My Dear Readers,
“Shadows,” a guest post by a very young and talented writer David Wesley Woolverton. David is an aspiring author who has just completed his graduate studies in creative writing at the University of South Alabama. His interests include trains, books, and daydreaming.
“Sometimes Nesrin just looked at her own shadow...” please continue reading here.
My pain has no center and no limits.
gestures of disoriented lovers
vermeil of the candelabra in the sky
somebody gathers petals in a Spanish bowl
inaudible, your feelings skirmish
to escape your soul
a streetlamp dressed in purple looks at you
I lost the earrings that you gave me in the spring
a samovar exhales aroma of black tea
behold the time of you and me
debauchery in summer
Galleria dell’Accademia, Florence, July 28
“Clara, he needs a haircut.”
Miguel rolls his eyes.
“For crying out loud, he is a statue.”
“So? I wonder where the closest barbershop is.”
“Miguel, are you crazy?”
“Yep. Crazy in love with you.”
Excerpt from the manuscript “Glass Lovers”
image: Marc Little, Shutterstock; [link]
My Spillwords Author of the Month interview. Thank you to everyone who voted for me.
You can read it here.
image: Maksim Kaborda; Shutterstock; [link]
I follow you onto old streets
hermetic sealers, principles of dark
alchemy, the name of you and me
windows of the courtesans from Syracuse
on which some neophytes waste their time
a boat which never leaves the shore
my body, syllogism of lust
fertility of the flatlands
disoriented rivers confluent on maps
the seventh circle turns into the eighth
people like money, they don’t like art
the wisdom of old sages hidden in plain sight
I wasn’t Beatrice
I should have been
forgive me father, for I’ve sinned
inside the gnostic bridal chamber
I fell in love with him
image: PinkCat; Sutterstock; [link]
I know some fields
in which the flesh of poppies smiles
when blonde sunsets play classical guitars
I know the coffee shop in which you stop
the gypsy lady who foretold our luck
inside the shadows of the night of eucalyptus
winds unbraid their fragrant hair
a moon serves wine in crystal glasses
inside the mirrors blue souls dance in pairs
I have to go
I can’t write more
send my kisses to the ocean’s waves
don’t sell the wooden bed in which we first made love
the dress embroidered by my mother’s hands
save the letters that my father wrote before he died
guards are coming
my wrists will be soon stamped
from a concentration camp
look for me my love
my body shines like lightening
striking down from Mount Olympus
I’m the tremble of each tear
which poor hungry children shed
I’m the prayer of the lonely
the garden where the virgins blush
the mystic bite of occult ecstasies
I’m hidden in the Sistine Chapel
in haunted graveyards at midnight
I’m bursting from the keys of the piano
which plays alone Beethoven’s 5th
call for God
breathe me in
I am your soul
23 April 2018 Barista Favorite: i am your soul/short-prose-fiction — Go Dog Go Café
image: DarkGeometryStudios; Shutterstock; [link]
caressed together by the waters of Corinth
inside the darkest forests chasing statuary nymphs
the decadence of Hellenistic love
blissfully raining laughter from above
“the condo of the virgin” sitting empty
the goddess long dissolved into the néant
you softly reading Hebrew texts in Greek
the painful comedy of life on sale this week
first published in Vita Brevis Poetry Magazine; November 25, 2017
Liquid shoulders touched by wings of albatrosses shiver.
The occult aroma of the volcano goddess cries.
A lily and a rose light candles in the dark.
My pregnant soul invokes my ancestors.
Ecstasy encroaches its eight hands around your naked chest.
A lonely pearl looks for its shell.
Tears shed in silence.
Aquatic sorcery of immortal dreams.
image: Kiryl Lis; Shutterstock; [link]