Dear Readers,
Please find the Italian translation of my poem “amor, amore, mon amour – mediterranean” up at Gioielli Rubati Poetry.
You can read the Italian translation on the link below together with 3 other wonderful poems.
My thanks to the translator for his magnificent work!
I will see you in a few hours for my regular Sunday post.
Ciao for now!
You can find the English version of my poem here.
i can’t see you
the spring’s floral certitude
showers petals in my eyes
lingers on veils forgotten at the altars
dreams interpret the language of cicadas
somebody plays the violin in the green room
like a flamenco dancer in Seville
i toss and turn inside my soul
your breath scatters on my neck
i stretch my arms to harvest poems
tongues of fire from your eyes
linger on my silky dress
i fall
rose thorns bite my thighs
it smells earth and grass from an old spring
i turn the page
i close my eyes
and i can see you
@short-prose-fiction
image: Stadnikova Mariya; Shutterstock; [link]
love strikes like the Mistral in Saint-Tropez
winds, hallucinations of pianos,
decide to howl in D major
enigmas move inside the wombs
incubations murmur under the phases of the moon
bewitched, allegories of love raise odes to exasperated nudes
a prophet gazes at a virgin sybil
whose liquid eyes foretold our love in gold
reflections, lava of our souls,
a mirror hangs itself onto the wall in the red room
a phoenix rises
our bodies drown
into the liquid time of the Mediterranean
amor, amore, mon amour
the splendid flesh of a gestating poem
washes our singular and frenzied souls
from the series “Mediterranean Love”
read more poems from this series here:
Greek summer
Andalusian resurrection
forgotten in the Port of Naples
@short-prose-fiction
image: Gaspar Janos, Shutterstock, [link]
tonight
the skies will open
poetry
above
love of cherry blossoms
my body in your arms
@short-prose-fiction
Oh, that quarter of the city wounded by its own sexuality.
Every street filled with shadowy characters: hungry scavenger birds looking to devour each other’s flesh.
Exposed skin and uttered sexual desires; bodies becoming their own souls’ mortuaries; a type of grotesque Greek tragedy whose protagonists lacked the nobility heroism bestows upon us.
It was painful to imagine what kind of wounds could reduce a thousand of Petrarch’s Lauras to infantile despondency.
And yet…
Excerpt from the manuscript Glass Lovers
@short-prose-fiction
image: Kozlik; Shutterstock; [link]
My Dear Readers,
I thanked you many times for your likes and comments. I thank you again today.
Also, today I am humbled and delighted by the comments Christina Schwarz, the author of the New York Times Bestseller “Drowning Ruth,” sent me after reading my poetry manuscript.
“With lush language and lavish imagery, Gabriela M. evokes a fantastic world ripe with emotion.”
Christina Schwartz
Below please find a fragment from one of my “evening fantasies”:
contaminated with verses my rebellious red blood ran from my heart to yours;
the smell of orange trees bloomed in my hair like in those forgotten Sunday afternoons in which we used to make love;
i saw the pregnant egg yolk – heavy as the passion of a tropical night – the imperishable yellow from around your finger;
a green iguana blinked and opened its “third eye” inscribing on my thighs the fairy-tales of the women you loved;
a bird gave me the evil eye: children’s fingers colored in blue hung on the Hand of Fatima trying to protect me;
it smelled love;
caressed by leaves i fell into the field of poppies in which we first met.
Yours,
G.
@short-prose-fiction
image: MoinMoin; Shutterstock; [link]
this summer
meet me in the Port of Naples
in humid nights inside the Palace of Capodimonte
let’s write again the “Human Comedy”
your love for me
a million of daggers
will cut the arteries of the blue sea
my luscious lips buried in blood and dust from the volcano
erotically settled in your poetry
against the coolness of the walls
your fingers, tracers of old tears
will mold us into a single body of loneliness and lust
sick with jealousy and shocked
a pale Campanian sunrise
whose rays, for centuries, barely can see
will find us walking hand in hand
along the quay…
forgotten in the Port of Naples
the memory of you and me
@short-prose-fiction
image: kasyanovart; Shutterstock, [link]
My Dear Readers,
My newest poem “bewitched” published by the Indian Periodical.
perhaps I was bewitched by the North Star
or by a ballad as dateless as my blood
geography of feelings populates unwanted interludes
my eyes, the nests of dewy grass and leaves
emerald eyelashes flaunt
please continue reading here
Love and hugs to everyone!
G.
image: May_Lana; Shutterstock; [link]
