Hallucinations – poetic prose by Gabriela Marie Milton – MasticadoresUSA update

image: kasiaczernik/Pixabay

Hallucinations by Gabriela Marie Milton

I suspect I am subject to hallucinations. I see a woman wrapped in a Cashmere checkered shawl talking to a dead person. The metaphors she uses are stolen, and her heavy makeup reminds me vaguely of a harlequin. Perhaps the shawl projected its sick personality into her, or perhaps she regressed to an infantile state under my very eyes.

She looks like a lacerated doll attached to one of Cuixar’s canvases.

Did you talk? Are you here?

My love, yesterday I read your poems. Your spellbound words reclaimed my very existence. Letters fell into my cupped palms. From the mirror the contour of your body – textured like ripened mangoes under a third eclipse of the moon – entered my world. Your words adapted to my lips. They absorbed the piano’s euphoria with its marvelous rhythmicity.  Our happiness became imperative like the birth of a child at 39 weeks.

Today I am back – albeit sedated – inside the ambivalence of my own introspections swinging from one site to another like the Kirby Cove swing above the Pacific Ocean.

I do not see the woman anymore, but I can still see the dead person. The throbbing pain of Cuixar’s paintings and your absence become unbearable.  

When I do not cry myself to death, I pretend you are here.

@Gabriela Marie Milton

MasticadoresUSA Update

A new beautiful poem is now up at MasticadoresUSA.

Read Two Hearts by Phil Perkins here.

Do not forget to follow MasticadoresUSA.

Do you want to submit? Please read the editorial announcement here.
Thank you
Gabriela

Butterflies always die – poetic prose by Gabriela Marie Milton #poetry #poetic prose

HAJI21-cz; Pixabay

In times of fortune and misfortune I am always at the mercy of silence. Perhaps because I was born on an island where seldom does anything happen.

Yesterday the water and the light invaded my tongue’s buds, and I was forced to look at myself upside down. I could see the splendor of a naked butterfly ready to mate. Do you know for how long do two butterflies stay together? Sixteen hours. The exact time we spent together in the silence of the island.

Suspended in the between times neither of us moved. No cosmic sacrifice happened. No driving force was brought to life. No blood interfered between …. please continue reading at MasticadoresUSA.

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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

Jazz by Michael Stang #guest post #poetic prose #MasticadoresUSA

Jorm S; Shutterstock

Dear Readers,

Here is a fabulous piece written by Michael Stang, editor at Storymaker, an astonishing writer whose work is often curated on Medium.

His piece Jazz is now up at MasticadoresUSA.

“… Doesn’t take much to live. Life takes everything. Rules given to ourselves by ourselves. What we know has cracks we…”

Please read the entire piece here

Relish it.
Meditate at.
Thank you.

Do you want to submit? Find the submission guidelines for MasticadoresUSA here.
Gabriela

@Gabriela Marie Milton

On Women’s Writings #poetic prose #feminism #literature

 artellia; Shutterstock

On Women’s Writings

I do not like women’s writings. They talk too much about their bodies.

Notice the negative connotation attributed to the relationship body/femininity construed as an obstacle to the evolution of the spirit?

This man’s feeble mind confined women to lands of sensuality, magic, swamps, and mud: in short, to categories related to the carnal. Women can only be aware of tumultuous feelings that erupt inside their bodies. Nothing else. There was an implicit juxtaposition between body/femininity and spirit/masculinity, the latter understood as superior.

I navigated the incredible writings of women like Virginia Woolf, George Sand, Marguerite Yourcenar, and many others.

I became a mirror. I produce images of the spirit and of the body.

I play with them. I absorb them. I devour them.

I am the same with the richness of the intellect and the opulence of feelings.

My body is the alphabet of a language spoken at the exact hour when the sunset rains its cherry blossoms over the laughter of children.  

I love the frenzy of the 1920s. Oh, les années folles

I am the quintessence of that which you will always desire.

I am a woman.

I am not made in your image.

You are made in mine.

Happy New Year to all my followers. May 2021 bring you happiness and success. May you be forever loved.
Gabriela

Passions featured in San Francisco Book Review
Passions featured in Manhattan Book Review.

@Gabriela Marie Milton

My piece “Dematerialization” published by Spillwords Press #prose #short prose #Gabriela M #Gabriela Marie Milton

It was a sort of dematerialization that left behind the scent of orange blossoms and the vague memory of sultry afternoons growing by the margins of the pond: those afternoons in need for seed germination. I am sure you can remember them.

You and your love for me which have always looked for my blood. I told you I am air and therefore I do not have a body. I fill the space in which other bodies manifest themselves.

