Sutures #Short Prose #Flash Fiction

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“Oh, the four of you at that time!

Like the confluence of four deep, unsettled seas tied together into a magnificent enormous drape of spume; feelings suturing earth and sky like stitches suturing wounds; small fragments of fiction scribbled on paper; books of poetry resonating in the dark like cords of mandolins under the fingers of rejected lovers; fragile withered roses kept forever like relics in a church; the smell of fresh painted canvases mixed with that of salt water.

Any relation with the outside world severed.

That was the reality born out of your fantasy, Clara.”

I was in tears

“Angelo, I know of no other reality but my fantasy.”

 

Excerpt from the manuscript “Glass Lovers”
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what i want #poem #poetry

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a tipsy air plays with my dress
golden afternoons fall from my hair
fingers, pillars of the city
point toward the dangers of an angry sea

why are my ships hit by deceptive languor?
what have you done to them to fall in love with you?
i rip my dress and threw it to the waves
i raise my head
and speak to you

what do i want?

i want to sail to the East Indies
to bathe in essences of coriander and of cinnamon
to meet the founders of the now adulterated cities
exchange my soul for silky fabrics in Jaipur

to walk in temples nested in the banyan trees
to bite the skin of passion fruits in naked nights
to tear my heart and throw it to Lord Vishnu
to soil my hands while healing beggars in the streets

oh, i know…
your poetry which rings for me
your feathered kisses nuzzling my neck
everything one day will wash at sea
and that will be the day in which
fingers, pillars of the city
will turn your love
toward the real me

 

draft
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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

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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

 

triolets #poem #poetry

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I wish to see you walk through the Arco de Elvira, to find out your name and shed a tear.” Federico García Lorca.

 

a violet sunset laments in the city
saps of triolets flow on my neck
ah, Granada
i stretch inside your memory
like felines on grasslands
a lily cries
my bracelets dangle
the eyes of candles flicker in your Spanish nights

fingers of lascivious desires
steal from my neck the saps of triolets
Granada
play your magical guitars
unleash the beauty hidden in your walls
the frenzy of the flesh which dies
into the ardent gestures of your dance
under La Puerta de Elvira
yesterday two lovers met
and i,
i wait in tears
for the love
which knows the mysteries of triolets

 

 

@short-prose-fiction 

 

blood #poem #poetry

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my body is dragged
i’m covered in mud
sword in my hand
still i can cut
you’re looking at me
i hear the word love

fight!

children are crying
the moon has been stolen
the winds have stopped
right all the wrongs
lighten the sun
straighten the earth
bloom all the buds
i’ll see you again
there are other lives

fight
do not stop!

i’m choking on blood…

draft

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come with me to the Mediterranean #poetry #poem

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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

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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

 

draft
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image: airimic, airmic’s portofolio, Shutterstock