Twitter poem by Gabriela Marie Milton #poetry

My book Passions: Love Poems and Other Writings featured in San Francisco Book Review and Manhattan Book Review.

@Gabriela Marie Milton

The Easter of Roses – poem by Gabriela Marie Milton

slavkoart; Shutterstock

and you my love
who know that spring has come
peaches grow on one side of the moon
injured lambs scream on the other
taste of strawberries
my hair freshly cut
herds of feelings return in the night from the waters
possessed by new ghosts we look for each other
the baptism of rain and thin yellow candles
a verse from Seferis bites from my lips
the Easter of Roses with its cold morning showers
never to sin your hands nailed in white marble
the rode of your anchor
my love
it’s spring
it’s me
free your hands from the marble

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My book Passions: Love Poems and Other Writings featured in San Francisco Book Review and Manhattan Book Review.

@Gabriela Marie Milton

The Orphic Egg – poem by Gabriela Marie Milton up at Vita Brevis Poetry Magazine

 Philipp Tur; Shutterstock

The builder of all things lives in me along with the seven disoriented ships he anchored in the port last spring.
The summer dried the sea. 
The wood of the ships got rotten. 
The masts got buried in the wickedness of empty sunsets. 
It is winter.
It is Wednesday.
I was in the washing room. I saw you folded my laundry.
In the library the Orphic Egg suspends itself from the ceiling fan.
Under its pale light I study my hands with the same precision the child studies his.
I shed my clothes as snakes shed their skin.  
I feel your index finger contouring my spine.
One by one your writings penetrate my mind. 
The dimorphism of your poems spiral in two directions: torrential love and logical deductions. 
They are both the product of your brain.  I cannot kill them. I must allow them to exit.  
The object of my poetry? 
Not to concede…

Please continue reading here

or here

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My book Passions: Love Poems and Other Writings featured in San Francisco Book Review and Manhattan Book Review.

@Gabriela Marie Milton

Daughter of This Earth poem by Gabriela Marie Milton

inside the altars of the churches with blue cupolas
he recounts the spring cuckoo’s notes
his cries strip him of himself
modify his flesh until the days are born from the wounds of his feet
daughter of this earth
I can hear his bones cracking with love for you
his voice made from curses and myrrh
his body stretched between heaven and the bloom of the olive trees
his retina caught inside the limonite of the yellow marble
everything speaks of the impossibility of tomorrow
daughter of this earth
you
who travel in the lands of the snakes with no name
and shed your skin and your beauty in every sunset
you are the virginal sin in the nights of the hyacinths
show mercy
go back to him
the resurrection is near

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My book Passions: Love Poems and Other Writings featured in San Francisco Book Review and Manhattan Book Review.

@Gabriela Marie Milton

Two Poems Included in Issue I of Free Verse Revolution: a literary magazine #poem

 Anna Ismagilova; Shutterstock

I am thrilled that my two poems Prayer and A Night of Marble and of Gingerbread were included in Issue I of Free Verse Revolution: Hebe (the fountain of youth)

Prayer
by Gabriela Marie Milton

you, fountain of youth,
forgive me
I am the one made from mud and from the skin of Attica’s
flutes
at night, my existence feels like an impertinence or
perhaps like an interlinear
a language half-imagined
half adulterated
by the bloom of the olive trees under the sticky wing of an
angel
I was born in the swamps where the tombs of the prophets
sunk
I am blood and bones when I smell the sea and the meat
from the grill
church bell toll and speak of death, and of the mystique of
oblique winds
you, goddess of youth,
source of life from where four rivers flow
your child-like body
stands some days on the top of the mountains
and others on the top of the fountains
your skin is dewed and flowered with love
my skin haunts the night of the deserts
your destiny is that of the innocents
mine is that of the sinners
forgive me, you, Hebe
that I do not ask for the gift of youth
give it to the children
give it to the sick
and throw what is left into the sea
the fish will be happy

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A Night of Marble and of Gingerbread
by Gabriela Marie Milton

on the top of the mountain
the pines silhouette against the whisper of the rocks
the night is cut from marble, and from gingerbread
the wind stops on a branch touched by a naked star
I take the measure of that which forever youth gives
red poppies that never wither
seeds that never impregnate the ground
a love that still plays with toys,
and lights candles in a Christmas tree in the middle of
summer
the moon is mortal and concerned with trivial matters
and so am I
Hebe,
how many know that you are the bud of incest and
patricide?
how many know your child’s eyes witnessed so many
crimes?
filled with pain, you stop growing up, isn’t it so?
oh, don’t cry
here is my impermanent heart
wear it for one day
in the morning you will see the old oak dying in the rain
at noon butterflies will sit on your hair
in the night a Lethean forgetfulness will lecture on the
beauty of transitory love
kisses will feel like honey on the tongue
the breath of love will rest on your skin
you will grow up
what?
you do not want your forever youth back?
dream
it’s spring

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You can download the entire issue for free here

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Passions: Love Poems and Other Writings featured in San Francisco Book Review and Manhattan Book Review.

@Gabriela Marie Milton

My piece Who Am I? Featured in Shabd Aaweg- A Quarterly Review of Literary Fiction, Politics and Philosophy #literature

 Subbotina Anna: Shutterstock

I am thrilled to have my piece Who Am I? published by Shabd Aaweg – A Quarterly Review of Literary Fiction, Politics, and Philosophy, Issue VIII

Here are some teasers:

“…floats above the water as innocent as the breast of a young girl… Soon the sun will try to catch her naked and burn her skin … Pigeons will carry her across…

… I can see no relationship between my destiny and that which I do. I am …

At noon, the sun kneads the waters with rapture … the movement of the water on my skin. Its cyclical quality sends me in a state of ecstasy. No, it is not the ecstasy of Saint Teresa of Ávila. It is something similar to a soporific trance. I am dead and I am alive at the same time. I come from the sea. I return to the sea.

