I Am Yours

I Am Yours

i am lovingly yours
come rain or sunshine
even in the aftermath
of a storm in the desert
or a winter in the tropics
i am lovingly yours
forever.

i am lovingly yours
through thick and thin
even in the face
of adversity
or tragedy
i am devotedly yours
forever.

i am lovingly yours
in sickness and in health
i will stand by you
this is my solemn vow
i am faithfully yours
forever.

Jungle -Tanka

a concrete jungle
i am as i keep the night
alive like daylight
i breathe the midnight dew drop
exhaled dreams of forever.

For David’s Prompt

• Form: Tanka (5-7-5-7-7 syllables);

• Must include:

• The phrase “Concrete jungle”

• The poetic device of personification

• Goal: To bring attention to the beauty and complexities of urban landscapes through the traditional Japanese poetic form of the tanka.

ING POESIA PARA KANG MICH

“Nothing new can come into your life unless you are grateful for what you already have.”
– Michael Bernhard

happy and blessed Sunday dear friends and poets.

i am truly grateful for all the love and support that you have for me and my poetry over the years.

but, nothing beats the feeling of reading another poet’s work that has me as his muse.

i am humbled and honored to share a poem written by Sergio Calayag, a Capampangan Poet Laureate.

to all my international readers, Capampangan is an Austronesian language, and one of the eight major languages of the Philippines. it is the primary and predominant language of the entire province of Pampanga and southern Tarlac. 

ING POESIA PARA KANG MICH
nnag:  PL Sergio Gramonte Calayag

Kasampunggul a sampaga, ila reni nang inampang
Kening malagung dalaga, yang kanakung apalsintan
Keng timan nang misnang yumu kasing yumu ning panilan
Ing pluma ku yang sinulat kabud iyang atiglapan

Bibitbitan ing sikanan, yumung lugud at pakamal
Mayayakit keng sarili, pamibiebieng kipmuang banal
Makasadiang mamatawad, ining pusu nang marangal
At nung iya ing misakab, talakad ya ketang lugal

Ketang jardin a malualas kabuklat na niting abak
Damdaman mong mariposa, ing pakpak da maglipakpak
Pablasang ing sampaga ka, kekang banglung salimuyak
Inia Ika ing pa’intunan, kabuklat na niting pisak

Keng leguan mung tatangalan, neng lalakad ka king dalan
Balang taung asalubung ika’ng tutung pakalawan
Keng karelang panlalawe, manganabu ketang kanal
Ating namang mangasakab, at keng poste misasabal

Ing leguan mung bibitbitan tutung ala yang kapara
Anti ka mong metung anghel a menabu ibat banua
O metung ka ping diwata, king kakewan ika’ng diosa
Inia bala nang manakit, ila keka na milsinta.

Keng lualas ning kekang lupa, iyang tutung makayama
Kekang mata a masala, ila rening  mamalita
Inia alang kasangkanan, nung akalbit ining lira
Anting metung a papuri, keng dalagang Pilipina

Father (A Flash Fiction)

Father (A Flash Fiction)

“i’m sorry, i couldn’t hear any heartbeat,” my doctor revealed after just a few minutes of examining my supposed baby bump. my mind went crazy, and my heart beat the fastest and loudest beat ever. i wanted to cry, but there were no tears. i wanted to shout and curse the universe. still, no sounds were coming out. my doctor knew i was on the brink of losing my composure, so she asked me to sit down and gave me a glass of water. “stay calm,” she said.

waiting for you as i held my tears was the most traumatic part of hearing the news. i could see myself heading in directions only God knows where. i wanted to run away, away from the reality that i would never get to hold in my arms the baby i so wanted to have. “you quietly came into our world, silently, and you stayed shortly. but know that you take up the most room in our hearts.” i whispered.

“i’m here for you, and i don’t care if you need to cry all day long i will stay with you,” you said while i was sobbing.

the dark underground parking area was our sole witness to how we grieve at the loss of another angel. we were both inconsolable, as God knows how much we wanted the child. but at least we have each other.

i looked at you, holding on to your composure, and you began to cry. the kind of cry i’ve never witnessed from you my whole life. the type of cry only a father could upon losing a child he never gets to hold.

written in response to the following prompts:

“Locker” …soon

The fans of Bestselling Author Michelle Ayon-Navajas will see a different kind of writer as she embarks to a new writing technique for her ninth book – flash fiction.

Flash fiction embraces the techniques of prose narratives and storytelling as opposed to having a poetic sensibility. It is solid prose, and there may be moments of metaphor, abstraction, or elevated language, but ultimately, there’s a sense of a short story.

Locker, is Ayon-Navajas’s first flash fiction book which consists of fifty (50) stories that will surely get the readers hooked until the last page. Each poetic tale is a stand-alone story but as soon as you flip to next page until the last, you will realize there is more to these poetic flash fiction stories than just a simple collection of tales.

Read more on https://higherfrequencymag.com/2023/01/31/bestselling-author-michelle-ayon-navajas-ready-to-begin-the-journey-of-fiction-writing-with-her-ninth-book/

What Am I?

What Am I?

i come in many forms
i could be a he, a she, an it
unexpected time when i propose
of brilliant masterpiece
you just go for it.

i come in many forms
i could be your greatest inspiration
yet a source of desperation
when i decide to go off grid
off the hook.

a bestfriend for some
an illusion for others
one important thing though
your imagination would be empty
without me.

