what price

She goes out for the rudimentary world that lets the warmth of the sun seep through the trembling hand of her own weakness and uncertainty. Carving a sphere, she seeks distance from anyone and anything that might cast her thoughts next to her broken heart.

But in between the business of living and trying to keep a soul from dying, she often ends up groping her way along trails she hasn’t known about. Forever shackled to an alien status, her disengagement to standard chaos — sometimes out of barren concern — doesn’t come without a price, notwithstanding the few convictions that had already passed across her face.

How could anyone understand this woman who at the end of the day would yearn for the sight of the moon in any shape. The same woman, on her bended knee, who would plead for the rugged winds to carry her off far into the dark of the night.


– geena, april 2017

Der schwarze Vogel ohne Namen
The Black Bird Without A Name, SC, Tumbler


maybe a prose never a poem – 10

You stand around that edge. I do the same, and the footsteps of every second start melting over your silence and mine. Anything can seem out of character between the two of us anyway.

We hold on for the dedication that runs without the clarity of faith. Remembering how once there had been a voice that was sweet and clear — the one that could’ve pulled me along those lyrical dreams.

The breeze blows its force… and we fall into the sea, the sea of surrendering smiles and deep embrace. I ask, “Is this what it’s like to overflow with you — after feeling misbegotten and apart from the rest?” A smile and the long embrace are your just replies. 

With warm comfort locking up each moment, a knowledge growing stronger, more beautiful at the turn of dusk, a touch is extended by the evening… and we do a soft dance around the moon, until the hour of space intervenes and tells us not to.


— geena, april 2017

– by Ryan Jackman

Silly Love Poems from Yours Truly

My my, what a surprise! My post “Idiomatic nut”, garnered the highest views so far. I’m totally puzzled. I mean I’ve had far more interesting and better-written posts than that. I guess some surfers were misled by the title thinking they could get some substance about the topic. Now I can only imagine the horror on their faces after reading it. But it delighted me nevertheless. Imagine, 37 (unsuspecting) viewers bothered to click open my blog in one day. Cool..

This time, I’m posting a few of the mini love poems I wrote some years ago when I got infatuated with my son’s guitar teacher. I was already in my late 30s then but what the heck, I was in love(?). The feeling of course has long been gone but the poems remain. And I don’t mind sharing the verses to you now. Just keep in that I’m not a poetic person and I’m not even into reading poems at all. I don’t know what got into me years back to write these verses, but I guess that’s just one of the mysteries of love. So let me start.. (they’re all untitled, by the way)

I may not have the beauty, riches or intelligence

that can make up for my fading youth..

But the one true thing I can hold onto                       

 is the memory of the way I have cherished you..


The clouds that gracefully drift by

 in the hue of the pale blue sky

can never be as breathtaking

as when I close my eyes and remember your face..                    


There was this moment

when I laid my eyes on you

and touched your face gently..

Then I woke up to find it was just a dream..

But how it made me smile,

 and put the sun to shine right into my heart..


I wish there’s something I could say

about the beauty of a broken heart,

 but all I could feel now

is the melancholy it brings

to my whole being

 for letting you go..