Basque Lore – Witch (Sorginak)-Short Prose – Poetic Prose by Gabriela Marie Milton
Amaia moved as if the earth itself exhaled her name. The cup before her shimmered with fern, salt, and a shard of the sea’s first bone—the one that once wrapped around her ankles like a lover unwilling to let go. She broke the root of a tree between her fingers, and the scent of sap rose, thick and sweet as memory.
Her dress slipped from her shoulders, pooling at her feet like dusk surrendering to night. Naked, she began to dance—slowly at first, then with the rhythm of wind through stone, of rivers through veins. The air bent toward her, the mountains listening. Mist gathered around her skin, luminous and alive, her hair trailing down her thighs like spilled ink.
We were children, hidden beneath the bed, breathless. Through the slats, we saw her summon the world back to itself—one movement, one whisper, one trembling note at a time.
Reminder
Please do not forget that in November Literary Revelations will bring you a splendid art album (7X10) by Hikari and Gabriela Marie Milton.
Title, Haiku and Tanka: Lull, Harmony, and Power in Japanese Art
Authors, Hikari: Paintings and Tanka.
Gabriela Marie Milton: Haiku
To those of you who are my friends here, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for your likes, comments, and support. Love you.
Sacred Autumn – short prose, poetic prose by Gabriela Marie Milton
Those nights of autumn—when the chill did not wound but healed, when the air itself seemed to breathe through us, cooling the fever of our restless hearts. Our eyes, heavy with the weight of constellations, closed like petals surrendering to the dusk. The city stirred beneath our footsteps, its silence trembling awake, its shadows turning to watch us pass.
Your lips traced, in the tender blindness of night, the outline of my fingers as though reading a forgotten scripture.
And in those evenings, we learned what few ever do—that desire, once it transcends the body, becomes sacred. We had crossed that invisible threshold where touch dissolves into essence, and what we shared was no longer flesh, but the luminous echo of it.
Reminder
Please do not forget that in November Literary Revelations will bring you a splendid art album (7X10) by Hikari and Gabriela Marie Milton.
Title, Haiku and Tanka: Lull, Harmony, and Power in Japanese Art
Authors, Hikari: Paintings and Tanka.
Gabriela Marie Milton: Haiku
To those of you who are my friends here, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for your likes, comments, and support. Love you.
The streets remember you, every cobblestone etched with the memory of your footsteps, as if the earth itself had been branded by your presence. It’s been three years, yet the imprint of your steps lingers, a haunting echo that refuses to fade. I recall the way we’d dance in the empty streets, lost in the mystic glow of a sunset that unraveled itself just for us. The world melted away, leaving only the soft whisper of our footsteps and the fading light.
You vanished around the corner, turning left into the fading light, and I followed, my heart racing. But when I turned the street was deserted, the silence palpable. Yet, I could still feel the resonance of your steps, the vibrations of your presence lingering in the air. The distant chime of church bells pierced the evening air, and as the darkness gathered, it felt like the very shadows were alive, swirling around me like a shroud. In that moment, I was consumed by the ache of your absence, the longing to be reunited with the ghost of our past.
To my beloved followers who grace my pages with your presence, may your end of July be filled with enchantment and boundless joy.
Today, I am pleased to share a brief excerpt from a novel I wrote in Spanish. I have never published it. I aspire to do so, but I still need to revise the language and remove some scenes to make its impact even more powerful. I am still debating whether to publish in Spanish or translate it into English and publish it.
The novel does not yet have a name.
The novel is a mystery thriller. The plot is structured as an investigation upon which, as the reader gradually discovers partial truths, other layers of ambiguity are superimposed. This fact primarily results from the epistemological interdependence I maintained between the book’s characters. In the constellation of the investigation-plot, Jezebel and Lady Swartley represent the emission points of some fundamental information about the death of the Governor, and the reasons for the prohibition against citizens crossing to the other, uninhabited side of the Island, punishable by death.
Here is an excerpt in Spanish.
-Anastasia, tengo entendido que Lady Swartley le presentó a Esteban.
