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.


@Gabriela Marie Milton

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:


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
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
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: (Kindle edition). (paperback edition).

@Gabriela Marie Milton

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

@Gabriela Marie Milton

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 

@Gabriela Marie Milton

image: PinkCat; Shutterstock; [link]

bewitched #poem #poetry

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
black taffeta chirps between my fingers like piano keys
inside my soul your kisses soar
soft lilac tones like prayers of the youngest nun
perhaps because I read your poetry last night
and cut my soul between a stanza and a strife
perhaps a child played with a kite
a kingdom for a sup
maybe it was the wind
that woke me up

Published in the Indian Periodical, March 3, 2019


image: Irina Alexandrovna, Shutterstock; [link]

astral mandolin #poetry #poem

play in your room the mandolin tonight
paint the air with aurora borealis’ chant
arabesque designs awake my soul
the shining sound the time reverses

play in the streets your mandolin tonight
its cords,
your love for me…
my heart choreographs the scenes…

fragment from the poem “Astral Mandolin”


triolets #poem #poetry

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
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


published by Spillwords Press on February 26, 2019


mardi matin (Tuesday morning) #short prose #flash fiction

“If things were always what they seemed, how impoverished would be the imagination of man!”
Lawrence Durrell, Balthazar. 
Debout face à moi, Miguel, les bras croisés, porte son regard au-delà de moi. Que fixe-t-il ? Voudrait-on lui voler son droit au bonheur? Je lis la lettre tandis que Miguel ne détache pas son regard du rideau fleuri, derrière moi.
 « Dans la rumeur de la rue parisienne, j’entends ta voix comme si tu étais près de moi. Tremper les doigts dans l’eau froide de la Seine, c’était frôler tes cheveux. Tu me parles tout bas. Combien de temps a passé ? J’aperçois un bateau éclairé qui descend le fleuve. Je t’ai toujours aimée, car j’ai toujours su que t’aimer était pour moi un besoin. Jamais mon amour n’a altéré la magie de ton être. Tout au début, je t’ai gardée telle que tu étais, contemplée de loin, de crainte de parcourir seul, par delà le temps, le chemin frayé par toi dans mon âme. Plus tard… Je te voyais encore tripoter une marionnette dans ce magasin… Rue de Vaugirard. En ce temps, tes paroles n’arrivaient pas jusqu’à moi. Mais je me sentais attiré vers toi par un fil invisible et, une fois entré dans le jeu, ma raison chavirait : étais-je la marionnette animée par ta main ou bien la main caressant le chaud velours de ta robe ? … Les bateaux remontent et redescendent la Seine…Jacques.»

image: franckpoupart; Shutterstock; [link]

my poem “lovers without love” recited by Robert Taylor #poetry #vblog

My poem “lovers without love” recited by the exceptional Robert Taylor. I am honored.

you, quest of lovers without love
your unrelenting islands beaten by the wind-blown sand
the sea
extends its waves beyond the singularity of night
the silk of clouds is looking for the sky
scales of reeds chime songs,
cries of those whose loves have sunk

I bathe in the aromatic rose of the moonlight
the night bathes in the foam of the blue waters
a bed sighs
the silhouettes of three carnations gossip on the floor
empty hearts expecting to be slaughtered

the sand receives me
in the distance a mast decides to flicker
the quest of lovers without love
on a wicker chair
a lonely glove