who are you? #published poem #Wolff Poetry Literary Magazine

My Dear Readers,

My poem “who are you?” published by Wolff Poetry Literary Magazine.

who are you?
which gale winds have blown you here?
which fallen saint showed you the way?
besieged by you, old loves abandoned in dark cemeteries
lament like choirs in my Hellenistic Greece
virgin thighs ferment inside your blood
scared azaleas tremble on my pillows…
continue reading here 

@short-prose-fiction

 

the ridicule of the unknown #poem #poetry

your eyes, the prohibition of cold winters
my eyes, the wanderers of earth
a copper sea mimics the candor
silence flies over the same archipelago
ah, Madeira
golden feathers are your waters
your lips taste wine
your breath smells corolla of flowers
we killed into your sands
the ridicule of the unknown
and went beyond
the ecstasies pantomimed
inside of the forever known

a golden yolk suspends itself in the warm air
a key is turning in a lock
the cries of winds vibrate an air sock

@short-prose-fiction

 

My poem “Adam’s sin” published by Spillwords Press

 

Dear Readers,

I am thrilled my poem “Adam’s sin” was published by Spillwords Press.
Thank you so much for your support. Good wishes and hugs to everyone.

a canary sings
nuptial interludes
your flesh pays its tribute to some other lovers
transitory birds
come and go like seasons
noisy V-shaped flocks
i sigh
then i listen to a monk who reads
from a book of psalms
rings sleep on my fingers
arabesque designs shiver on my skin
pastel sunsets….

continue reading here

 

 

@short-prose-fiction

 

Restoring Memories #Guest Post #David Wesley Woolverton

My Dear Readers,

“Restoring Memories” a guest post by a very talented writer David Wesley Woolverton. David is an aspiring author currently pursuing a master’s degree in creative writing at the University of South Alabama. His interests include trains, books, and daydreaming.

 

Nesrin and Ceylan had just joined the restoration staff of an open-air museum preserving the remains of an ancient city. They surveyed the ruins around them, finding very little left of the city; some scraps of wall, a few statues, minuscule traces of road.
Nesrin stopped to pet the nose of a stone lion, analyzing the contrast between her young-looking fingers and the years recorded by the moss and dirt on the statue. “Hard to believe this was our childhood home.” Continue reading here.

 

 

 

the cello #poem #poetry

i play the cello in the old streets
walls open wounds inflicted long ago
imaginary lovers contort in the air
and on my bow the grief of others
settles

i swallow tears and i play
the pain of those who cannot walk the streets
immersed in ecstasy and solitude
with all my sufferings
the walls i greet
till you’ll come out
and you’ll throw
a petty dime
right at my feet

 

@short-prose-fiction

 

come with me to the Mediterranean #poetry #poem

come with me to the Mediterranean
the highway of ancient world
for in the silence of its eye
still lives the infinite of number pi

climb with me the Mount Parnassus
in fall when Dionysus’ priestess will arrive
souls immersed in subterranean desires
into the burgundy of wine, let’s dive

the bed unmade
your eyes still hungry
poetry is screaming to be read
come with me to the Mediterranean
where Pegasus is waiting to be wed

@short-prose-fiction

 

book of poetry #poem #imagination

a book of poetry falls onto my lap
sinful kisses drown into the river’s night
love equations chant behind the door
Beatrice commits the mortal sin
birds are nesting in my palms

the flesh of shadows waltzes on the roofs
a squeaky door stops wailing in the wind
imaginary fairies land onto your skin
my fingers knead desires in a dough
a button drops into a bewitched well

i bite my lips
i laugh
possibilities
range of poetry

@short-prose-fiction
image: airimic, airmic’s portofolio, Shutterstock