A beautiful poem by Ishita Gupta #guest post #poetry

My Dear Readers,

I am thrilled to introduce you to a wonderful writer Ishita Gupta.

In her own words Ishita “is a girl who chooses to explore and experience her life through words. Born and brought up in India, she is an avid reader, feminist, and a biology student. Ishita is also trained in a form of Indian classical dance, Kathak, and is currently learning contemporary dance style. When she writes, Ishita channels her hidden emotions, and tries to create a change in the society. She shares her thoughts at her blog Thoughts Resonate.”

Please take a minute and visit her site. It will make me and Ishita very happy.
Thank you.
Gabriela

Who am I?
by Ishita Gupta

A wilted flower on the sidewalk
A lone tear amidst many
I seem to have lost my essence
In life’s unfair journey.

Who am I?

A thorn in a basket of flowers
A black smear on white
In my relentless pursuit of happiness
I’m stuck somewhere between the lines.

Who am I?

A bug drenched in rain
A torn page of a book
I can only see grief
Everywhere I look.

Who am I?

A dove without wings
A lock without a key
I am on a lost track that leads
To the inner depths of the seas.

Who am I?

featured image provided by Ishita.

@Gabriela Marie Milton

My Dear Readers,

It is my pleasure to introduce a wonderful novelist, Darren Gilbert, whose book Montagnard was recently published.
Do you want to know more about Darren and his beautiful book?
Here is Darren in his own words:

Montagnard is my second book in the JD Cordell series, and while a sequel, it stands well on its own. It is a story that begins in the jungles of Vietnam, then whisks the reader to Niger and the Middle East and on to Thailand before returning them to Vietnam. While Montagnard is undoubtedly an action and adventure novel, to me, it is so much more than that. Themes such as courage, honor, loyalty, comradeship, and revenge wind through its pages. And, there are several strong women, a K9 warrior, gritty combat scenes, and a smattering of martial arts. There are even some great moments of humor. But more than all that, it is a story of love. Love of family, love of country, love of freedom. It is a story about the bond between a warrior and his K9 partner. It is the story of the relationship between those who have shared and survived life and death situations together, it is a story of friendship, and it is a story of redemption.

To be honest, I have probably been a writer my whole life. I have written lots of stories that no one will ever read. Most new writers will understand. There is always that nagging doubt; who would ever want to read that? Or, what if nobody likes what I have written? Finally, I decided to take the plunge. Serpents Underfoot, my first book and the first in this series is, by most accounts, a fairly good read. But it was my first, and I made several newbie mistakes getting it out.

The response to Montagnard genuinely humbles me. I guess that is because it tells a tale that is near and dear to my heart. I am a veteran who loves his country. I am a dog lover, and I have had the honor of knowing several strong women in my life. I am also somewhat of a romantic fool. And, I genuinely love my characters. They are, I guess, composites of myself and people I have come to know and respect in my life. But then, I think that is what any good writer does, isn’t it? They write stories that share a little bit about who they are, both in their lives and their dreams.

Darren’s book is available on Amazon here.

Please visit Darren’s site here. You will not be disappointed.

Thank you
Love
Gabriela

My Dear Readers,
It is my pleasure to introduce to you a wonderful poet: Joni Caggino.

Joni has been writing since she was very young as a way for her to express her feelings while growing up in an alcoholic household. She believes herself to be an old soul and gives any credit to her ability to write words that others may enjoy to God. Joni’s home is in North Carolina with her husband and two dogs. She is the author of the book, “The Path Towards the Light,” and her blog is the-inner-child.com. Her photography and poetry have been featured in Thefinestexample.home.blog. Her poetry has also been featured in Spillwords Press NYC. Please visit Joni’s site for more beautiful poetry.

Chuck-will’s-widow
written by Joni Caggiano on May 5, 2020

Hand-painted flowers slide off plates for two and dance
Daylilies and impatiens caress the porch with sweet aromas
Spring peepers and crickets sing a lullaby for baby wrens
Beautiful is the angel covering the table with feathers
Candles weep, crippling their size with passionate notions
Stars create a canopy in the skies, ornamenting the lively table
Whiffs of tasty food flood the senses of neighboring animals
She smells of gardenias, her long crimson hair adorned
With Moonflowers whose white blossoms open only at night
The chuck-will’s-widow sings a sorrowful but lovely tune
Greyish moss hangs low in wise oaks as wishful reminders
Her dress clings to her soft shoulders like a lover to a glance
Skin smooth like stones washed for centuries and as soft
As the foot that falls on fresh snow on the Appalachian trail
Waiting until candles cry no more and the food turns cold
Lovingly with arms outstretched, she blows a winged kiss
Gazing as it flies upwards toward the playful moon and stars
On this our tenth anniversary, how I miss you, she whispered
I will wait for you, my love, until God calls us to dine again

Photo credit: Piera Jill

And.. thank you to Joni for her magnificent review of my book Passions: Love Poems and Other Writings available on Amazon here.
Below please find an excerpt from Joni’s review. You can read the entire review on Amazon.