I am every breath you take in your nights of love when …please continue reading here

You can read my Spillwords Author of the Year Interview here.
My poetry collection Passions: Love Poems and Other Writings is available on Amazon here .
Passions featured in San Francisco Book Review
Passions featured in Manhattan Book Review.

Thank you.
Love.
Gabriela.

@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela Marie Milton)

image: Anna Ismagilova; Shutterstock; [link]

My new piece “Exiled” published by Indian Periodical #poem #prose poem #short prose

You, evening of ours, how beautifully your lips tasted; stars in your unbraided hair spread over still waters like lily pads; rosy skin like the flesh of a pink grapefruit freshly open.

I still can breathe in your aromas of cherry flavored cigars and sleepless expectations.

Exiled under this oak tree…

Please continue reading here.

My poetry collection Passions: Love Poems and Other Writings is available on Amazon here .
Passions featured in San Francisco Book Review
Passions featured in Manhattan Book Review.

Thank you.
Love.
Gabriela.

image:  Anna Ismagilova; Shutterstock; [link]

@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela Marie Milton)

the child to be #poem #prose poem #short prose #short story

I cut my hair.

I put it in a bag made of white silk.

Skies succeed one another.

The third one descends upon me.

It’s Wednesday; the day of red carnations.

Your blood vessels kill my dreams like algae blooms kill fish.

From Thursday – why are you one sky ahead of me? –  your voice curls in every cell of my body.

The child will be born face up. He will watch the stars on their way to nowhere. 

I shudder. My breath heaves. Milky moonlight descends upon my breasts.

What child?

On Friday you reply.

The one we’ll make when we meet on Sunday.

My nails dig into my left thigh. My blood smells like carnations.  It ought to be still Wednesday. It can’t be Friday. Friday smells like Rose de Grasse d’Or.

What are you talking about? We do not meet on Sundays. I sew clothing on Sundays.  In fact, we never meet.

Your voice comes from Monday.

Our child to be. The one who has a bishop as a grandfather. The one you know no other love but ours can bore. The one who will contemplate the stars on their way to nowhere.

I take my hair from the bag.

I start placing it back on my head.

It must be Tuesday.

 

excerpt from my manuscript Remembrance of Love (working title)

My poetry collection, Passions: Love Poems and Other Writings, is available on Amazon here and it is featured in San Francisco Book Review and Manhattan Book Review.

image: Liliya Kulianionak; Shutterstock; [link]

@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela Marie Milton)

The Violin of Love #poem #poetry #prose poem

The air is still like the minutes before confession.
The cloak shrouds me.
On the second breath of the Easter of Roses I walk to the outskirts of your love.
A violin exults fires upon darkness.
In one single stoke your passion consumes and shuns me.
The chambers of my heart resound.
Reds prevent you from understanding how much I love you.
Double stop.
Movements.
My eyes are the eyes of the Sphinx 
I wait.

My book, Passions: Love Poems and Other Writings, can be ordered here.

Thank you.
Gabriela

@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela Marie Milton)

Summer Love #poem #poetic prose #short prose

That summer love burned us until our skin became tranquilized.

We were ready to receive.

None of us cared about the danger of the thousand apples from which we bit.

Poetry?

Oh, poetry was too good to be read.

We tasted it and ate it with silver spoons.

All filtrations of the mind and senses hid in small apple bites and scented flowers.

By dusk we exhausted everything with our breath.

The children’s voices vanished into the dark.

The doubt of too much spilled between us like ashes from a broken urn.

Summer love.

 

featured image: Separisa; Shutterstock; [link]

@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela Marie Milton)

Destined to replace #poem #poetic prose #short prose

I could detect the taste of the city on your lips.

The city and her languorous afternoon we spent in bed.

Every evening at 6 pm the chords of your guitar used to grow rose buds.

Sheer sunsets imprinted on our bodies.

Streets, labyrinths of gray cobblestones, dying in the orange light only to be revived later in the night by the steps of lovers desperately calling each other like song sparrows, brown streaks through each eye.

You said if I leave, I would become a stranger to the city. Did you mean to your lips?

I looked at the clock. Its hands showed no time. I answered:

How interesting. Strangers are always destined to replace.

By the little colored stall where ice cream was sold in the summer your guitar shed its notes: rose petals in the remnants of a cold wind.

excerpt from my book in progress: Remembrance of Love [working title]

 

My poetry collection, Passions: Love Poems and Other Writings, is available on Amazon here.
Thank you.
Love.
Gabriela

@short- prose-fiction (Gabriela Marie Milton)

image: agsandrew; Shuterstock; [link]