Identity #short prose #flash fiction

 

“We are the children of our landscape; it dictates behaviour and even thought in the measure to which we are responsive to it. I can think of no better identification.”

Lawrence Durrell,  Justine

_

Anything can be said about that city, but one can never say that it does not have a distinct identity.

During the humid autumn evenings the city looks like a wounded being, nursing her own lacerations. On the sidewalks the smell of dust overpowers the stench of cigarettes, and alcohol coming from her tiny, obscure pubs.

Clandestine risings to power, luxury cars zipping by, casinos filled with shady characters, rats zig-zagging in the basements of old buildings. Plenty of frustrations running through the city’s blood like thousands of white blood cells through the veins of an infected patient.

A sea of beggars at every street corner: amputated hands, deep lesions, winkled faces painted in the colors of dirt. Pain exposed in plain view like art objects in museums: the only difference being that pain is free; the entry in most museums is not.

In that city our story began: a story in which we created and destroyed loves, trusted and betrayed friendships, invented beauty only to eradicate it at the first sign of dawn.

We tried to satisfy our egos.  We ended up satisfying the city’s need to devour us.

Excerpt from the manuscript “Glass Lovers” (draft)

@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela M.)

those roses which die in the winter #poem #poetry

 

those roses which die in the winter
played the piano last night
a whirlpool of notes and of poems
inscribed on a wall painted in blue
caged in your dreams I still struggle
like birds drowned in water and mud
I cover the world with my fingers
I haunt the unspoken in dark
those roses which died before blooming
this love which will end in a tomb

@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela M.)

image:  Vasyl Rohan; Shutterstock; [link]

My poem “the breath of love and death” voted Publication of the Month at Spillwords Press #poetry #published

 

My Dear Readers,

My poem “the breath of love and death” was voted Publication of the Month at Spillwords Press (November 2019).

My most sincere thanks to everyone who voted for me.

Have a fabulous week.

Gabriela

@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela M.)

 

Tree of Love #prose poem #short prose #poetry

 

I fed my tree of love with water from my blood, dried lizards, and pieces of broken hearts.
My tree will bloom during the Banquet of the Moon.
The broken hearts? You see I had no choice.
I am the defender of love.
I do not trade in half measures.

@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela M.)

image:  Bruce Rolff; Shutterstock; [link]

Will you vote for me? author of the month and publication of the month at Spillwords Press #poetry

 

My Dear Readers,

I was nominated author of the month at Spillwords Press. At the same time my poem “the breath of love and death” was nominated for publication of the month. If you wish you can vote for me – Gabriela M – in the link below. You do not need to have a Spillwords account to vote though it is easy to open one. You can vote with your Twitter or your FB account.

My most sincere thanks and congratulations to all nominees.

Gabriela

Vote

@short-prose-fiction

fires #poem #poetry

 

fires burn rocks in the mountains
fountains in the parks burn our hearts
I dip my hands into the seven parallels of love
I spin the planetary souls on both my arms
a bird pulls at its feathers in the mirror
the wilderness of autumn
puts on its lipstick

insanity throws stones into a garbage can
exiled from the imagination of Seville
Don Juan lures empty frames inside a bar
your heart meanders among marble stars
scents of flowers, heavy chains 
poetry burns our lips
lonely scavengers of night
you and I

draft
@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela M.)

image: Brina L. Bunt; Shutterstock; [link]

initiation #poem #poetry

 

deification of the virgin nymph
within my palms
the flesh of violet sunsets flips like fish on land
my eyes, inheritors of light
singular sinkholes punctuating a low sky
your love, eternal summer with no births or deaths
initiation
doors lock by themselves
into the secrets of that which will be
the danger of me
deeper than the darkest sea

@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela M)

at the edge of winter #poem #poetry

 

at the edge of winter
bridal chambers cry
roasted chestnuts crack
in the frigid streets
days inside my soul
come and go like ships
broken hearts lament
right at my front door
did I leave you there?

see,
I can’t remember
what I’ve done with you
at the edge of winter
a tree is sick with flu

@short-prose-fiction

image: Nelson garrido Silva/Shutterstock

Attention #short prose #prose poem #poetry

 

I resurrected him.

It was a mischievous act meant to attract the attention of mortals.

Instead I attracted some demons determined to follow me. I locked them in the sockets of time.

I feed them through cracks which propagate at the speed of light.

Bleeding rays of dark suns and dust left from what used to be your affection for me. 

Words left to dry like laundry in the wind.

Words chewing my soul like termites in wood.

My poetic rapport with myself is bad. 

My alter ego hisses like a snake at every word I write.

What’s the truth? I have no idea.

Any act meant to attract attention displaces the truth.

@short-prose-fiction

image: mehmetcan’s portfolio; Shutterstock; [link]