“Her pages fill one with thought and provoke all sorts of new meaning to the finding and holding onto love. It is difficult to pick a favorite as each poem has something unusual and magnificent to offer. I found myself feeling every word of her poetry in Wooden Bed. She gives us a glimpse of beautiful memories, and the instructions left for the one she loves but will leave behind as “guards are coming my wrists will be soon stamped – yours forever, from a concentration camp…. Each poem is a journey that is unsullied with the writer’s brilliance. This book is one that will be cherished and read again and again throughout the years.”

Thank you.
Love.
Gabriela

@Gabriela Marie Milton

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

@Gabriela Marie Milton

The ankle of an iceberg cries. Its tears fell on my body.
They crust on my skin like cold wax on a rack of votive candles.
Seconds hurt like lonely Saturdays.
I lie in bed.
Roses scent the air.
My dreams burn. Ashes of our nights of love cover the sun.
My eyes dilate under the gravity of time.
I taste figs and wild forest.
The room moves on another longitude.
Is it morning?
Is it Saturday?
Where are you?

related: Sunday on another latitude

@Gabriela Marie Milton

image: bruniewska; Shutterstock; [link]

I seek you
like roots seek water
the thirst which blasts within the rhythms of castanets
in Andalusia of the flamenco dancers dressed in red
I see you
the face of the lost stranger
dissimulating grief in autumn shadows
killed by the aurora borealis in the southern hemisphere
I feel you
dreams of wild young tigers
ravaging the flesh of prey with their teeth
in the Sahara of my burning suns the fate plays games
……..

fragment from the poem “Passion”; from the upcoming book Passion: Love Poems and Other Writings
@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela M)

image: agsandrew; Shutterstock; [link]

the biblical sense of to know
born in a summer that never existed
nailed to the cross of your poems
I’m losing my mind inside the blue night
I reach you in dreams you do not understand
It hurts when I’m there
It hurts when I’m not
I ask for the help gravediggers can grant
I wrote I love you on a note that I locked
It wasn’t a snake, it was an iguana
the night the tango nuevo played its guitar
on fifteen decades you counted your prayers
my fingers were naked
my fingers were gloved

@Gabriela Marie Milton

image: agsandrew; Shutterstock; [link]

deification of the virgin nymph
within my palms
the flesh of violet sunsets flips like fish on land
my eyes, inheritors of light
singular sinkholes punctuating a low sky
your love…
continue reading with WP here
or
on Vita Brevis Press here.

@Gabriela Marie Milton

image: Everett – Art; Shutterstock; [link]

Two of my poems included in “Pain & Renewal: A Poetry Anthology” published by Vita Brevis Press #poetry #anthology

My Dear Readers,

Vita Brevis just published Pain & Renewal: A Poetry Anthology. I have two poems included: The Dark Flag of Pain and Autumn Healing.

“Pain & Renewal features a collection of incredible voices — from Pulitzer and Pushcart prize winners to brand new poets, it’s filled with moving poetry about the highs and lows of the human experience.”

You can get the digital version here.

And you can get the print version here.

Here is a snippet from my poem Autumn Healing:

..this autumn stretches purple shadows
over unending fields of sweet corn and hurt souls
it brings from the depth the lacustrine goddess
who heals all wounds with yesterday’s mirth…

@Gabriela Marie Milton

In Spain, the dead are more alive than the dead of any other country in the world.
Federico García Lorca

open your veins Andalusia
let him drink from your lynx blood
inject the rhythms of the flamenco
under the coldness of his eyes
tattoo his flesh with tiles of azurite
pour the sounds of castanets
into his arms
my fingers swirl
the flesh of ripened olives
covers the old shroud
the flow of blood from the white shirt
has stopped
I hear his voice
there is one cross
and you’re my only love
my body arches
oils flame in my hair
a Moorish verse falls from a wall
covering my cries