Thursday, November 27, 2008


This might be long. but there's a surprise at the end.

by Gege Sugue
copyright 2005

Your face.
The first thing to catch my eye
To ignite the spark
To captivate my heart
Beguile me
Make me take pause
And linger
Look closer

Your face.
Tells me to come nearer
To touch
To probe
And know you more
Sometimes I get hooked
Sometimes I resist
Walk away
Just to see another
Move on to a prettier face

Your face.
May be comely
May be plain
It may be mysterious
Or bold
Colorful or somber
You evoke ideas
You provoke
You invite
You taunt
And beckon me to know you
Hold you
Explore what lie beneath

Your face.
Reveals much about you
Sometimes it gives mere nuances
Sometimes it offers clues
Sometimes none
Sometimes it tells your story
Your triumphs
Sometimes you’re enigmatic
Making me wonder
Sometimes you are open
Allowing me a glimpse inside
Sometimes you are wrapped in veneer
Preventing even a preview
Heightening curiosity
Inviting risk
Challenging my daring
Goading me to take a chance
Making me ponder
If your substance
Is in parity
With your blatant beauty
I speculate
If you’re worth the price
Sometimes I simply move on
To another less guarded
Or maybe, to hell, I say
I embolden myself
And guiltily, stealthily
Rip off that prudish layer
I choose certainty
Over discovery

Tactile follow visual
My eyes burn down
Your spine.
My fingers pick up the trail
I try to compare you
To the others I already have
How you look in a line
Do you fit in
Do you stand out
Do you complement
Maybe it is not fair
To judge you
By the others I have
But I can’t help it
I am a connoisseur
I have had many
Any many more there are to be had
But no
I shouldn’t
Not again
I tell myself
Not now

The view of
Your back.
Tell me where you came from
Who loved you before
What you are about
Your essence
That separate you from the others
Your history
Your characters
Your maker
Your genre
Your promise.
To amuse me
In nights of solitude
In days of languor
Hours of ennui
To lift me
When the world fails me
To comfort me
Through moments of sorrow
To incite hysterics
Or dramatics
To sate a longing
For knowledge
For inspiration
For travel

My palm glides along
Your body.
The longing quickens
The hook deepens
I resist
You persist
You tease
You tell me there’s more
To see
To know
I turn away
You call me back
I give in
Grab you
Hold you
I succumb
I pay the price
And bring you home
Hide you from my beloved’s eyes
You, my guilty vice
I unwrap you
And mark my name on you

I breathe in
Your scent.
Could be the crisp fresh smell of new
Or the musty scent of old
Maybe I found you in a pristine place
Or maybe I unearthed you
In a dingy bargain place
Maybe you’ve had someone own you
And use you a multitude of times
Before I did
But it does not matter
Because no matter how much
I hold you
Use you
Abuse you
Sap all you have
No matter how much I take of you
You give more
And promise a next time
Assure me
That when I take you again
You will offer as much

Your words.
Unspoken yet powerful
Soul food
Evocative, compelling
Pleasing not my ears
But my core
Sometimes sublime
Sometimes crass
May be funny
Or blasé
Angst ridden
Pseudo intellectual
Causing discomfort
Serving as a mirror
To my foibles
My weaknesses
My fears
The darkness within me
Stretching my soul
Expanding my mind
Exposing my heart
Hitting my guts
You teach me
Grip me
Stab me where it hurts
Make me confront my demons
Make me smile
Or weep
Or laugh
Urge me to think
To act
To know
To change
Or just to be

For that moment you hold me
Own me
Rule me
Dominate me
Sometimes I lose sleep
And have you all night
Till I am sated
Or spent
Sometimes I set you aside
To wait for another round
Sometimes I consume you fast
Sometimes I take my time
Sometimes I hold back
Sometimes fatigue overcomes me
Some nights my husband finds me asleep
With you on my pillow
He sighs and wakes me
To scold me or mock me

The whole of you
My guilty pleasure
My addiction
My need
My obsession
My prized possession
Books, the ultimate seduction

(And you thought it was something else, right? )

Tuesday, November 25, 2008

Shift Key

Clustering the jumble of my thoughts

Long held captive

In a heart afraid to tell

By a mind too judgmental

Of the writer who just was not good enough

Feeling the shift

In my head

In my gut

Through my pen

Moving, sliding, traveling in circles

Along the once blank paper

Finding myself

Hesitantly, tentatively

Then courageously

Extricating what’s hidden

Exposing what is forbidden

And the words spill out

My mind speaks up

My heart gushes

And there on paper is me

In Sonya’s Garden

by Gege Sugue

(Or maybe I should call this: The Unbearable Lightness of Doing Nothing)

