THE CIRCLE

Posted in My Poetry with tags , , , on October 21, 2017 by Plathinson

You draw lines inside you—
a triangle; a square; a pentagon.
And when you feel bored
with your polygon, you spin around
an axis, keeping your possession.

© Gheeneil

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BEDSPACING

Posted in Just Anything with tags , , , on August 26, 2017 by Plathinson

I went through my old stuff and found this. I remember I was spilling thoughts onto paper— my dawdle day. This was no fiction, though. I wrote this in November 2004. This 13-year old note was stashed away in a box. I thought I’d post this one here.

I woke up from the other side of the bed at dawn. I felt cold breeze blowing off chilly sensation all over my body. It’s freezing me to death. I reached out for my blanket and slipped into it. I still craved for hours of sleep since I hadn’t gotten enough last night. I tossed and turned trying to find out which side of the bed would keep me a lot warmer, but the gust chased me beneath thick fabric. I wondered where the yawn had gone to when I needed it to walk me back to slumber. My eyes were wide open and thoughts were wandering, leaving my body to its own distress. The strobe of fading light coming in through the window illuminated the room. Sunrise couldn’t be stopped. No one and nothing could ever get in the way to keep another day from coming. It must have been everyone’s notice for something to do— like crossing off an item on their To-Do list, for instance.  I was reminded of what truly bothered me. November had 14 days to go. A two-week time to enjoy a roof over my head was not that bad at all. I looked back at the calendar and stared at it blankly trying to convince myself of what I thought was easy. “27th,” I whispered and then massaged my forehead as if remembering I would never get the cheese back on time. I groped for beautiful thoughts to let my mind free of falling debris. I stared at the ceiling, feeling lost, contemplating whether or not to make a wish of never to be found until I had my cheese on the 27th.

ONE PERSON’S TRASH IS NOW OUT!

Posted in News with tags , , , , on June 8, 2017 by Plathinson

It is quite rare to get a piece of work accepted and, at the same time, be able to help support a noble cause. One Person’s Trash journal’s inaugural issue features literary works which theme revolves around homelessness. The print copies are now available and are distributed among members of Tacoma’s homeless community. Proceeds go to the sellers. Read full details here.

Let’s join Jacob Nau and his team realize an objective. Please grab your copies now!

“THE STENCH” WILL START TO SMELL REALLY MUSTY SOON!

Posted in News with tags , , , , on April 23, 2017 by Plathinson

I have taken down a few more poems to find them a home. It’s always a pleasure to share them with people who take interest and find beauty in what they are here for.

“The Stench,” which I wrote in 2015, will be published in print come May 2017. Other than poetry, print edition of One Person’s Trash will also feature works of fiction and non-fiction from other writers.

DOWNPOUR

Posted in My Poetry with tags , , , on March 22, 2017 by Plathinson

Today, it is raining.

I raise an arm, palm up:
glomp for a few drops
that carry a tune
of a long forgotten song.

Serene sound pulls up a memory
from a number of moon’s passing
I can no longer remember
it was mine.

I gaze at the sight of grey:
my eyes’ plea for SOS—
that heavy downpour after over
a decade long of summer.

And because you’re still a bit coy,
I keep you closest
where only I can hear;
Forever is fleeting,
and this moment, eternal.

© Gheeneil

THE RIVER

Posted in My Poetry with tags , , , on February 12, 2017 by Plathinson

Water flows
ever so gently now,
draining a river to the dregs—
an inscription of an ultimate passing
on pebbles and silt.

Amid soft and quiet sound
of a distinctly sweet farewell,
this place almost resembles
Sahara.

© Gheeneil

THE LEAF

Posted in My Poetry with tags , , , on October 2, 2016 by Plathinson

My memory remained
where you left it:
barely hanging on a tree
where our thoughts played
hide-and-seek.

Day and night,
you were the wind—
always everywhere;
always nowhere.

Leaves were stars
that tasted so sweet
at every fall.

And then autumn came so fast
without you
ever noticing.

© Gheeneil