Water #short prose #flash fiction

It was too late. I was already thrown into my memories, chained to my past, tortured by its unbearable voices.

I ran toward the ocean. I jumped. The water glued my dress to my body, hit my burning face, wiped my century-old tears.  In the dark I went deeper and deeper looking for the bottom.

Few seconds, and I felt Miguel’s body wrapping around mine.  His arms were pulling me up.

My lungs were burning. I started coughing.

Miguel whispered: “It never happened, Clara. It never happened.”

And yet something terrible must have happened before Jacques left Paris, something that was deeply buried in my memory, something that I was refusing to acknowledge. Did Jacques come to see me that night? Did he?

A horrifying thought crossed my mind.

Miguel, Angelo, and I would not be put in different heavens or hells. We were going to the same place, so we could continue obsessing over and over about Jacques’ imagined love for me and that dreadful fated night that changed our lives forever.

That’s right: a night that I couldn’t remember.

Excerpt from the manuscript Glass Lovers

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ropes of destiny #poetry #poem

you’re looking at the vial
I’m looking at the dagger
neither of us
worthy of redemption

tale of the Verona lovers
the die is cast
vain efforts to escape each other end nowhere
love
erotic pollen
settles between us
it rips my heart apart
it makes your heart bit faster
ropes of destiny
tie us
forever

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Nominated for author of the month at Spillwords Press #poetry #short prose #writers

My Dear Readers,

Together with other wonderful writers, I was nominated “Author of the Month” at Spillwords Press. You do not need a Spillwords account to vote. You can vote with your FB, Twitter and probably with your WP account too.

My most sincere thanks to all of you who vote Gabriela M.

Vote

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Meet a wonderful poet: Kevin Morris #guest post #poetry

Kevin Morris was born in the city of Liverpool on 6th January 1969. Having attended The Royal School for the Blind and St. Vincent’s School for the Blind in Liverpool, Kevin went on to read History and Politics at the University College of Swansea.

Having graduated with a BA (Joint Honours), and an MA in Political Theory, Kevin moved to London where he now lives and works.

Being visually impaired, Kevin uses a screen reading software called Job Access with Speech (JAWS) which converts text into speech and braille, enabling him to use a Windows laptop.

Much of Kevin’s poetry is written in his home, which overlooks a historic park in Upper Norwood/Crystal Palace, a suburb of Greater London.

Please read three of Kevin’s poems:

Time

The reaper moves
In time with the pendulum.
No rush
Or fuss;
He has plenty of time.
My patient friend
Whose tick portends
My inevitable end.
You rest in state
On my bookcase.
Tick tock.
I cannot stop
Time’s scythe.
None can survive
His cut.
Though in a cupboard my clock be shut,
Death cannot be put
Aside.
The sickle chops
And the heart will, one day, stop.

 

The Picture

The picture stands out against the white
Of my living room wall.
A few birds still call.
A fascination with sunlight
Which, as I watch, slowly dies away.
The night
Takes the day
And the picture we see
Is lost in obscurity;
Although, we hope that this light
We borrow
Will be seen on the morrow,
But this we cannot know.

 

What Is a Double Bed?

What is a double bed?
A place where the dread
Of what comes after this brief life
Is momentarily lost
In the arms of mistress or wife.
What is a double bed?
A place where the lone head
Sleeps
And sometimes weeps.
What is a double bed?
A place of joy and pain,
Where we return again and again,
Until we are slain
By the final sleep.

The above poems can be found in The Selected Poems of K Morris, published in August 2019.
The book is available in paperback and Kindle formats and can be found here:
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07WW8WXPP/ (Kindle edition).
https://www.amazon.com/dp/1688049800/ (paperback edition).

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I’m coming after you #poem #poetry

poems wrote in other lives
line up like soldiers
ready for the battle
against the Hellenistic decadence
creeping in my laughter
…..
there are no stars to help
the moon dwells in your silence
coolness of gray walls in summer nights
…..
you think you’ve ever loved?
i’m coming after you

fragment from the poem I’m coming after you

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image: Grachikova Larisa; Shutterstock; [link]

 

my poem “syllogism of lust” published by Spillwords Press #poem #poetry

My poem “syllogism of lust” published by Spillwords Press

I follow you onto old streets
hermetic sealers, principles of dark
alchemy, the name of you and me
windows of the courtesans from Syracuse
on which some neophytes….

Continue reading here 

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image: PinkCat; Shutterstock; [link]

 

love in blue and black #poem #poetry #music

my love,
I speak to you through centuries of pain
trees spin barren branches in the air
when loneliness rains on blue hills
I crush my heart
so yours can still beat
listen
ocean waves embrace the moon’s pale chest
instead of tears
I shed naked pearls
to wash the effigy of your acoustic agony
and mend the painful scratches from your skin
with my imaginary fingers
in blue and black the time I bend
and no matter who I am
a human or a spirit
I swear to you
I’ll love you till the end.

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music: Seance; Ankit Thapa

 

 

before you came (the day of the fallen saints) #poem #poetry

you do not know
how many countries I have traveled
how many marvels I have shown myself
the names of the dead souls I’ve resurrected
my victims’ kisses buried in a pink conch shell
inside the whispers of the messianic Nazareth
He who knew of His own crucifixion
picked up my tears
broke the bread
so I could lock the memory of my first kiss
inside the rocks of the eternal Spanish Steps
and walk again through fields of roses and lavender
into gestating dreams of no constraints

yet see,
all that happened
before the day you came into my life
the day when all the fallen saints
mysteriously
were set free

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image: Tatyana Mi; Shutterstock; [link]

 

…keep my memory #short prose #flash fiction

“I want your flesh to keep my memory, and your soul to forget me.”
*
“Well, Angelo, crucify me. I said that because at the time I did not believe flesh has any memory. Now, I do not know what to believe anymore.”
*
Every night the wounded blue of his eyes haunts me.
What have I done? 

excerpt from the manuscript Glass Lovers

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