the breath of love and death #poem #poetry

emotions leave the wombs of souls 
inebriation
nakedness of pearls forgotten on the shore
inside the warmth of the unknown
the mystery of you is locked
somebody’s wearing yellow, sign of death
doors close
the ocean’s mortuary room
your hands stretch all the waves toward the North
my ankles stuck in sand

hibiscuses bloom in the bed
delusion 
a cat is running outdoors
over the world
the breath of love and death
a verse from you
and then
Pompeian red  

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image: nodff; Shutterstock; [link]

Nominated for author of the month at Spillwords Press #poetry #short prose #writers

My Dear Readers,

Together with other wonderful writers, I was nominated “Author of the Month” at Spillwords Press. You do not need a Spillwords account to vote. You can vote with your FB, Twitter and probably with your WP account too.

My most sincere thanks to all of you who vote Gabriela M.

Vote

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Meet a wonderful poet: Kevin Morris #guest post #poetry

Kevin Morris was born in the city of Liverpool on 6th January 1969. Having attended The Royal School for the Blind and St. Vincent’s School for the Blind in Liverpool, Kevin went on to read History and Politics at the University College of Swansea.

Having graduated with a BA (Joint Honours), and an MA in Political Theory, Kevin moved to London where he now lives and works.

Being visually impaired, Kevin uses a screen reading software called Job Access with Speech (JAWS) which converts text into speech and braille, enabling him to use a Windows laptop.

Much of Kevin’s poetry is written in his home, which overlooks a historic park in Upper Norwood/Crystal Palace, a suburb of Greater London.

Please read three of Kevin’s poems:

Time

The reaper moves
In time with the pendulum.
No rush
Or fuss;
He has plenty of time.
My patient friend
Whose tick portends
My inevitable end.
You rest in state
On my bookcase.
Tick tock.
I cannot stop
Time’s scythe.
None can survive
His cut.
Though in a cupboard my clock be shut,
Death cannot be put
Aside.
The sickle chops
And the heart will, one day, stop.

 

The Picture

The picture stands out against the white
Of my living room wall.
A few birds still call.
A fascination with sunlight
Which, as I watch, slowly dies away.
The night
Takes the day
And the picture we see
Is lost in obscurity;
Although, we hope that this light
We borrow
Will be seen on the morrow,
But this we cannot know.

 

What Is a Double Bed?

What is a double bed?
A place where the dread
Of what comes after this brief life
Is momentarily lost
In the arms of mistress or wife.
What is a double bed?
A place where the lone head
Sleeps
And sometimes weeps.
What is a double bed?
A place of joy and pain,
Where we return again and again,
Until we are slain
By the final sleep.

The above poems can be found in The Selected Poems of K Morris, published in August 2019.
The book is available in paperback and Kindle formats and can be found here:
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07WW8WXPP/ (Kindle edition).
https://www.amazon.com/dp/1688049800/ (paperback edition).

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I’m coming after you #poem #poetry

poems wrote in other lives
line up like soldiers
ready for the battle
against the Hellenistic decadence
creeping in my laughter
…..
there are no stars to help
the moon dwells in your silence
coolness of gray walls in summer nights
…..
you think you’ve ever loved?
i’m coming after you

fragment from the poem I’m coming after you

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image: Grachikova Larisa; Shutterstock; [link]

my poem “syllogism of lust” published by Spillwords Press #poem #poetry

My poem “syllogism of lust” published by Spillwords Press

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….

Continue reading here 

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image: PinkCat; Shutterstock; [link]

bewitched #poem #poetry

perhaps I was bewitched by the North Star
or by a ballad as dateless as my blood
geography of feelings populates unwanted interludes
my eyes, the nests of dewy grass and leaves
emerald eyelashes flaunt
black taffeta chirps between my fingers like piano keys
inside my soul your kisses soar
soft lilac tones like prayers of the youngest nun
perhaps because I read your poetry last night
and cut my soul between a stanza and a strife
perhaps a child played with a kite
a kingdom for a sup
maybe it was the wind
that woke me up

Published in the Indian Periodical, March 3, 2019

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image: Irina Alexandrovna, Shutterstock; [link]

astral mandolin #poetry #poem

play in your room the mandolin tonight
paint the air with aurora borealis’ chant
arabesque designs awake my soul
the shining sound the time reverses

play in the streets your mandolin tonight
its cords,
your love for me…
my heart choreographs the scenes…

fragment from the poem “Astral Mandolin”

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triolets #poem #poetry

I wish to see you walk through the Arco de Elvira, to find out your name and shed a tear.” Federico García Lorca.

 

a violet sunset laments in the city
saps of triolets flow on my neck
ah, Granada
I stretch inside your memory
like felines on grasslands
a lily cries
my bracelets dangle
the eyes of candles flicker in your Spanish nights

fingers of lascivious desires
steal from my neck the saps of triolets
Granada
play your magical guitars
unleash the beauty hidden in your walls
the frenzy of the flesh which dies
into the ardent gestures of your dance
under La Puerta de Elvira
yesterday two lovers met
and I,
I wait in tears
for the love
which knows the mysteries of triolets

 

published by Spillwords Press on February 26, 2019

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