (father of my Dad) when we crossed thick forests in the night, "Are there really fairies in the forest?"

And he answered, "Yes."

I was into it. I adored his stories, even those horses with human heads. Up the sky, we looked, and it was so beautiful! Truly, the sky in blue was vast, the stars brightly smiled to us, and to all those who looked above.

I was not afraid of the forest then. I was thinking, if we didn't find the way out, we would reverse our shirts to find the way out. My grandfather laughed. He was so brave, a real man! Like an Indian chief he can roar with command, and those who would see him would bow with respect.

There were clusters of fireflies in the forest. Their lights blinked like party lights, but they were brighter, yellow and happy. They were more than fireworks dancing. Their lights never faded and never ended in the dark. When I tried to get one firefly, my grandfather told me "You shouldn't do that because the fairies might punish us." So I didn't catch them. When I came in the house and there were still some fireflies, I got one and put it in a bottle. But soon, the firefly died.

As I traced back, the issue was not the punishment from the fairies, but the right thing to do.

I can also remember another famous story on the moths. It was told by (mother of Filipino national hero Dr. Jose Rizal)) Teodora Alonso. The story shares the idea that when the moths come near the flame they will burn. So stay away from the flame.

Another story is William Golding's (awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature) Lord of the Flies. See what boys are like in the challenge of various situations. The title shows a terrifying boar's (beast) head with flies buzzing around. What are the effects of environment to the children?

How about Franz Kafka's Metamorphosis? In the story, the insect cannot be depicted clearly because the door is always locked. When the door opens, there is darkness. What can you say about the cinema of the blind?

The Moths by Helena Maria Viramontes comes stark with a woman's anguish. The story gives emphasis when Abuelita (grandmother) died. It says, "Then the moths came. Small and gray ones that came from her soul and out through her mouth fluttering to light..."

/rosevoc2

DO NOT WASTE TIME

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In Time: Don't Waste My Time

By Rosalinda Flores-Martinez

The concept of the movie "In Time" is done with sheer style, updated with today's modern technology. 

The idea of codes is dynamic. See how science-fiction opens conduits to discovery and innovation.

Imagine arms with life codes like the candies and stuff you buy from the supermarkets. Imagine your arms scanned to get the things you need. Your payment is the time that's left for you to live by (the time you need to live). Time, as the basic resource is well portrayed in the movie to be so prized, but never paid well for the poor.

Those that control the system can't run anymore, their faces a false sophistication melting like wax.

In another aspect, it shows us thoughts about life, profusely. There is a vivid picture of capitalism, where only a few groups or individuals own lands, businesses, and means of production.

It also shows mayhem by chance in the ghettos, where those who have got more are robbed by bad guys. With social implications, the ghettos are a minority group (check history).

A contemporary scene becomes evident, in the supply of commodities (coffee and food in stores) restricted to a few, though demand is high because of the high cost of living brought about by rising costs in all the time zones (only the rich can afford).

In the end, two young advocates Will Salas and Sylvia Weis (from divergent zones), collaborate and work together to find solutions to uphold the living conditions of the people and to correct the systems, like what Robin Hood does (but no arrows now, only guns). Also, kids of hope shine in their innocence to bring forth more life time to their degenerating zones and one generous senior (victim) offers his centuries (life), for the hope of change and progress believing in the kind heart and blood of Will Salas. The old man wrote in the glass window, "Don't waste my time."

Moreover, 25 years old establishes an age of responsibility in every form and any form of life. One is supposed to start earning trust from elders, parents and community from the good work lived and served, especially for the under privileged.

But then, the impossibilities! No time; no future can alter man's death or creation, except God who gives and takes life.

But maybe, if fiction.

All in all, "In Time" is thumbs up!

Among others, Justin Timberlake (Will Salas), Amanda Seyfried (Sylvia Weis), and Cillian Murphy (Raymond Leon) star in this film. It is directed and written by Andrew Niccol.

On January 9, 2013

I have nothingnew to tell you, except of hopes Hope for children Hope for students Hope for good workers of the Lord I cant come up with any fiction yet, nor poems But only faith- faith and faith in Jesus in all that we do I sometimes hate it, when I could not write. I think I am a barren field with dry leaves broken twigs and dead boars. There is nothing more exciting, than charity and faith And you next to me ... iwrotefiction, rose

The Black Nazarene Listened

The Black Nazarene Listened

How did you die? They told us, you were holding the Holy Family, in the gasworks, until you slept peacefully.

In James Joyce "The Dead" I remember the death of Michael Furrey, who worked in the gasworks.

The gasworks and its toiled laborers are unsung heroes - young, daring and honest. They will light a candle for you.

If you were here now, you would be proud of me.
You would see how, you trained one little girl tug ducts of these brave eyes.
Your bloody shirt and the stain, folded with your empty wallet and your Hamilton watch were the last pieces of your relics.

I couldn't forget you were slain, like a lamb, in firing guns.
That bullet near your heart,
Is an earth of grief for me,
A mountain on my mothers back
Drought fields for the young brothers and sister.


In the rosaries of my nights, I lament - every shot when you crawled, and reached for an image of holiness -
And raised it up, like a martyr -
But it was complicated
For a tax man, like Matthew.

