Unbound by Time

beyond caring now what people think

[theminutehand]

We built a castle through our ardent words

We held an ocean with careless passion

But the love we pledged to die for

we couldn't defend to the very end

So I allow you your pride and

spread my own to cover such hurt

An unsent letter that refuses to cross the seas

has buried the love we once could not resist.

-- geena, 28nov2021

[theminutehand]

SHORT STORY:

WHILE YOU WERE AWAY, AN ONLINE LOVE STORY

My friend, do you remember that genial sunny afternoon when you revealed a precious segment of your history in spite of the half a world distance that separates you from me? Such deed on your end bestowed the pleasant conception of having gained your trust and the seal our more than three years of camaraderie coveted. Yet soon after, an inexplicable disconnect took place which in its aftermath made me think it could be irreversible this time.

My goal nonetheless to push through on resurrecting my love for writing was strong it led me to rejuvenate a friendship with one of my oldest facebook pals. It brought me to ask this friend directly if he could be my reader. And he said yes. A couple of days after, he professed his affection with the desire to become more than just my reader. Seeing nothing wrong as both of us are single, I granted his request.

Let's call him C. C is far from my typical dream guy because all my life, I've gone for the muscled and physically-fit type. His cerebral mind and erudite diction, however, were impressive enough to overlook the physical demerits.

I prefer strong men -- he was an ex-soldier and deputy who projected toughness and robustness. Having said that, he could casually wield sweetness from his core. Most importantly, upon giving my condition of us never to engage in online sex talk, he unalduratedly complied.

We're of the same age. We share the same appetite to stretch life into wide yonder -- no to mention an unceasing endeavor to shape this world to a luscious orb. His passion for riding motorbikes has turned as more than a mild interest for me; to become a free-spirited female biker was one of my unrealized dreams.

Morning and evening of texting and chatting; that amount of attention and sharing (frivolous matters, our innermost thoughts, his past) between us two felt favorable...and for the first time in a long while, someone was with me day in and day out.

In spite of his ideal stature, he's been out of shape -- and he's got diabetes, among his few medical ailments. Hardly the quintessential dude that I could look up to and be proud of. Little by little my sensitivity to this truth came to light: There will come a point in our lives when we embrace something not based on our long-held standards, but instead, based purely on a decision. I simply made the decision to love him.

To accept him for everything that he is even though he cannot meet certain benchmarks I have long fostered.

His declaration on his fb page we are a couple incipiently provided me the drift of acknowledgment and felicity I've since missed, in view of his extensive social circle. Things felt good for the time being.

Until reality began to set in.

-(to be continued)-

-- short story by geena del Mar, nov2021

[metaphoric-battlefield]

Dearest ever metaphor

rays from the sun down

to the pearl of my verse

No one have I kissed 

more deeply

on this silent field

where I run by my feelings

and nothing else.

– geena d. romantic poet

[metaphoric-battlefield]

A beautiful songbird from a fanciful myth  who articulates the hums of my tender will, an attachment I honor above the rest – a masterpiece of all time and love.

Remember me past the strength of my devotion past the complications of my faithful heart  past the tides which had once rushed  against the radiance of these lines.

****************** – geena d. romantic poet; image Source

[metaphoric-battlefield]

Sweet man from my dream  sole marrow to love songs  I sing through the night. How this hole in my heart  ploughed by your absence  has turned deep as the ocean  in concurrence with each star  that ignites and falls  over the burden of those three words  I’ve held dear by my core.

************** – geena d. romantic poet; image:photosbygerardo

[metaphoric-battlefield]

I know whereof I speak, I know what I’ve come to seek: his scent, his sigh, his touch, my light, my heart, one love.

——————–

– geena d. romantic poet

Adelaide Kane in Reign

(via metaphoric-battlefield)

[thelovejournals]

“Finally, in a low whisper, he said, ‘I think I might be a terrible person.’ For a split second I believed him - I thought he was about to confess a crime, maybe a murder. Then I realized that we all think we might be terrible people. But we only reveal this before asking someone to love us. It is a kind of undressing.”

