wooden bed (rewritten) #poem #poetry

I know some fields
in which the poppies smile
when blonde sunsets play classical guitar
I know the coffee shop in which you stop
the gypsy lady who foretold our luck

I love you
and I’m sorry that you fell in love with me…
now please listen,
I do have to go
remember our waterfall we liked so much
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
and do not cry

I’m rushing
guards are coming
my wrists will be soon stamped
yours forever,
from a concentration camp

 

please read my Spillwords Author of the Year (2019) interview here 
@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela M)

 

My poem “the biblical sense of to know” published by Spillwords Press #poetry

the biblical sense of to know
born in a summer that never existed
nailed to the cross of your poems
I’m losing my mind inside the blue night
I reach you in dreams you do not understand
It hurts when I’m there….

Continue reading here

This poem first appear on this blog (slightly modified).

 

During my two and a half years of blogging I’ve been nominated for numerous blogging awards. My most sincere thanks to everyone who nominated me. My life is extremely hectic. I deeply apologize for not being able to reply to your nominations.
However, if you want to know more about me please read my Spillwords interview “Spotlight on Writers- Gabriela M

Here is an excerpt from the interview “…most fascinatingly America is a country of dreamers. We are all dreamers.”

Thank you!
Gabriela

@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela M)

image:  Anna Ismagilova; Sutterstock; [link]

 

Love games #flash fiction #prose poem #short prose

I strolled along that large corridor whose walls were decorated with portraits: trophies of your love games.  You fed on those loves, didn’t you? You overextended. Overextension kills empires. I bet you didn’t think that it could kill real love too.

Every night the fleshless arms of your love games crawl on you like fire ants.

I know misfortune when I see it.

I know it because I am not a saint.

Hope? If there is any left it must be on another corridor.

Follow me.

read my 2019 Spillwords Author of the Year interview here
@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela M)

 

 

Glass Lovers [Miriam] #short prose #flash fiction

We sat there in the shadows of Sacré-Cœur, our laughter gone, our wills broken, our souls scarred, longing for what once was us. A heavy darkness was staring back at me from a white abstract past, like Malevich’s Black Square hanging on a cracked wall.

Who was to blame for all that happened? We had no answer. We could not judge ourselves anymore. We did that too many times. We got nowhere.

God did not promise us anything before we were born. He did not promise us anything even after we were born.

Miguel and Jacques looked petrified.

I gazed at Miriam. She spoke.

Miriam and that beautiful face of hers, her short black dresses scented with jasmine, her love for Jacques whispering like shadows on the roofs of Paris during purple dawns. Miriam and her paintings violating the silence of her studio from which one could see Notre-Dame. Miriam watching Rodin’s Gates of Hell for hours at the time. I always wondered what she thought about.

Now I think I know.

excerpt from the manuscript Glass Lovers
@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela M)

image: Lana Tikhonova; Shutterstock; [link]

 

There is nobility in giving. Thank you to Brad Osborne

There is nobility in giving: the kind of nobility that those who rule the world in bullet points will never know.

Thank you to my blogger friend, Brad Osborne, for the joy he brought in my life yesterday. Brad wrote a poem about how much I inspire him. I am humbled by his words and I will never forget his noble gesture.
Please visit Brad’s site at commonsensiblyspeaking

Brad’s poem for me is called “You take me there.”
Here is the first stanza:

How is it that with simple phrase
You ply the paths inside my mind
Transported back to younger days
My life, somehow, put on rewind

Please read Brad’s entire poem and post here 

Thank you all.
Yours,
Gabriela

@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela M)

 

the last love # love poem #poetry

I eat macaroons in the same coffee shop
Roberto’s guitar sells cheap dreams by the sea
young girls are ready for harvest like flowers of lust
I laugh…
I scratch poetry on a glass
I say the first love is French
you ask how’s the last
it smells raspberries, vanilla, and grass
you touch my left wrist
I play a few cards
red flowers bloom on your cheeks
your teeth peel the skin of my gloves
you walk into darkness
I seal you in wax
how’s the last love?
pray..
you shouldn’t have asked

@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela M)

 

My Author of the Year Interview with Spillwords Press #author

My Dear Readers,

I am humbled that I was voted Author of the Year at Spillwords Press.  Thank you to everyone who voted for me, and thank you to the wonderful team at Spillwords Press (NYC).

“…from the writings of the titans coming from the Latin American space to the writings of their counterparts coming from the Slavic space. Yes, I am an American, but I am also a child of Europe. I have been fascinated, mesmerized, frightened, brought to tears…” 

You can read my interview here: Author of the Year 2019 Interview 

Yours,

Gabriela