Finding myself

In this garden wonderland

Where the smells and sights

Flavors and textures accost the senses

Leaving me breathless

Yet filled with life

The scent of tarragon

Of eucalyptus, mint and basil

Invading, tickling my nostrils

Relaxing my mind

Once strained and stressed

Oceans of green

Refreshing my eyes

Bursts of purples and pinks

Of yellows, blues, and crimson

Awakening my spirit

Against the pitch dark night

The dancing, flickering white of flirting fireflies

Arousing wonder

Giving delight

The chirping of cicadas

The croaks of frogs

The distant mooing of the cows

Amusing my soul

Teaching me that music

Need not come out of an electronic box

And my tone deaf ears

Do not mean the song within me

Cannot be sung

At Sonya’s dining room

I cleansed my palate

Off the city’s fast food junk and gunk

And my tongue discovered

Feasts of flavors

Of fresh herbs and organic leaves

Of virgin oils and buttery bread

Of slow cooked dishes

Of meats of animals free to roam the range

Of food that comfort

And also surprise

With twists and secret recipes

I discovered the novel experience

Of plucking leaves from the plant

Instantly popping them into my mouth

I discovered flowers that looked good

And tasted even better

I discovered a unique and splendid use for mint

That has forever changed my reaction to yams

At Sonya’s Garden I tasted

I savored a million wonderful healthy flavors

I found myself in Sonya’s Garden

In slow, solitary walks

The space around me

Bathed in the deep dark blue of dusk

I floated along meandering paths

Of bricks and dust

Strewn with muted lights

Diffused by color stained glass

The lightness of my steps

The stillness that soothed frayed nerves

The silence embracing me

All these hushing my noisy mind

Illuminating the yearnings of my heart

The way the sunlight spilled

Into the room told me

I was no longer in that urban jungle called home.

Instead, I was a visitor in a jungle I couldn’t call mine

Where a bug on the dining table

And a caterpillar on my chest

Which in the city would bring about manic screams

But in here seemed natural

Something to giggle about

I was, after all, the one invading these insects’ territory

And I discovered that home need not be in just one place

Finding myself

Doing nothing

Yet learning

And growing

Resting without guilt

Slowing down

Yes, I had time to smell the roses

And arrange them

I discovered, awakened creativity long lay latent

Finding myself

Munching English tea sandwiches

Sipping rosebud tea

Engaging in useless banter

Talking without agenda

Discovering that the art of conversation

Can sometimes be in not having one at all

Finding myself ensconced in my gorgeous brass bed

Draped in crisp, white linen

Reading Borges and Sartre

When my brain felt like mush

After an hour of sheer ecstasy

As Joy, my masseuse, kneaded my muscles

Unknotting knots

Destressing the stress

Of a body battered by the business of daily living

Discovering I can sleep before midnight

Finding peace and bliss in a pillow scented with ylang-ylang

I found myself in Sonya’s Garden

Showering in the wild

With nature as my curtain

Invisible, imagined voyeurs forgotten

I found within me

The courage to bare

In Sonya’s Garden

There were no keyboards to pound

And I found myself writing

The old fashioned way

Right brain dominating

Taking over left brain’s control

Murano pen scribbling and drawing

Leaving a trail of ink

Scented jasmine

Across the paper’s surface

And I discovered that writing

Need not be a painful practice

Of squeezing thoughts and smithing words

That I can write from the gut

And have the courage to bare my soul

I found myself in Sonya’s Garden

In this garden wonderland I had a glimpse

A vision of what I want to be

In the frenzy of doing nothing

I experienced a sampler of the life I want to live

In the dry, lifeless silence of the couples in the dining room

I saw the life of the marriage I did not want

As I missed the people not here

I learned what and whom I value

I found myself in Sonya’s garden

I am that caterpillar

Precariously balancing on the edge of the leaf

Imperfect outside

The beauty inside ready to burst forth

Plodding through life

Knowing something great is about to happen

Not quite sure what

Just knowing it’s going to be beautiful

I’m going to come out of my cocoon



Celebrating myself

Celebrating my discoveries

Celebrating the journey I’ve had

And the journey ahead

I found myself in Sonya’s garden

And I liked what I discovered

Saturday, November 22, 2008

Shadows on the Pavement

  1. Rushing from point A to point B
  2. Mind shifting from goal 1 to goal 2
  3. Halting in my tracks
  4. Noticing the shadows on the pavement
  5. Sun and tree co-creators of an art piece
  6. Leaves casting their silhouettes
  7. On the concrete canvas I walk on
  8. A slight breeze
  9. A falling leaf
  10. Altering the artwork
  11. Awakening me from my reverie
  12. Picking up my steps
  13. Making up for lost time
  14. No time to admire shadows and silhouettes
  15. Thinking, later, there will be time to watch the pavement,
  16. Yeah, right, later

