a much better poet no doubt

One or two of my major job problems have been somewhat solved so I’m feeling a bit relieved, kind of peaceful and ready to celebrate the coming festive season. In fact I’ve put up a few Christmas decors inside my workplace. At home, I continue the never-ending process of cleaning up, organizing, and discarding unneeded stuff. Yesterday while sorting out papers to throw away, I found a piece of paper my son had left four years ago — it contained a brief poem drafted by him, probably in high school (for class homework), as he wrote under its title “written by me.”

Relics and Remnants

Yes or No?
— a question
long unanswered
by the man who seeks
what has long been sought
by Judas on his death.
Is the Answer found
on the beach
where footprints are washed away
by the unstoppable ocean?
Or is it in the relics and remnants
caused by the reason
of the existence of the question?
The Answer will not
be found in the wronged,
but in the wrongdoer,
for the Answer lives,
on the relics and remnants
restored to their past glory?
crumbled to dust?
Yes or No?

Hm, I don’t want to dismiss my son’s composition as balderdash especially when I’m reminded of the fact I compelled him to read all the classics in the school’s library during his elementary years. Compared to me, he’s thousands of times more well-read and quite an excellent sophisticated writer. I wish this only child of mine had kept writing poems.

My nephew recently told me he’d seen my son’s active Linked In account and so I took a peek the night I learned about it. Yeah, it seems he still works in the same firm. He’s now the company’s product engineer, maybe a promotion from his previous role as senior design engineer. And he freelances as a technical writer, too. Big time. But he looks so so thin and frail in a group photo… I get worried but I try to stop myself from thinking and being concerned anymore. He has made his decision. To live his own life without me. So I’ll do the same for myself.

Meanwhile, there’s no time for me to hunt for worthwhile sites to read. I guess it means I should write more often — which is fine because writing gives me pleasure. I had really wanted a blog diary but I’d always fall by the wayside. Blog overhaul might be the answer.


apoetreflects: “ “There is some realm where feelings become birds and dark sky, and spirit is more solid than stone.” —John Gardner ”
I like the pic yet I’ve no record where I got it. Hope I won’t be sent to jail for this.

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

—John Gardner

pearl in my verse

The other day I almost couldn’t stop thinking up of lines that could pass for a poem. Somebody has got to stop me 😀 . Sometimes the process is a strain, sometimes a breeze. I’m entertained nonetheless. Wherever I am, when words come up that match my inner mood I take out my pen and jot them down. Then I arrange them as soon as I find some free time. My consistent aim is self-expression. I reread my work the day after when the feeling has subsided — and I go “well what did I just write…” 🙂

image from czech the count, Tumbler

And it always comes down
to how I must unlove you
despite what my heart scribbles
over your arts in motion
that sense each sunrise, each sunset
glowing in their unfiltered light
colorful down your deepest desires.
it’s more than what I owe
more than I can handle,
when in your absence I rise
to wander, to see and feel
what’s been lost in the sky
has spread wide to the sea. 

– geena, 24nov2018

my own photo (europe winter 2017)
you define what’s never 
been understood
the layers of my longings
the sweetest metaphor
the pearl in my verse
an eternity I can believe in
from a dream that’s 
mine to cling to, mine to keep
no one have I kissed more deeply
in this silent field 
where I run by my feelings 
and nothing else.

– geena, 23nov2018

A Little Poetry Does Some Good

The past few days had me writing again. These were originally published on my Tumbler site. No need to reveal who had been on my mind when I scribbled them. Now you understand what I was talking about in my last post. I need to write something. And I’m not finished with my poetic attempts.

Let no sullen song uninspire me
my allegiance to art
needs no intervention
feelings fade, lyrics do not
there’s much to write 
about life, about love
I want light over darkness
dreams over sadness
illusions aren’t worthless
if they move spirits
from fragile to strength
timid to wild
Beyond convention
and proper fiction
my words are ready to fly. 