🌹For David’s Weave Written Weekly

Brandon’s prompt guidelines

Riddle me this… I would like to you to compose a riddle or “puzzle” poem. J.R.R. Tolkien included several in his novels, as did Lewis Carroll. Emily Dickinson wrote several riddles in poetic form as well. Here is a link defining “riddle”: https://poets.org/glossary/riddle

There are no restrictions on length or rhyme. You can give the answer at the end of your poem, or to make it a little more fun, allow readers to try to guess the answer. You can also provide the answer within your poem. Have fun!

🌹voting for SPILLWORDS PRESS 2022 AWARDS is still open. i would be glad if you could head over the link and vote for my poem “LOVE HAPPENS” as Publication of the Year (Poetic). 

kindly find the link below to vote.

“Peace” by Michelle Navajas

My poem, “Peace” is up now on MasticadoresUsa. I would like to thank Barbara, the editor for publishing my poem and for believing in my works.

Please head over MasticadoresUsa to read the full poem. I would love to hear your insights about the poem so don’t forget to leave your thoughts in the comment section.

Subscribe to MasticadroesUsa to get full access of its daily dose of literary pieces from brilliant poets all over the world.

voting for SPILLWORDS PRESS 2022 AWARDS is still open. i would be glad if you could head over the link and vote for my poem “LOVE HAPPENS” as Publication of the Year (Poetic). here is the link to vote: kindly find the link below to vote.

thank you so much to all those have voted already.
my love and gratitude to each of you always and forever.

MasticadoresUsa // Editor: Barbara Leonhard

and just when you thought solitude
is what you need to live and survive
what if, it’s but a mere illusion?

in fact,

there isn’t stillness in seclusion?
there isn’t freedom in liberation?
there isn’t hope in ambition?

‘cos, no matter what you do

the war is in your head
the rage is in your soul
the inferno is in your heart

and, peace is just

a product of your imagination
a manufactured information 
a fabricated deception

go, fight

the demon in your head
the evil under your bed
the culprit that said

“you are not good enough and you will never be”

accept the challenge

spring up. climb.
rise up. grow.

prove them all wrong.

unlock your fullest potential.

Copyright © 2022 Michelle Navajas
Rights Reserved

Michelle has authored eight books“After – Rain Skies: A Million Stars”for Perak Women for Women Society (PWW), Ipoh, Perak Malaysia, during…

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Infinite (A Flash Fiction)

Infinite (A Flash Fiction)

i wonder how one mistake could end one great thing, such as love.

it was a bit gloomy, though the sun was up. i could hear the honking of the cars from where i was. i could smell my neighbor baking fresh bread. there was chaos around; a nanny was heard screaming and running after the baby she was paid to take care of and the intercom in each unit was ringing loudly. at some point, i could hear myself screaming, “answer that damn intercom,” ” give the baby something  sweet to eat so she will stop crying and running.”

oh, well, i didn’t scream it out loud, though. i’m not like that. i’m used to just keeping things to myself.

so when you came ranting about me not telling you what happened the other day, i shrugged my shoulders. it was something i didn’t want to tell. well, for one, it wasn’t as if it would change the course of time or affect the country’s economic situation (just kidding, though).

seriously, i was imitating you, what you do and how you do things; you don’t tell me, you don’t talk to me. you always let things happen and allow me to find it out myself, and when i do, i have no right to even question you; i need to understand the situation.

oh, well, what now? looks like we are even. at least you know how i feel about not knowing things and being blindsided all the time.

and for the record, i tried to understand you with all humility. i wouldn’t say i liked the thought, i was not too fond of the situation, and i hated the idea, but never was there a time that i assassinated your character by lambasting you on a personal “below the belt” level.

but you did to me. you said things beyond my imagination. you accused stuff beyond my comprehension. and most importantly, you said, “we’re done, i am cutting off my ties with you.”

i must say, i wasn’t surprised at all. you did that many times. not once, not twice, not thrice, many times. i couldn’t keep track anymore.

and despite me not being surprised, i was hurt.

i know my mistake, and i am sorry. but it does not involve me being a slut, as you call it.

i stopped arguing and stopped explaining.

one thing i’ve realized, though, is the love you call infinite or limitless ends the moment i make a mistake.

Cry (A Poetic Flash Fiction)

Cry (A Poetic Flash Fiction)

“i wonder how service personnel in a 5-star restaurant feel about serving the best food, yet unable to provide the same to their own families?”

i saw you raised your eyebrows with my question.

“i also wonder how bank tellers feel counting money every day when their problem is lack of money?”

your eyes widened as your forehead narrowed.

 “i admire your imagination and your compassion and empathy for people.” you finally said.

“i wonder ‘though, did you ever think of me when you left me broken, hurt, and devastated?”

i didn’t see that coming. i didn’t realize that even after all those years, you still remember the day i left you without the much needed explanation.

i didn’t realize that you are still hurting. i could actually feel the hurt in each word as you uttered them.

your words ushered me back to a doorway to the past. i could almost see your eyes in suppressed tears as I said my goodbye. i could see your blood oozing out of your face, for it has turned bloody red.

and for the first time, i saw your look of pain and agony, the looked i failed to know because i had just walked away.

i walked away and never looked back.

i didn’t see you cry.

but you did.