“Busy” with…Life

I’m feeling tired, tired, tired. I’ve been very busy for the past three weeks, as in crazy busy I’ve had a hard time keeping up with stuff like cleaning my tiny house and doing laundry. Last June my lessor shocked me with the information they were closing down by July — which meant I had to stop my operations too and look for a new site for my booth. Then I had to seek my brother’s help for the whole construction and at the same time deal with all the red tape from this government agency my work is connected to and that’s the bullshit part of them all: dealing with people from that abominable agency.

Miraculously, I’ve been able to survive this particular ordeal. The entire time I was thinking “I can do it through one baby step at a time. Yes, just take a simple baby step this moment, then another…. and then another…”  Aaargh. That’s the only way to get through difficult periods — especially at work. The go-signal from the agency is all I’ve been waiting for these days to get me starting again.

Okay, so I also miss mr. poet cum librarian. And I miss writing cheesy corny poetry. Yet I’m also relieved we aren’t in touch anymore. Because we just kept struggling on each other’s terms. I don’t have enough time right now agonizing over things like that. The booth transfer has already taken so much of my energy, my schedule, my finances. This time I want to mainly focus on stabilizing once more my source of income. Because I intend to save again so I’ll be able to go back somewhere in Europe for the last time — which, I believe, has always been my ultimate dream. Traveling to that continent. An escape to a more beautiful world. The most beautiful of all worlds.

 

Vienna, Austria, dec 2017
gp6
in Europe, dec 2017
Venice, Italy, dec 2017

 

I hadn’t sent him the last ones

He embodies genuine kindness. He also encouraged me to write and for that I am grateful and will always remember him with fondness. I wish I had sent him the last of the poems I wrote for him in the past few weeks.

image: sweet-thoughtt, Tumbler

I know whereof I speak 
in harness to all that I seek
his scent, his touch, his sigh
one light, my heart, one love

image: zalam

What do you remember on that day?
“His blue eyes that speak of a good life and his few regrets.”
What was he like?
“Cool and gentle as rain. Dawn and dusk in one.”
And if you came face to face with him again?
“I’d thank him for the grace that I’d given him my all.”

wilderswil, zwitserland, dec2017

What bone in my body has forgotten you?
Locked in your essence I’d spurn any rescue
from a dream that once I had called you mine
What bone in my body has forgotten you?
When I carry this tattoo – etch of your smile
between fragile and strength, timid and wild 
What bone in my body has forgotten you? 

apoetreflects: “ “There is some realm where feelings become birds and dark sky, and spirit is more solid than stone.” —John Gardner ”

My train of words will carry all the tender
and supreme ways I wish to love you,
without any permission nor discourse
as to reasons I can’t renounce you. 

Image may contain: flower and text

Mortal as his servant, angel from beyond
I ask myself: “Has he ever been mine?” 
It’s a quarrel from afar that tore us apart 
when all I’d ever wanted was his heart. 

Image may contain: ocean, sky, cloud, outdoor, nature and water

There’s a dream that smiles when the sky sparks over the coasts
when i’m lost in wonder why his deep blue eyes are central to my pulse
So the evening has turned cold, the night rain starts to pour
the dialogues within my heart begin to soar. 

Lo and Behold, I’ve Become a Poet

Don’t take them seriously. I’ve had the most pleasure on my lyrical attempts, though. And I’m sharing them here. 😀

For every stirring line that i write
for every radiant sun that has set
my heights will reach for no end.
As I’m no Virginia
I could only remain one
and simple for you. 

– geena, may8,2018, revised journal entry

Bright gentle moonlight
shape to his shy wild stanzas
touching one’s secrets
shining down my fresh sonnets
glow in me forevermore

– geena, tanka, june2018

When I slowly run my fingers on every part of your face
my past, my present and future open up within your eyes
I recall the taste of honey and the sensation of a teenage love
I am more and more mesmerized by the swaying greens on trees
You know my hungers and thirsts without sudden retreat
for they both rise with the sun and fly with those doves
My lips reach for yours and their soft touch will surrender
to the waters of the river and the ballads of the spring. I’ll write
you a letter from my heart and the flowers will always be in bloom
From where your sweet arms wrap around me, I can stop fighting 
with my fate because your kisses have already taken me home.

