The smell of orange trees blooms in my hair.
Days of magic: a lily and a rose.
A purple sky bites from the imperishable yellow coiled around your finger.
Dark injured blood taints the possibility of the sunset.
The exertion of a prayer.
The reflection of our faces in a desiccated well.
Sunday on another latitude.
@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela M.)
My blog ranks 20th in “Top 100 Poetry Blogs & Websites to Follow” according to Feedspot.
My Dear Readers,
Incautious Clearing, a stunning poem written by the Italian poet Flavio Almerighi [blog]
Flavio Almerighi was born in Faenza, Italy, in 1959. As a boy he began writing poetry and got involved in radio and the theater. The best year of his life was 1976, when he read The Odyssey over the summer. Among the poets he considers his most important influences are Guillaume Apollinaire, Pedro Pietri, Peter Sinfield, Pasquale Panella, Dario Bellezza and Amelia Rosselli. His poetry collections are: Allegro Improvviso / Sudden Allegro (Ibiskos, 1999), Vie di Fuga / Escape Routes (Aletti, 2002), Amori al tempo del Nasdaq / Love in the Time of Nasdaq (Aletti, 2003), Coscienze di mulini a vento / Consciousnesses of Windmills (Gabrieli, 2007), durante il dopocristo / during the afterchrist (Tempo al Libro, 2008), qui è lontan / here it’s far away (Tempo al Libro, 2010), Voce dei miei occhi / Voice of my eyes (Fermenti, 2011), Procellaria / Storm Petrel (Fermenti, 2013), Caleranno i Vandali / Drop the Vandals (Samuel, 2016). He is a regular contributor to the virtual magazines Versante ripido (Steep Slope) and L’ombra delle parole (The Shadow of Words).
Incautious Clearing was selected from Flavio’s book Storm Petrel.
Amazon link
@short-prose-fiction
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
I land on the yolk of young times
I paid all the bills do not worry
I buried my bracelets by the green wall
white shirts are lined in the closet
this sand tastes like canvas and paint
I sharpen my eyes
my fingers are stretched
from the cosmic tomorrow
I enter tonight
I’ll return do not worry
disheveled, loves cry between us
remember the words of Persian Sibyl
who sold you my soul for three coins?
the time is fluid like rivers
waterlilies can bloom in the sand
@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela M.)
image: Anna Ismagilova; Shutterstock; [link]
“We are the children of our landscape; it dictates behaviour and even thought in the measure to which we are responsive to it. I can think of no better identification.”
Lawrence Durrell, Justine
_
Anything can be said about that city, but one can never say that it does not have a distinct identity.
During the humid autumn evenings the city looks like a wounded being, nursing her own lacerations. On the sidewalks the smell of dust overpowers the stench of cigarettes, and alcohol coming from her tiny, obscure pubs.
Clandestine risings to power, luxury cars zipping by, casinos filled with shady characters, rats zig-zagging in the basements of old buildings. Plenty of frustrations running through the city’s blood like thousands of white blood cells through the veins of an infected patient.
A sea of beggars at every street corner: amputated hands, deep lesions, winkled faces painted in the colors of dirt. Pain exposed in plain view like art objects in museums: the only difference being that pain is free; the entry in most museums is not.
In that city our story began: a story in which we created and destroyed loves, trusted and betrayed friendships, invented beauty only to eradicate it at the first sign of dawn.
We tried to satisfy our egos. We ended up satisfying the city’s need to devour us.
Excerpt from the manuscript “Glass Lovers” (draft)
@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela M.)
those roses which die in the winter
played the piano last night
a whirlpool of notes and of poems
inscribed on a wall painted in blue
caged in your dreams I still struggle
like birds drowned in water and mud
I cover the world with my fingers
I haunt the unspoken in dark
those roses which died before blooming
this love which will end in a tomb
@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela M.)
image: Vasyl Rohan; Shutterstock; [link]
My Dear Readers,
My poem “the breath of love and death” was voted Publication of the Month at Spillwords Press (November 2019).
My most sincere thanks to everyone who voted for me.
Have a fabulous week.
Gabriela
We congratulate Gabriela M @shortprose1 as her poem ‘The Breath of Love and Death’ was voted as November’s Publication of The Month!
Read via: https://t.co/ZfgslrzkiJ#SpillWords #PublicationOfTheMonth pic.twitter.com/qQQ8ILsDaL
— Spillwords.com (@spillwords) December 1, 2019
@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela M.)
I fed my tree of love with water from my blood, dried lizards, and pieces of broken hearts.
My tree will bloom during the Banquet of the Moon.
The broken hearts? You see I had no choice.
I am the defender of love.
I do not trade in half measures.
@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela M.)
image: Bruce Rolff; Shutterstock; [link]
My Dear Readers,
I was nominated author of the month at Spillwords Press. At the same time my poem “the breath of love and death” was nominated for publication of the month. If you wish you can vote for me – Gabriela M – in the link below. You do not need to have a Spillwords account to vote though it is easy to open one. You can vote with your Twitter or your FB account.
My most sincere thanks and congratulations to all nominees.
Gabriela
@short-prose-fiction
