Author: short-prose-fiction

Valencia #poem #poetry

a bird awakes the moon
a fish turns in my dreams
algae wrap around my wrists 
Valencia, I just saw you in his eyes
his skin is madness
made of sandalwood

the smell of autumn paves the way
loves lost on lonely cobbled streets
a shadow dances on the wall
a pen writes on a table by itself
on a deck
a sailor flips a coin
dreams,
dust of desiccated lands

impressions, fingers on the pillow
under a purple sky
dried wounds
Valencia,
this room is loneliness,
alienation,
and smells of sandalwood

@short-prose-fiction

image:  Tithi Luadthong; Shutterstock; [link]

 
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my poem “the breath of love and death” selected as a featured piece at Spillwords Press (NYC) #poetry

“Dear Gabriela,
We have selected your poetry to be a featured piece on Spillwords once again!”

I am honored and deeply grateful to the Spillwords team for featuring my piece “the breath of love and death.”

emotions leave the wombs of souls 
inebriation
nakedness of pearls… 
continue reading here.

*

My first featured piece was “atrocities.” You can read it here.
Thank you.
G.

@short-prose-fiction

image: VladislavNice; Shutterstock; [link]

 
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hidden #poem #poetry

hidden
inside the majesty of time
among the gestures of demoted lovers
winds are pushing boats to shore
letters written now by others
inside the folds of our time
the spleen of forests that are cut
child brides are crying terrified
skin is showing purple marks
a Stradivarius which was never made
plays the tunes of your own mind
hidden
inside the letters of your name
the dormancy of our love

@short-prose-fiction

image:  Sherbak_photo; Shutterstock; [link]

 
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autumn neuroses #poem #poetry

your eyes are young
my breath is heavy
sunflowers vanish in the frost
the tea is boiling
and the cat is purring
it’s autumn in the northern hemisphere
while summer comes on Rio de la Plata

I knew a poet who once said
I want to die unknown on Rio de la Plata
his eyes were old
his arms were strong
I ran to you into the northern hemisphere
and autumn came
to bury me in its neuroses’ mold

your body’s warm
my body’s cold
the room is quiet like a tomb
a nun is kneeling in the street
it’s autumn in the northern hemisphere
while summer comes on Rio de la Plata

@short-prose-fiction

image:  Anna Ismagilova; Shutterstock; [link]

 
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The forgetfulness of summer #short prose #poetry

On my left mountains of passion lost in lunar light.
On my right poetry.
An African violet beats her eyelashes.
Spanish moss lingers on the waters of the Bayou.
The smell of fresh cocoa penetrates my nostrils.
Old wounds crawl on my skin; columns of ants searching for honeydew on a tropical tree.
The forgetfulness of summer.
The silence of a blue lagoon.
You.

@short-prose-fiction

image: Anna Ismagilova; Shutterstock; [link]

 
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the lonely poetry of night #poem #poetry

trees whisper, cries of cloudy skies
inaudible, unseen,
you, Astraea,
you push me on a long-forgotten trail
the ocean, poisoned, green, unsettled
warm tongues, ecstasies of memories un-lived
defiled the innocence of maiden-stars
tears, corridors of sand
you, universe that dreamt us all
the pain of suffocated myths that die
kisses, floating sanctuaries
Astraea,
you who don’t know desire
burn the nihilism of flesh
the plight
of souls sold for two pennies in slave markets
inside the lonely poetry of night

published in Indian Periodical on January 23, 2019

@short-prose-fiction

image:  Outer Space; Shutterstock; [link]

 
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a fabulous poem by Mogamat Shafiek Reggiori #guest post

Dear Readers,

A fabulous poem written by Mogamat Shafiek Reggiori. I am honored Mogamat accepted to be my guest. You can find Mogamat on Twitter @ShafiekReggiori

Bio:

Mogamat Shafiek Reggiori, 4th generation South African with an Italian background. Born Cape Malay. Loves to write poetry. The kind that touches an essential part of your soul. Love ballads being one of his favorite creations. Occasionally revisits long time Fantasy Scifi novels in the throes of creation. M. S. Reggiori is a soul whisperer that enjoys indulging with creatives of all genres. Read his words and he’d kiss the day you came. A dream of his is to be a distributor of God’s wealth, hence he would donate parts of his book proceeds to CANSA ORG (the South African Cancer Foundation).

Tonight I will sit on Signal Hill
Above Bantry Bay
& watch the Sun go down
Creating that champagne sky
While the world slows
Or perhaps its our voices inside
That quieten into
These viscous moods, we rely on

All turns bronze
If but for an hour
While yours slowly awake
Into a tepid dawn
That magic hour, spreads
Before both

& I cringed within
Crying happy tears
Down my rosy cheeks
For an hour
We’d share the sky
Between our two worlds

Well much the same
Halved by night
Would you watch it rise
It came from here
From me
There is a message written
Deep within
Its luminous beams
Let it rove over your skin
As if my soft warm lips
My hour calls for waffles
Beneath the Poplar trees
& I’m thinking yours
For warm steamed tea

If I could walk that path
Between us, this life’s roses
Like a bridge across the sea
I would run it
A hundred mile sprint
To the very edge of my will
I’d kiss you & release
A thousand butterflies
Into your sky
& I’d never again let you go
I’d hold you, so you could drag me
Into your prevalent day
Until the Sun burns the night away
But I’d stay, I want to stay

 

INTO THE HUSH OF THE QUIET WINDS: Love would remain a vital part of my soul Paperback

Amazon 

@short-prose-fiction

 
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