Tuesday, November 18, 2008


There's a space inside me, a gaping hole,
That aches to be filled by another soul.
There's a space in my life for one new being
Hungry for nourishment, love and caring,
There's a space in my home waiting for a gift
From Him who receives the wishes I lift.
There's a space in my heart that longs to love,
Waiting, hoping for an angel from above.
There's a space in my ear that longs to hear,
A cry so sweet, a giggle so dear.
There's space in my mind filled with knowledge
Sharing them with you would be my great privilege.
There's a space in the nook of my arm,
Ready to hold you and keep you warm.
There's a space in my being
Longing, longing, longing

after having been diagnosed as having PCOS,
a non-life threatening condition that makes
conception a bit of a challenge

Shove Me the Money

image from

Eyes ten years older than they really are
A face well trained to incite sympathy
An empty stomach and a hungry heart
Sunburnt skin on a tired gaunt body

Calloused fingers tapping on car windows
Filthy hands begging for a mere peso
An angry scowl and an embittered frown
As he is ignored and looked down upon

Society's shame, a syndicate's pawn
City's scourge, a politician's icon
A corrupt cop's lunch, a tourist eyesore
A pedophile's wet dream, twisted pimp's whore

Cursing his parents, wishing away time
Sniffing glue he escapes reality
Life of vandalism and petty crime
His dirty finger for humanity

Monday, November 17, 2008

Nocturnal Impasse

In the middle of an action movie
Hours before the strike of midnight
Minutes after back meets bed
He slumbers and snores

While she makes midnight her noon
And darkness her muse
She works in the quiet of night
And sleeps at the burst of dawn

Three longitudinal lines divide
The bed from left to right
Crazy body time zones
Separate man and wife

He rests. She wrestles.
He wakes. She wanes.
He drifts. She dreams.
He asks why.
She wonders when the two shall meet.

No Rhyme. No Reason.

In the business of words
I feel totally bankrupt
In the company of poets
I suffer the role of a poor relative
My soul craves for a way to express
But my intellect suppresses
The unspoken thoughts and fears
Aching to hear themselves
My soul calls for a poem to divulge
Those which pick on my heart
Gnaw on my sense of self
But the words stay bogged
In my mental morass

My system needs the release
Of pent up pains, insecurities
That alcohol can not ever oppress
That earthly solutions scarcely address
Prose is insufficient
The poet in me reticent
And then the irony strikes me
I'm forming verses
I am spewing thoughts
Stanzas are leaping onto the page
Maybe my dormant muse is awakening
Then again, maybe not

And then my mood swings back
To feelings of inadequacy
For not knowing the science of rhyme
For not using what could have been a gift
For keeping the talent latent
For having wasted my life in the pursuit
Of the bottom line and the concerns of the corpulent
Er, that should be concerns of the corporate
Instead of feeding my being
With what is real and stirring
Losing myself in the sham and shit
When I could have been rich, pure, good

How many years have I spent
Meandering, experimenting
Nourishing my ego
While dropping mere morsels for my soul
Stunting the growth of my character
Indulging in useless prattle
Pleasing the imagined public
Whoring myself for attention
Flashing, fishing, fawning for adulation
As if they make me whole
In truth they distract from my truth
And hold my essence captive

This sadness that now escapes
The confines of my skin
Now looms over me
Almost blinding
Casting gray on every vista of opportunity
Loser, I hear my demons call me
Weakling, I hear my heart teasing
Whore, I hear my soul scream
At the failure I've become
Their evil glee caused by the past
They have played in my crash into hell

Damn, how does one construct a poem
What are the rules
And how does one keep the honesty
When the number of lines constrict
How does one work out the rhymes
How does one maintain a meter
Nobody ever taught me
I probably would never have listened
Was too preoccupied with my yuppie aspirations
Was too intent on my acquisitions
Was too cool for sappy articulation
Was too full of my self serving myths

I must have missed it
That chance to be a better person
That call to be bigger than my needs
And maybe like a comet that comes
Once in a lifetime
It will never call me again
So I resign myself to this feeling
Of having wasted myself
Dealing with the shock
Of realizing I am not as great
As I thought I could be
Or should be
Mediocrity, hey that is my greatest ability