In the afternoon, my rational self awakes… I get preoccupied with verbs. I set one triangle in the normal position and I invert the other one. I bind them together…..  You are the goddess of vines, the mother earth, the chalice, the blood, the fertility of the womb. I mull over these desperate….

..I feed my iguana with cookies soaked in champagne… One kiss and you borrow my tears. One touch and I borrow your pain. A passage rite. I keep a coffin adorned with lilies in my bedroom. I sleep besides death like Sarah Bernhardt. Did you hear that noise? A rosary…”

Please read the entire piece here.

Thank you.

My book Passions: Love Poems and Other Writings featured in San Francisco Book Review and Manhattan Book Review.

@Gabriela Marie Milton

I want my body burned #poem #poetry #poetry collection

 Fernando Cortes; Shutterstock

I want my body burned on pyre
a Viking boat will take me far on the cold sea
I want to leave my grave goods for the poor
and take the pain which branded their souls
into a bursting aurora borealis fire
I want to feel the sobs of the North Pole.

I want to burn inside the rhythms of the flamenco
flame in the dancers’ passion in the streets of old Córdoba
I want to entertain rich masters for a piece of bread
inside the silent cries of those who are misunderstood
I want the desperation of the dancers dressed in red

and you, the one who always claimed to know
what powers lie inside the jungle of my soul
you’ll fade into your own acoustic lamentations
the fated day when I, the queen of sufferers, proclaim
that in the sanctity of the mandala
I want to disappear without a name

Included in my book: Passions: Love Poems and Other Writings

Passions: Love Poems and Other Writings featured in San Francisco Book Review and Manhattan Book Review.

@Gabriela Marie Milton

Neurosis #literature #fiction #prose poem

 Kiselev Andrey Valerevich; Shutterstock

I suspect I suffer from an acute crisis of half-bloomed neurosis. My past emotions do not fully interfere with my current experiences. The converse is true too. No sophistry added. How boring.

I jump in the water dressed in black lingerie made from Calais laces and Lyon silks. I can feel the waves pounding my body while my mind drowns in the ambiguity of the French Nouveau Roman standing mid-way between modernism and post-modernism like a drunken sunset that cannot distinguish between yellow and orange.

The foliage of the sea turns burgundy. Your fingers contour my face.

Oh, you.

I forget that my favorite poet is Arthur Rimbaud with his “A thousand Dreams within me softly burn” and “I shed more tears than God could ever have required.” All I remember is that once I wrote: “I’ve never existed outside of your obsession with me and my interpretations of you.” 

There is something about these interpretations that make you burst in cascades of laughter and art your love for me with lust.

One morning, left by my pillow I found your reply written on a large index card: “I had to bury your existence inside my obsessions. If not, your love could have not been fully stabilized. You above anyone else know that an absolute correspondence in love does not exist. Love is mathematical singularity.”

A wet little bird shivers in my palms. The foliage of the sea turns darker.

Your fingers contour the back of my neck.

My eyes catch fire.

Night, have mercy on us.

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excerpt from my upcoming collection of poetry

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My book Passions: Love Poems and Other Writings featured in San Francisco Book Review and Manhattan Book Review.

@Gabriela Marie Milton

On Winning #poem #short prose #literature

Liliya Kulianionak; Shutterstock

The afternoon smelled of brick wall; the wall I used to scratch with the knees and the nails on my way to the sea.

My blood stained my socks and fed the roots of the orange tree mama planted one spring before my seventh birthday.  Soon after the tree grew blood oranges.

I used to dream I would reach the port before crickets would serenade the white cement between the bricks, and the evening wind would sew the wounds from the face of the wall.

I needed a God to lead me to the sea. In mama’s stories there were too many Gods leading souls to heaven. I did not want to go to heaven. I wanted to go to the sea.

I used to fail.  I did not understand what failure is. The next afternoon, little ducks embroidered on the rim of my light blue dress, I would start climbing the wall again.

One day I thought I would get to the port and run straight into the sea.

Little did I know that day came when I first looked into your eyes. The ghosts of your victories and those of your wounds flapped inside your retina like laundry left to dry on a wire. Long red poles floundered left and right like the wings of a moribund bird.  The body of a boat eroded by salt, and by the kisses of the women of your past agonized in green and blue.

The sea inside your eyes: on the right your love for me and on the left your hate for the world. 

Did I say your love for me? You see, over time I had to reconsider that formulation. Your feelings resemble more a never-ending animal magnetism than love.

Let me make one thing clear. No one person is sufficient to drive all demons from another one. You can think Goethe’s elective affinities if you wish. I cannot save you from you. You need to help me.

I can carry this conversation into the night and win.

Ah, winning! The day I understood I can win I stepped into hell.

That day was the day I lost my innocence and with that the paradise. Since then, my blood has never stained my socks anymore. The orange tree has never grown red fleshed oranges, and mama stop telling stories.

I beg forgiveness every night.

Every night the number of my wins, and that of my enemies grows.

I became you as much as you became me.

Yet I know no hate. You do.

What’s wrong with me?

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My book Passions: Love Poems and Other Writings featured in San Francisco Book Review and Manhattan Book Review.

@Gabriela Marie Milton