— Miranda July, The First Bad Man

[metaphoric-battlefield]

I turn you into a song, a sonnet, a poem Time as my witness an affection has grown Simple treasures in place of their glow would find you then and think of home.

To stage my truth I give you words to plead for love I give you words to say I cherish I give you words; this cluster of letters I come here for in no other way will I know how.

- geena d. romantic poet, 11aug2019

[metaphoric-battlefield]

Scent of moonlight in an evening of love has dipped us both to a wide sea of longings until we slowly drift down hand to hand heart to heart lung to lung.

————————- 

– geena d. romantic poet, june 2019

image:  archae-heart

(via metaphoric-battlefield)

[metaphoric-battlefield]

I created a version of him whose heart belongs to no one but me. He’d ask why, and I say, ‘How is our love unalike to the vow of faith among bodies of heaven, sheer bond of rain to clouds, vast pledge by earth unto the flames of the sun.’ For the only thing I know is the only way I love.

– geena d. romantic poet, 22june2019; originally published in autumn nightingale

[metaphoric-battlefield]

A motion of yours in the night becomes a cool breeze which lingers round my heart. Words pile up and give rise to feelings that used to reign… because you still own in me what has not gone anywhere.

geena d. romantic poet, 19june2019 (via metaphoric-battlefield)

[theminutehand]

What aim could I harbor when I cross miles through notes of love that I place in the palm of a man who pulls heaven to lay near my mind? Must I revel in opulence from the verses we blend and take in the essence of his songful breath till the sum and substance worn out of feelings become fluent from its past, empty for a future.

– geena d. romantic poet, 08march2019 (originally published in autumn nightingale)

[metaphoric-battlefield]

A faraway look at the sea a press of heaven between longings. She is homeless in the land but is sheltered in the sky. Gently touching her scar within, the heart of mark which tells “you can come back to me”

geena d. romantic poet, 30july2019

(via metaphoric-battlefield)

[theminutehand]

‘Twas a year ago today when my heart woke up to the glow of your flame migrant to my senses, you gained entrance like a series of prayer to an ailing soul what else is left after loss of precious faith before dreams had been lost to some tragic fate Now a candle across through its burning grace beholds the credence for my wants  in the comfort of your arms.

– geena, 06march2019 (originally published in autumn nightingale)

[theminutehand]

I know women writers are well-capable of deep emotions. Nevertheless, how were you able to come up with such hearty pieces?

I take that as a compliment :-) . There was this long period (some two years ago) when I didn’t write anything. No motivation, no inspiration. Nothing. Then came an opportunity or rather an ideal circumstance to take up writing again. It called to mind a longtime blogpal’s technique: Invent something to be able to create. I admit to being a better reader and prose scribbler. But hey, my poetic attempts have been exhilarating. Years from now, as with my other prior manuscripts, I look forward to flipping through them all and (with palm on face) go “oh well well...” :-)

[metaphoric-battlefield]

I am often someplace where poetry cannot reach I sit by the veracity of a single star the footsteps I’d left in hallways I couldn’t hide every candle emits smoke in ghost white which explains my fickle struggle as a poet No muddy waters run through my river the profundity of these feelings I’m bound to clear before I empty them out into your sea.

– geena d. romantic poet

[theminutehand]

Unfaithful Somehow i’d thought you were uncommon for the kind of man that you are not until that moment of fateful discovery that your adoration doesn’t belong to me I could’ve reversed the sky’s impermanence to gain a rightful piece of your heart but what good are my words of longing if she inhabits your isle of peace Your desire has imprinted a few faces the knowledge which so hurts me in this phase how do i feign ease when i’m dying inside over that marrow in you i’ve failed to colonize.

-- geena d. romantic poet, 28july2019