My poem “the ridicule of the unknown” published by Vita Brevis

Dear Readers,
My poem “the ridicule of the unknown” published by Vita Brevis.
I want you to know how much I appreciate you reading my work and inspiring me.
Yours
G.

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
please continue reading here

@short-prose-fiction

 

 

My poem “triolets” published by Spillwords Press #poetry

Dear Readers,
My poem “triolets” published by Spillwords Press.
Please know that your support and love are the real inspiration behind my work.

triolets 

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
please continue reading here

 

Sunday #poem #poetry

this Sunday
hangs black drapes on all my windows
look, i packed some memories for her
my crocheted dress
he liked so much
the smell of jasmine from my hair
a symphony
three roses and aromas of some fruit
prayers and a poem that i wrote
the red of tamarillos from the Spanish bowl
the innocence i cherished
when i was sixteen
Lord!
this Sunday doesn’t stop
she wants my soul

@short-prose-fiction

image: EhayDy; Shutterstock; [link]

 

Soul Bonds #Short Prose #Flash Fiction

Winter night tormented by hauling winds. I lie in bed. I can hear that beautiful raspy voice of his:

“I have seen so much in my life: indescribable humiliations, deep scars on burned faces, dreams crushed like broken glass on empty floors.

We desperately want to love, to possess each other, caught in a perpetual rush to justify our existence.

Yet there is no love that can fully satisfy us.  The passions of the flesh get exhausted in bed. What is left is exhausted by our imagination.

Physical love does not bind forever. Soul bonds do.”

Memories of a silky African violet nightgown modeling my body.

Ah, where are you? Where are you now?

 

excerpt from the manuscript “Glass Lovers”
@short-prose-fiction

image: Anna Ismagilova; Shutterstock, [link]

 

Greek Summer #poem #poetry

summer
winds play on my sheer dress
rhythms of the sirtakis dance
petals of white roses float over the bluest sea
lassitude spreads rosy fever
among the sailors on the ships
inside the blue tavern
in the port
we eat keftedes
and drink coffee boiled into a copper briki
feathers of white drapes cover my body
a yellow melon bursts in seven pieces
oh, its sweet pudicity
its enigmatic jealousy!
your hungry hands encircled on my hips
the bluish purple of an hyacinth
whispers words of night in Greek
and by the “condo of the virgin”*
we loved each other feverishly
for an entire week

*reference to the Parthenon, temple dedicated to Athena who was a virgin goddess
@short-prose-fiction

image: Riekus; Shutterstock. [link]

 

fears of death #poem #poetry

fears of death
strangled in the heat of our palms
our bodies scratched by silver bracelets
glide onto passion’s desperation curve
go beyond the locus of the flesh
kill our caricatures which people call reality
light ferocious fires on the altar of the gods
in rituals we burn to ashes our fears
dry into the smell of lilac
our tears

ah, i forgot to tell you when i meet you in my dreams
Arabella still sells bracelets in the silver market
she asks me every time about you
while lizards run their greens into the nearby parkette
i lie and promise her you’ll come next time
to buy another bracelet and some juicy limes

now in the silence of long purple nights
the silver bracelets do not hurt my flesh at all
but every minute you are not with me
cuts yet another wound
into my soul

@short-prose-fiction

image: Zolotatevs; Shutterstock; [link]

 

mystic wedding #poem #poetry

we got married at midnight
waves washed our naked feet
your face was shaved, my hair smelled almonds
you cried
and tears covered my veiled lips

your grandmother’s cross was nesting on my breast
songs of nightingales resounded in the honeyed water
new pearls were braided on my dress
kisses flowed
and borrowed lace adorned my hips

leaves rustled in a tree
the water turned to wine
the moon rose from the sea
like at the mystic wedding
in Cana of Galilee

@short-prose-fiction 

 

the dark flag of pain #poem #poetry

i open doors which you can’t see
under my father’s heavy eyelids
tenderness gets harder every day
i ache and cry
inside the same sunset in which you left
the smell of morphine saturates my skin
in Campo de’ Fiori people still sell grapes
some still believe the Freudian nonsense about sex
gale winds blow the dark flag of pain
a lonely boat sits anchored in the bay
my soul is scattered in the west
my tears form a phase which reads
tomorrow is already yesterday

@short-prose-fiction

image: nodff: Shutterstock; [link]

 

until the end of my life and beyond #short prose #flash fiction

“I, Miguel Julian Veracruz, take you to be my wife until the end of my life and beyond. I swear on the true cross of my ancestors who endured famine, who fought hurricanes, who sailed their ships through darkness and light into the vastness of the ocean, bible in one hand and sword in the other, to love you until the end of all worlds. My ancestors killed. May my love for you wash the blood from their hands. My ancestors burned down temples. May the fire of my love for you redeem them. May […]

Say yes, Clara, say yes, please!”

Miguel’s words cut the sky in two. The green of his eyes looked exactly like that of his Maria de Guadalupe medallion which he never took off. That beautiful silver Spanish ring, a family heirloom, worn by his mother on the fourth finger of her right hand, appeared on his palm out of nowhere.
*
Lightning struck the waters. A whirlpool of colors flamed the boat; the air was spinning around me like a tornado let lose over the face of the earth. My breathing stopped.  I thought I was imagining everything.
*
Jacques asked in that deep, unmistakable voice of his.

“Where were you Clara?”

“In Miguel’s boat on the waters of the Atlantic. In the beginning it looked like an ordinary Sunday afternoon. Miguel ordered the boat out.  I thought it was odd that he was not sailing it. He hired a captain whose wife cooked dinner, set the table, and brought a bunch of papers for us.  I did not know what they were.”

“What did you say, Clara?”

Excerpt from the manuscript “Glass Lovers” (draft)
@short-prose-fiction

image: Sofi photo; Shutterstock; [link]

 

amour (love) #poem #poetry

amour
your secret hides inside my name
inside the splendor of the night in which you didn’t say a word
feathers of macaw birds trace music sheets
the rays of sun stretch on the pebble beach
a fragrant song delights itself on my red lips
i rest my head on your left shoulder
into the lands of spices waiting to be born
we fall
some carnal dreams howl on the corridor
who cares?
i locked the door!
this morning we can die
we won’t tell a soul
and never ask for more
amour

@short-prose-fiction


image: Liliya Kulianionak; Shutterstock [link]