my poem “Initiation” up to Vita Brevis Poetry Magazine #poem #published

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.

@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela M.)

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…

@Short-prose-fiction (Gabriela M)

 

 

The stunning JaZzArt of Francisco Bravo Cabrera – Jazz Art In Valencia #guest post

My Dear Readers,

A video presentation of the JaZzArt of Francisco Bravo Cabrera. Please take two minutes to enjoy Francisco’s  stunning paintings and music.

First, Francisco in his own words:

My name is Francisco Bravo Cabrera and I consider myself a poet that paints, writes and at times does musical composition.  I live and work in Valencia, Spain.  I call my work “Jazz Art” because I paint using the definition of Jazz, which is that it must be the performer’s art, that it must have ample improvisation and that it must swing. I apply this definition, more or less, to all of my artistic expressions.

I love to draw because I love the line, the solid, black line, sometimes strong and definite, other times ready to compromise or even to fade away.  The line is the artist that creates as he/she performs, improvises and swings. 

Please visit Francisco’s site here.

JAZZ ART IN VALENCIA

@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela M)

 

Andalusian Resurrection #poem #poetry

 

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

Andalusia
I kneel among your cacti fed by salt
your wounded lashes
resurrected him
for yet
another night

@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela M.)

image: Fernando Cortes; Shutterstock; [link]

 

My poem I’ll Return published in Vita Brevis Poetry Magazine #poetry

Thank you to Brian Geiger, the editor of Vita Brevis Poetry Magazine, for publishing my piece “I’ll Return.”
(this poem was initially posted on this blog under another name)

I open my veins in warm waters
each time when you like what I write
the sound of the sands in the darkness
the eyes of the desert are dried
the midnight windows are opened
I jump like a lynx from a cage
dressed in cold winds and in black
barefoot…

continue reading with WP here
or
on Vita Brevis Press here 

@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela M)

 

The Secret of a Hand Fan #poem #prose poem #poetry

I am here.
I am in the breeze that dries the evening’s sweat from your chest.
I pray covered by petals of fresh roses.
I can smell you: scents of burning suns, oranges, and battered seas.
Hallucinations of an acoustic guitar. Its body shape melts under your fingers like candy on the tongue of a little girl.
You and me running barefoot on cobblestone streets.
The rim of my red dress torn.
Against cracked walls the same night plays with our dreams over and over again like children play with colored kites.
You didn’t think I would come back.
Well, I did.
The secret of a blue hand fan slides on my rosy cheek.
The moon undresses the wings of an angel.
I smile.

@short-prose-fiction(Gabriela M)

image: algus; Shutterstock; [link]

 

The Blue City #poem #prose poem #poetry #short prose

An hour fell into the sea.

The waves spaced seconds. The seconds shifted the ceiling of time.  They ate from the meandering road of Cyprus trees which used to end on the steps of a small cafe called La Catedral.

We walked.

Yet we couldn’t find the cafe anymore. Perhaps the building – with its aromas of paella mixta and fruity red wine – trapped itself inside the crocheted web of yesterday’s sunset.

The moon hummed “Let’s fall in love in Spain…”

You said “Forever.”

I said “No, Conquistador. I will die on the streets of Morocco’s Blue City on the other side of the Mediterranean.”

Your green eyes sunk into a dense silence.

The moon stopped humming.

Your kiss came out of the sea.

It was blue.

@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela M.) 

image:  Ruslan Kalnitsky; Shutterstock; [link]