– geena, 23june2018

If I could name the pure fragrance from my fingers that touched your face, my plush words to build this realm would be complete. Like timeless pieces of myself I would like you to have, they will linger through the lungs of our lyrical breaths.

– geena, 22may2018

Image may contain: Marjorie de Leon Mamaradlo, car and outdoor

My story gets written
and the world will listen
for the deeds of my past
were all rain, all wind, all sun.
I’ll find you in my dreams
and my diction will be clear
all good, so pure, so real.
With my salvation on love
from songs all night long
I feel fully alive, but I’m not
sure if I’ll truly be alright.

– geena, 21june2018

Image may contain: Marjorie de Leon Mamaradlo, smiling, plant, tree, outdoor and nature

Across the light of the earth giving birth to this hour
I hold your hand firm against the wall of my heart;
I meet the arrow of your gaze spreading life in me
and the morning smiles all around; full of joy over
a love being blessed by the prince of the sun.

– geena, 11june2018

Image may contain: sky, cloud, mountain, outdoor and nature
Tagaytay city, feb 2018

orange cream at dusk
full blend of deep elegance
stretching heaven’s worth

 geena, haikujune2018

oh my heart

I don’t want to write him back. I can’t be another one on a long string of pearls. But I miss him. I hate love…

You’re still in it. You’ll always be in it. No, not literally. But in your heart. Nothing ever ends, not if it’s gone that deep. You’ll always be walking wounded. That’s the only choice, after a while. Walking wounded, or dead.

Julian Barnes, from The Only Story

Yes yes, Mr. Barnes couldn’t have said it better.

I should just look forward to go traveling again. Even though I have no more money. 😀

musings on a very hot busy summer day

Beware: Stark honesty ahead.

I keep on saying I like men in general. I admit though the self-centeredness could get so appalling at times. All the males here basically wanted their egos to be constantly stroked. It’s tiring sometimes but I enjoy the patting most of the time. It’s what we women are good at.

My current apple of the eye, although generally a good man, is someone who seems to be basking in his social media fame over the attention he gets from very young ladies and, uh, girls. Imagining about it, considering his age, makes me go “Eew” but, you know, I need the inspiration and I won’t be able to write anything nor be productive if I dwell on such an unpleasant reality. (Of course my insecurity is apparent right this moment — what middle-aged woman doesn’t feel this way?) We are all flawed. And I am being judged no doubt too by the people I’ve interacted with here who’ve been surely disappointed by my foibles and mediocrity.

I’ll be totally honest in saying I’m glad to have found him and I like “loving” this poet cum librarian because he’s not really a mean person. His FB friends (duh, I looked at his profile) had expressed the man has got a golden heart — how refreshing, for a change. Because I’d had it with intellectuals who were frighteningly insulting and verbally abusive.

I also need this kind of distraction…badly. When I lie down to sleep at night, I remember the ones I’ve lost — especially the most recent one. I miss her despite the fact she didn’t love me. And I’m reminded of how I could have been a better daughter to her — which I chose not to be, because she had hurt me so much. I don’t have a golden heart, yeah…

I’m enjoying both the poetry readings and my piteous poetic attempts, to boot. I guess I’ll be staying in this realm for good. Reading and writing. With or without the men. Brokenhearted or not, I’ll find a way when the time comes my present “love” is not worth being my Muse anymore.

Anyway, these have been my sentiments and ponderings as of late.

in Wilderswil Switzerland last December. Up close, I don’t look that young: Of course I use an app to erase a few lines; I’m now in my 50’s, fyi. But people say I’m still beautiful –face to face–in person, and I fucking believe it. Hah! 🙂