Category: writing

fears of death #poem #poetry

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fears of death
strangled in the heat of our palms
our bodies scratched by silver bracelets
glide onto passion’s desperation curve
go beyond the locus of the flesh
kill our caricatures which people call reality
light ferocious fires on the altar of the gods
in rituals we burn to ashes our fears
dry into the smell of lilac
our tears

ah, i forgot to tell you when i meet you in my dreams
Arabella still sells bracelets in the silver market
she asks me every time about you
while lizards run their greens into the nearby parkette
i lie and promise her you’ll come next time
to buy another bracelet and some juicy limes

now in the silence of long purple nights
the silver bracelets do not hurt my flesh at all
but every minute you are not with me
cuts yet another wound
into my soul

@short-prose-fiction

imagine: Zolotatevs; Shutterstock; [link]

 

mystic wedding #poem #poetry

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we got married at midnight
waves washed our naked feet
your face was shaved, my hair smelled almonds
you cried
and tears covered my veiled lips

your grandmother’s cross was nesting on my breast
songs of nightingales resounded in the honeyed water
new pearls were braided on my dress
kisses flowed
and borrowed lace adorned my hips

leaves rustled in a tree
the water turned to wine
the moon rose from the sea
like at the mystic wedding
in Cana of Galilee

@short-prose-fiction 

 

the dark flag of pain #poem #poetry

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i open doors which you can’t see
under my father’s heavy eyelids
tenderness gets harder every day
i ache and cry
inside the same sunset in which you left
the smell of morphine saturates my skin
in Campo de’ Fiori people still sell grapes
some still believe the Freudian nonsense about sex
gale winds blow the dark flag of pain
a lonely boat sits anchored in the bay
my soul is scattered in the west
my tears form a phase which reads
tomorrow is already yesterday

@short-prose-fiction

imagine: nodff: Shutterstock; [link]

 

until the end of my life and beyond #short prose #flash fiction

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“I, Miguel Julian Veracruz, take you to be my wife until the end of my life and beyond. I swear on the true cross of my ancestors who endured famine, who fought hurricanes, who sailed their ships through darkness and light into the vastness of the ocean, bible in one hand and sword in the other, to love you until the end of all worlds. My ancestors killed. May my love for you wash the blood from their hands. My ancestors burned down temples. May the fire of my love for you redeem them. May […]

Say yes, Clara, say yes, please!”

Miguel’s words cut the sky in two. The green of his eyes looked exactly like that of his Maria de Guadalupe medallion which he never took off. That beautiful silver Spanish ring, a family heirloom, worn by his mother on the fourth finger of her right hand, appeared on his palm out of nowhere.
*
Lightning struck the waters. A whirlpool of colors flamed the boat; the air was spinning around me like a tornado let lose over the face of the earth. My breathing stopped.  I thought I was imagining everything.
*
Jacques asked in that deep, unmistakable voice of his.

“Where were you Clara?”

“In Miguel’s boat on the waters of the Atlantic. In the beginning it looked like an ordinary Sunday afternoon. Miguel ordered the boat out.  I thought it was odd that he was not sailing it. He hired a captain whose wife cooked dinner, set the table, and brought a bunch of papers for us.  I did not know what they were.”

“What did you say, Clara?”

Excerpt from the manuscript “Glass Lovers” (draft)
@short-prose-fiction

imagine: Sofi photo; Shutterstock; [link]

 

amour (love) #poem #poetry

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amour
your secret hides inside my name
inside the splendor of the night in which you didn’t say a word
feathers of macaw birds trace music sheets
the rays of sun stretch on the pebble beach
a fragrant song delights itself on my red lips
i rest my head on your left shoulder
into the lands of spices waiting to be born
we fall
some carnal dreams howl on the corridor
who cares?
i locked the door!
this morning we can die
we won’t tell a soul
and never ask for more
amour

@short-prose-fiction


imagine: Liliya Kulianionak; Shutterstock [link]

 

who are you? #published poem #Wolff Poetry Literary Magazine

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My Dear Readers,

My poem “who are you?” published by Wolff Poetry Literary Magazine.

who are you?
which gale winds have blown you here?
which fallen saint showed you the way?
besieged by you, old loves abandoned in dark cemeteries
lament like choirs in my Hellenistic Greece
virgin thighs ferment inside your blood
scared azaleas tremble on my pillows…
continue reading here 

@short-prose-fiction

 

Andalusian Resurrection #poem #poetry

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In Spain, the dead are more alive than the dead of any other country in the world.
Federico García Lorca

open your veins Andalusia
let him drink from your lynx blood
inject the rhythms of the flamenco
under the coldness of his eyes
tattoo his flesh with tiles of azurite
pour the sounds of castanets
into his arms
my fingers swirl
the flesh of ripened olives
covers the old shroud
the flow of blood from the white shirt
has stopped
i hear his voice
there is one cross
and you’re my only love
my body arches
scented oils flame in my hair
a Moorish verse explodes onto a wall
his eyes are aiming
from my lips
he bites

Andalusia
i kneel among your cacti fed by salt
your wounded lashes
resurrected him
for yet
another night

@short-prose-fiction

imagine: Andi-pix; Shutterstock 

 

before you leave me #poem #poetry

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before you leave
do not forget to take with you
our rhymes of love
flip flopping fish on foyers’ marble
the velvety récamier red sofa
on which the two of us inscribed
the decadence of our southern afternoons
the crystal glasses
now obliterated by the taste of the old wine
the plumage of dipper birds
submerged under the waters by our ardent nights
the blue imprints of fingers on the walls
oh, the withered roses?
you can have them
and with them
our entire past

@short-prose-fiction

 

 

the ridicule of the unknown #poem #poetry

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your eyes, the prohibition of cold winters
my eyes, the wanderers of earth
a copper sea mimics the candor
silence flies over the same archipelago
ah, Madeira
golden feathers are your waters
your lips taste wine
your breath smells corolla of flowers
we killed into your sands
the ridicule of the unknown
and went beyond
the ecstasies pantomimed
inside of the forever known

a golden yolk suspends itself in the warm air
a key is turning in a lock
the cries of winds vibrate an air sock

@short-prose-fiction