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
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

 

published by Spillwords Press on February 26, 2019

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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.»

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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
alienation
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

@short-prose-fiction

 

Sutures #Short Prose #Flash Fiction

 

“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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Meet a young author: Andrew McDowell #guest post

Dear Readers,

Andrew McDowell, the author of Mystical Greenwood in his own words:

“Though I know why I write , pinpointing what first inspired me to start writing is still difficult to answer. As I’ve said before, as a child I relished in my imagination, putting myself in different worlds. I’ve always loved stories, both written and dramatized. Plus, due to my Asperger syndrome, throughout my life I’ve had a variety of strong interests which I pursued learning more about. Maybe it was a combination of all these factors coming together at the right time. Certainly now as a writer, I want to keep trying different forms and genres, to keep learning and growing.”

Visit Andrew’s site here 

Mystical Greenwood, Book I of One with Nature

Publisher: Mockingbird Lane Press

Dermot is a fifteen-year-old boy living in the land of Denú who has always longed for something more in life. His life changes when he encounters a gryphon and a mysterious healer. Drawn into a conflict against one determined to subjugate the kingdom, Dermot and his brother Brian are forced to leave their home.

 A legendary coven must now reunite, for they are Denú’s greatest hope. In the course of meeting unicorns and fighting dragons and men in dark armor, Dermot discovers a deep, sacred magic which exists within every greenwood he crosses through, but his own role in this conflict is greater than he suspects. Can he protect those he loves, or will all that’s good be consumed by darkness?

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