My Dear Readers,
Below please find the text of the email that I received from Spillwords Press. Voting for June Publication of the Month is now open. You do not need a Spillwords account to vote. You can vote with your twitter of FB account.
We want to congratulate you all, as your pieces have been nominated due to Popular Demand for Publication of The Month of June!
Voting will cease on 6/29 upon where soon after we will reveal the winner.
Here are the nominated pieces:
– Seduction – Gabriela M
– In Silence – Luzviminda G. Rivera
– A Gathering Of Minds – Anne G.
– Beyonce – Marla Lacherza Bracco
– Amigas – Jose A. Gomez
– Rodina-mat Zavyot! – Olja Dobric
– Nothing Up My Sleeve – Shawn M. Klimek
– Pages Torn Out – Prikcab (Ian Perlman)
– The Heart Of The Wind – David Dephy
– Take Me To… – Allen Baswell
– Uncertainty – Aishwariya Laxmi
– Unbound Ties – Mary Ellen Gambutti
Good luck to all!
trees whisper, cries of cloudy skies
inaudible, unseen, you, Astraea,
you push me on a long-forgotten trail
continue reading here
I am grateful to the Spillwords team for giving me the opportunity to share more about me.
“...most fascinatingly America is a country of dreamers. We are all dreamers...”
“..I have very few moments when I get stuck creatively…”
You can read my author interview here.
Love and hugs to everyone.
image: Billion Photos; Shutterstock; [link]
Meadows where trees sleep, and rivers stretch like cats.
Fairies dance tarantella in the air.
Your purple lips reflect the shadows of the women you will love.
Your eyes as thirsty as the surface of the moon.
image: Fesus Robert; Shutterstock; [link]
Clocks drip languor.
White drapes undulate in the breeze of a faraway sea.
The fragrance of oranges blossoms in my hair.
Mysteries of the blue waters exude from your salty skin.
Moorish patterns engrave themselves onto my thighs.
Teardrops scent the air.
Our afternoons: never born, never allowed to die.
image: nito; Shutterstock; [link]
the rhythm of castanets awakens the moon
on opal rings your kisses spin
a cricket’s hitting a crescendo
waves tattoo dark shadows on your skin…
continue reading here
image: iordani; Shutterstock; [link]
my eyes are water wells
mirroring your body
into a time which shrinks
my lips shine on stained glass
windows to the sea
a virgin violin
faints into your lap
sick with jealousy
the summer hangs in trees
it rains atrocities on fields of love
predatory nights, barbed wire walls,
the silence of asphyxiated birds
funerals of human parts
the geopolitics of pain engulfs the maps
eyes intoxicate the shadows in your chambers of delight
I change the course
I walk on heated rocks
hurt, the sound of waves invades my mind
I sail my boat into the hearts of those who are misunderstood
pain, the first dimension, runs at the speed of light
space, the nothingness between your soul and mine,
mistress of the purple,
jacaranda hides its kisses inside the metaphor of us
a lily cries
I feed a child
with grains that grow within my palms
it rains the echoes of tomorrow
barbed wire walls
image: Anna Ismagilova; Shutterstock; [link]
My Dear Readers,
I was planning to post a piece of prose today. However I got news that my poem “Amour” (by Gabriela M.) was nominated for publication of the month at Spillwords Press. You can read the poem here.
I write to ask for your vote (if you enjoyed the poem). There are other nominated poems so you can check them out too.
You do not need a Spillwords account to vote (although opening one is easy). You can vote with your Facebook or your Twitter account.
Thank you for your help.
You can vote here
Have a fabulous day!
on the barren shore
you play your mandolin
I conjugate “to leave” in the voice of trees
the air reverberates expressions of old gods
the space changes its mind
maybe it is Samos, perhaps it is just Crete
traces of death, glimpses of the future
your thoughts are cut in marble
scratches turn to yellow
delineations, conquerors of islands
the shore melts in the waters
your eyes tell prophesies
the time changes its mind
perhaps it was just Samos, maybe it was Crete
the dying mandolin, the smell of ripened olives
an unmade wooden bed
the names of I, You
from the series “Mediterranean Love”
read more poems from this series:
amor, amore, mon amour – mediterranean
bullfighter (matador de toros)
forgotten in the Port of Naples
image: leoks; Shutterstock; [link]