the miracle of you [included in my upcoming book-Passions: Love Poems and Other Writings] #poem #poetry

the moon’s right-hand
pours soul into my flesh
pigeons’ wings bring scents of lilac blooms
the air gets drunk with poetry
statuary women of the water
flaunt their hair

within the loneliness of you
my heart
rotates five equinoxes on a wooden spindle
your eyes pour flesh into my soul
my body germinates the sounds of growing leaves
I wash my hands into the waters of Guadalquivir
in the scented night of those who never sleep
I say
I love you
and in one single breath
our wedding is transformed
in an enraptured death

was it the moon?
was it the morning dew?
perhaps it was the miracle of you

first published in the KashmirPen Newspaper, April 2019 (slightly modified)
included in my upcoming book Passions: Love Poems and Other Writings 

@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela M)

image: Maria Okolnichnikova; Shutterstock; [link]

Glass Lovers [Miriam] #short prose #flash fiction

We sat there in the shadows of Sacré-Cœur, our laughter gone, our wills broken, our souls scarred, longing for what once was us. A heavy darkness was staring back at me from a white abstract past, like Malevich’s Black Square hanging on a cracked wall.

Who was to blame for all that happened? We had no answer. We could not judge ourselves anymore. We did that too many times. We got nowhere.

God did not promise us anything before we were born. He did not promise us anything even after we were born.

Miguel and Jacques looked petrified.

I gazed at Miriam. She spoke.

Miriam and that beautiful face of hers, her short black dresses scented with jasmine, her love for Jacques whispering like shadows on the roofs of Paris during purple dawns. Miriam and her paintings violating the silence of her studio from which one could see Notre-Dame. Miriam watching Rodin’s Gates of Hell for hours at the time. I always wondered what she thought about.

Now I think I know.

excerpt from the manuscript Glass Lovers
@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela M)

image: Lana Tikhonova; Shutterstock; [link]

There is nobility in giving. Thank you to Brad Osborne

There is nobility in giving: the kind of nobility that those who rule the world in bullet points will never know.

Thank you to my blogger friend, Brad Osborne, for the joy he brought in my life yesterday. Brad wrote a poem about how much I inspire him. I am humbled by his words and I will never forget his noble gesture.
Please visit Brad’s site at commonsensiblyspeaking

Brad’s poem for me is called “You take me there.”
Here is the first stanza:

How is it that with simple phrase
You ply the paths inside my mind
Transported back to younger days
My life, somehow, put on rewind

Please read Brad’s entire poem and post here 

Thank you all.
Yours,
Gabriela

@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela M)

the last love # love poem #poetry

I eat macaroons in the same coffee shop
Roberto’s guitar sells cheap dreams by the sea
young girls are ready for harvest like flowers of lust
I laugh…
I scratch poetry on a glass
I say the first love is French
you ask how’s the last
it smells raspberries, vanilla, and grass
you touch my left wrist
I play a few cards
red flowers bloom on your cheeks
your teeth peel the skin of my gloves
you walk into darkness
I seal you in wax
how’s the last love?
pray..
you shouldn’t have asked

@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela M)

My Author of the Year Interview with Spillwords Press #author

My Dear Readers,

I am humbled that I was voted Author of the Year at Spillwords Press.  Thank you to everyone who voted for me, and thank you to the wonderful team at Spillwords Press (NYC).

“…from the writings of the titans coming from the Latin American space to the writings of their counterparts coming from the Slavic space. Yes, I am an American, but I am also a child of Europe. I have been fascinated, mesmerized, frightened, brought to tears…” 

You can read my interview here: Author of the Year 2019 Interview 

Yours,

Gabriela

 

and…love… #love poem #poetry

and…
this night is jasmine and is sand
the trees are fingers with no end
the earth has eyes
the tears have thighs

you…
you are the voice of lonely heights
I am the day without sights
a leaf is falling on my hips
into the air a form of lips

and…
your touches hide in poetry
a flower faints with jealousy
your dreams taste like forbidden fruits
the sea grows almonds and grows roots

yet…
the story didn’t write its end
my eyes and yours are a blend
and…
love…

@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela M)

image: Vaclav Taus; Shutterstock; [link]

the train to Vienna #love poem #poetry

let’s take the train and go to Vienna
rent a room for a night and then waltz
in your arms the waist of the night trembles
fingertips touch a blue door which is locked
I sit barefoot on the floor
the windows’ eyelashes are yellow and drunk
your voice moves stones in a lonely graveyard
to bury the tears I cry
and lonely like children of war
we cut in two the same pain for one night
you, the kiss of the love that could be
I, the rhythm of three beats in each bar
in Prater Park they sell lollipops
years pass by in one night
I rest my head on your shoulder
and the train to Vienna has stopped

draft
@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela M)

image: KimSongsak; Shutterstock; [link]