Lights at the funeral
A room full of flowers from rich friends
A parade to the cemetery with poor friends
Your pretty face in the coffin
Couldn't smile;
Your red lips were bruised
Your forehead was stitched
Your dislocated limbs
Palpable in your black coat.

You, a standing rock at 38 died.
And what we could do, is forgive -
May all the faithful departed rest in peace.

So "The Black Nazarene, " listened, Father,
And Jesus so close now - Yes, God bows down -
And takes care of the orphans. 

rose flores rosevoc2

Dear GOD, thank your for another year. Here's me again...

A Blessed 2013!

Merry Christmas Everyone! (Our Lady of Hope, pray for us)

How To Write A Poem Using Figurative Language

Using the figurative language adds human touch to words. While it makes prose more interesting, it sparks a lucid image in poetry.

A word is most effective when used with care. A polished poet uses the right denotation (dictionary or factual meaning) and connotation (figurative or suggestive meaning) of words.

The figurative language is woven by the poet from the stock of experiences, knowledge, and zeal she deals with everyday, in and out of her world. Through the senses, she relates words with pleasure so the readers could feel, hear, see, smell and taste.

Way back in high school, my English teacher (Miss Jose) asked, "What's a cloud like?"

"It is like a cotton ball," I answered. Until now, that scene is vivid to me dealing with similes and metaphors.

See this example.

A simile is a comparison with the use of as or like.

That is: A cloud is like a cotton ball. It is soft as a cotton ball. It is white as a cotton ball.

A metaphor is an implied comparison without as or like.

That is: A cloud is a cotton ball. It is soft and white.

Among others, other symbolic devices are personification, metonymy, hyperbole, and allusion. It will depend how you would interpret your words and make them alive.

Here is my own poem, as an example.

I Will Write In Your Heart

I will whisper in your ear, all your heart yearns to hear.
I will write in your heart, all your mind wants to remember.
I will weave in your body, all you dream about love.

I did the poem using implied metaphors.

Literally, the ear is for hearing. The word whisper is appropriate for soft cuddling with a lover. The heart literally, can't hear sounds, but it does feel unspoken words. When you love someone, you feel the beloved in your heart. Here is acceptance.

I will etch. I will write in your heart, literally, is bloody. Blood is a sacred pact. It comes with a covenant. The mind is very intelligent; hence, people are specially created by God for his Kingdom. The heart is over mind here, only to offer what is most beautiful for the beloved. The mind will be programmed to remember the beautiful things because of that sacred love. An endless love like that of the Sacred Heart, roots from God's words all over time.

I will weave in your body, all you dream about love. How do you weave? You intertwine threads. You lace colors. You merge juices.

My friend asked me, "How would you do that?"

I answered, "By kneeling... "

Also, I got mixed feelings in this poem. I used "synesthesia" as a device (in Greek, it means perceiving together). When I had this poem, it just came out quickly like press, zoom, and send!

On Iwrotefiction: I love Cookies!

Tips For Keeping Notes While Writing Creatively

Tips For Keeping Notes While Writing Creatively

By Rosalinda Flores-Martinez

When I write fiction or nonfiction, I make sure I use my notes on my journals and those texts I have marked on books.

It is true that you can never be a good writer if you have not read widely.
In writing, you cannot spark inspiration if you are not passionate in your work. You would write dull as when you wake at dawn with no urges and kiss without fire. Yet, if your muses are up all the time as good work habits, your work will stand the test of time and tide.

Here are some tips.

Mark your books. This is a way of interacting with the writer and the texts, especially while writing creatively. (See articles online "On Marking Books")
Rewrite forceful statements and relate them spontaneously with your own thoughts.
Reread your old notes or journal entries. Get those that could suit the topic.

Explore new words. Writers are word lovers. They make their own (informal) definition of words.

Consult the dictionary and Thesaurus.

Sleep with your notes. Focus on a topic of your interest and expertise.

Try new ways of writing your texts in different forms like poetry, fiction or creative nonfiction.

A good exercise for your stock of notes is the prose poem which is popular this age of new media. Among others, save your texts messages, emails, blog entries in a notebook, disc or drive.

See this example.

The Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad

My notes as follows:

"Besides holding our hearts together through long periods of separation, it had the effect of making us tolerant of each other's yarns and even convictions.
The day was ending in a serenity of still and exquisite brilliance. The water shone pacifically; the sky without a speck was a benign immensity of unstained light, the very mist on the Essex marshes was like a gauzy and brilliant fabric, hung from the wooded rises inland, and draping the low shores of diaphanous fold."

I got these texts to arouse my muses. I don't know what I will be writing, but just to keep what hit me inside I find attractive. I believe writers are gifted to get the materials they need, and as such, they need to feed on ideas. Also, what to say, what not to say, and what to reveal between the lines come vital in keeping notes for creative writing.

From the notes above, I wrote this prose poem.
Seconds

Losing grip of love affair, I hold thin folds of time like tongues of cookie layers on the shores of white sand and white sugar in the tub. Draping darkness lulls I to sleep, tired I, rolling side to side like benign beatings on low shores. Timepiece of earth, one heart of day and night, up radiant sky, the yin and yang, cloud cookie smiles and crossing slice of brilliant sun rays grip our sweat of rain in secs.

/iwrotefiction.rosevoc2

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