Posted in My Poetry with tags , , , , , on August 14, 2022 by Plathinson

A Corollary To What’s Evident
WalkingBlind Art and Literature Magazine
Online, October 2010

Gintong Barya
Mga Tagalog Na Tula Sa Pilipinas
Blog Post, 2012
**First published in a student publication

Breath of Dawn
Emerge Literary Journal
Online, October 2012
Print, January 2014

Widowed Land
SOLILOQUY: A Confession To Self

Coffee Shop Poems
Blog Post, 2013

Twisted Vine Literary Arts Journal
Online, November 2013

Sylvia Plath
Scissors & Spackle
Print, 2014

Confessions of the Red Rose
Heart & Mind Zine
Online, February 2016

The Stench
One Person’s Trash
Print, 2017


Posted in Favorites with tags , , on July 22, 2022 by Plathinson

I listened to Billy Collins ‘s poetry reading on YT. The touch of humour was a wonderful treat. Look him up and enjoy his verses. A great storyteller! This one below is my favorite.

The name of the author is the first to go
followed obediently by the title, the plot,
the heartbreaking conclusion, the entire novel
which suddenly becomes one you have never read,
never even heard of,

as if, one by one, the memories you used to harbor
decided to retire to the southern hemisphere of the brain,
to a little fishing village where there are no phones.

Long ago you kissed the names of the nine Muses goodbye
and watched the quadratic equation pack its bag,
and even now as you memorize the order of the planets,

something else is slipping away, a state flower perhaps,
the address of an uncle, the capital of Paraguay.

Whatever it is you are struggling to remember
it is not poised on the tip of your tongue,
not even lurking in some obscure corner of your spleen.

It has floated away down a dark mythological river
whose name begins with an L as far as you can recall,
well on your own way to oblivion where you will join those
who have even forgotten how to swim and how to ride a bicycle.

No wonder you rise in the middle of the night
to look up the date of a famous battle in a book on war.
No wonder the moon in the window seems to have drifted
out of a love poem that you used to know by heart.


Posted in Just Anything with tags , , , , , on July 8, 2022 by Plathinson

When I read a book, watched a film or listened to a song, I would usually come across a riveting fragment or a line like, for instance, time being not concentrated. I would give some thought to it and see though prism for any creative spark. The phrase didn’t have to be profound—just interesting enough to tease a poetic soul to getting back in the groove.

I’d say this isn’t forced; it just happens. I’ve written several verses going through the same process. It does ignite a dying ember. It’s not to say it’s much easier to write one—just a lot more effective living in this prosaic age.


Posted in My Poetry with tags , , , on July 1, 2022 by Plathinson

The kite drifted away
after many a summer;
loose string etched
on the palm of my hands,
morphing into fine
lines and folds.
I could almost see
how time slowly made
a tale of stories told
since middle of June
at the light of day
when I could still feel
the hot and dry winds,
blowing from prime.

© Gheeneil


Posted in My Poetry with tags , , , on June 12, 2022 by Plathinson

In a place as
quiet as they are,
we stare into
the house where
they were laid
to rest alone.
Wind carries
a cornucopia
of scents that
grow wings
we do not see:
dandelions in
the hands of
those who no
longer breathe
the air we breathe.

© Gheeneil


Posted in My Poetry with tags , , , on March 25, 2022 by Plathinson

I guess grief just never ends.

May was saddest
and so was everything
that came after;
it just wouldn’t
seem to end—
this picking at scabs
and feeling the sting
from a wound that
just wouldn’t close.
Days went mute
I could not hear
your thoughts,
and yet you spoke
so much in a vacuum
that I’d hold my breath
as if I had whiffed
a nostalgic scent
and then buried it
deep in my lungs
as time took me farther
away from you.

© Gheeneil


Posted in My Poetry with tags , , , on March 11, 2022 by Plathinson

Thoughts are
no longer yours
They fly rickety
within their walls,
clamoring escape but—
whose freedom is it?
Words are all tangled up
as you speak;
your head: a balloon
losing helium
You meow and bark
when your name is called.
Aren’t you supposed to
wag your tail too?

© Gheeneil


Posted in My Poetry with tags , , , on February 12, 2022 by Plathinson

I imagined standing on the dock,
waiting for the ferry to land.
It would almost seem like
the ship never left the port at all.

The wind stretched its wings,
flapping incessantly from sea to me
At its lowest decibel:
an intimate yet subtle passing
over a tidal wave.

This voyage to places back and forth:
there was neither day or night.
To come and go without leaving home,
I felt my hand on my feet—
tightening moorings.

© Gheeneil


Posted in Favorites with tags , , on February 6, 2022 by Plathinson

This gives off the same vibe as Pablo Neruda’s “If You Forget Me.” Here’s another favorite piece by William Stafford.

Over these writings I bent my head.
Now you are considering them. If you
turn away I will look up: a bridge
that was there will be gone.
For the rest of your life I will stand here,
reaching across.

If these writings can bring a turn
or an echo that touches you—maybe
a face, a slant, a tune—you will stop
too and bend over them. When you
look up, your thought will reach
wherever I am.

I know it is strange. and there is no measure
for this. The only connection we make
is like a twinge when sometimes they change
the beat in music, and we sprawl with it
and hear another world for a minute
that is almost there.


Posted in My Poetry with tags , , , on November 24, 2021 by Plathinson

We have walked the Seven Mile Bridge
but have never crossed it
on nights so beautiful and so quiet
and when thoughts are not silenced,
just quieter—like a spark
behind midnight sky’s cloak.
Lost in Translation, Lost in Space;
Among shades of green in false Spring
for a moment, and then a lifetime.

© Gheeneil