– geena, 26oct2018

Your light keeps drawing me to this place
I’d long decided to leave.
Somehow your journey remains my spark.
I wish I could kiss your loneliness away, I can’t.
I wish I could wipe away your apprehensions, I never can.
But I’ve pulled you into my arms
Embraced you in all your imperfections and uncertainties.
I look up to see the widening sky, growing brighter…
the entire heaven has nestled within my arms.

– geena 22oct2018

image- Source:

Needn’t Explain Myself Really

A long time ago, a bestfriend hinted that maybe I don’t know how to love. I was a bit hurt by that. But I made it my business neither to verify nor dwell on that notion about myself. There were more important things to do. Her remark has lingered to this day.

No wonder it would take another dimension for me to find a certain happiness I can’t fully explain. Where there’s love, care, and specific matters of the heart. Does it matter if it’s real or not? I’m here anyway and I’m being sustained by it all for a while.

Anything, anything that would spur me to fill up a few blank pages. No, not just anything or anyone. Something, somebody with some substance and merit — regardless that he’s a third-rate version of you talent-wise. And I can’t believe I said that. But I tell it like it is.

Explanation not necessary, I know. Something in me still feels like saying “sorry.” We’re not in the real world anyhow. I’ve learned to be convinced by that.

source image: patreon | print

…My one true love remains myself.—

Cassandra Clare, City of Bones

Happy Birthday, dearest one…

One of my biggest regrets in life — your very last birthday completely slid out of my mind because of my stupid work at the time. And when I visited you soon after, I said “Hi, papa,” your reply was something like “I don’t want you to be my child.” I kept failing you my whole life. I promise never to forget your birthday again. Yet you’re gone now. I am deeply deeply sorry.

How I wish you were still here, especially in these times when I’m certain I am not as strong as you were. But you hanged on for as long as you could. And I am determined to prove to you and myself I am indeed my father’s daughter.

I love you very much, Papa. I miss you so….

To a beautiful writer

I had wanted to write a poem for you. But I remember how I had struggled in my previous compositions and to be hilarious isn’t what I’m aiming for 🙂 so I ended up with this letter instead tonight.

Beyond my grasp, there had been unpleasant thoughts and regrettable words were hurled in the past. But I’ve always chosen to regard you under splendid light. In the same way I’d always prefer to redeem the admiration which sprang from the very first time I stumbled upon and entered your most exquisite garden of words. I still intend to keep that as one of my most wonderful memories here.

Complex people that we are — after all these years — sometimes I wonder if you’ve finally understood me. I’d like to think maybe you could fathom someone like me. But strange gal that I am, maybe you never will. 🙂

I’d be lying if I say I fully get you all the time. I don’t. I wish I could say I could comprehend your writing in recent times. I couldn’t. All the same, simply knowing you’re still around and seeing you do the things that gratify you or showcase your talents feel like a mini-holiday for me. And I can’t imagine anymore this realm I’ve come to love so much without you in it.


curtain by yosuke

I’m not complaining, am I?

Every day of my life, I attend to a job I don’t care much about. I deal with people I don’t have much in common with. For two months straight now.

Oh I’m doing fine. Sometimes I sleep six hours straight because I was dead tired after working the whole day. That’s good, getting enough sleep… Also, I can pay my bills with a little more ease these days.

I am emotionally dead, though. That’s how I feel. And I miss my secret online literary life here. My few favorite sites/bloggers on FB, WordPress, Fox News, and many others. I have no time to read anymore.

I just have to write something tonight. And I should remind myself over and over to rely on music to feed my soul (I tend to forget when I’m too busy). My favorite songs never fail to resurrect the girl in me from a long time ago. That makes me…happy.

Yet I’m feeling sleepy…. so goodnight for now.


I was barely eleven when I fell in love with Paul Davis’ original masterpiece (this is live version).

My all-time favorite song to this day.