La muchacha sonrió. Así pues, le había tocado el turno a Esteban. Las ideas de él y las de Jezabel se parecían de algún modo, este círculo de locos, como solía decir David, tenía que cerrarse.
-No, no me lo presentó ella. Lo encontré por casualidad frente a su casa.
Jezabel estalló en risa.
-¿Y usted cree que los encuentros frente a la casa de Lady Swartley son perfectamente casuales?
-Esta vez, ella y Lady Swartley se habían pasado de la raya. Anastasia se puso nerviosa. Juró para sus adentros que no volvería a hablar nunca con ninguno de ellos, nunca. Aceptaría las invitaciones de Jezabel, no le permitirá más a Lady Swartley conversar sin sentido. David tenía razón. Estas dos estaban totalmente locas. Trató de calmar sus nervios, diciéndose que todo era un juego, nada más. En algún lugar, dentro de su ser, sabía muy bien que nada era un juego. Ahora, aquí, todo estaba contabilizado, pesado, según una lógica que se negaba constantemente a la lógica humana. No le importaba responderle a Jezabel. Lo que más le interesaba era comprender algo de su propia vida, de la vida que estaba pulsando en la Ciudad y más allá de ella.
-¿Qué nos robo a nosotros, como seres humanos, la civilización de esta Ciudad, Jezabel?
Good morning/good evening, my cherished followers:
Today: A POEM BY GABRIELA MARIE MILTON AND A PHOTO BY NAOKI KIMURA.
I hope you enjoy:
PHOTO
Naoki Kimura
POEM/SHORT PROSE
She perched at the corner of the old archway, her floral dress blooming against the steel, her eyes the green of rain-soaked moss.
“Hey, lady. Want me to read your future?” “No, thank you.” “Ever been sick?” “No.” “Ever had surgery?” “No.” “Broken bones?” “No.” “They’ve tied your health.” “What?” “Now, they can’t touch you.” “Who are they?”
She laughed—a strange, yellow laughter, sweet and sour.
“Let me tell you your future.” “No, thanks.”
I quickened my pace, heart thumping.
When I reached the center of the arch, I glanced back. She was gone—vanished like a forgotten dream.
My future flickered before my eyes: a vision in black and white, sharp as shadows, silent as stone.
Anything can be said about that city, but one can never say that it lacks 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 rising to power, luxury cars zipping by, casinos filled with shady characters, rats zig-zagging in the basements of old buildings. Plenty of frustrations run 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, wrinkled 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 fulfilling the city’s need to devour us.
“With lush language and lavish imagery, Gabriela M. evokes a fantastic world ripe with emotion.” Christina Schwarz, the author of the New York Times Bestseller “Drowning Ruth.”
The night had too many eyes, too many tears, and too many candles. It left sticky traces of wax in our souls. Escaped from its unbearable seduction, the morning light felt like a benediction: the smell of fresh brewed coffee, the whiteness of the tablecloth, the raspberry cobblers aligned on the window of the freezer, your eyes clearer than any mountain spring ever known.
We finished our coffees. Christina, the waitress, blew us a kiss and then threw her hands in the air. Her high-pitched voice rang in my ears:
“Don’t forget to return to the Six O’clock Café, you love birds.”
“We will be back tomorrow.”
I saw the trolley moving like a red sleepwalking worm through the windows. We rushed out.
We watched the city and the sea come to life from our chairs, side by side. It was a bridal time filled with the smell of salt and sweet oranges. Your lips trembled, and you spoke about our wedding.
We were going to get married on a boat. We would leave the shore on a Sunday morning. Behind us, all church bells would toll. I would wear a simple dress made from hemp, and a crown of pink fresh roses gathered the midnight before our marriage when the moon rose from the waters. A huge basket filled with a thousand cherries would be set at our feet to make our marriage as sweet as their flesh. Blue and white threads wrapped around our wrists would protect us forever.
The end of the line.
How did we end up at the Six O’clock Café again? The trolley must have gone in a circle. We laughed, got off the trolley, and entered the place.
I thought everything looked strange. The refrigerator was now on the other wall, and the tablecloths were no longer white. A long-faced waiter passed me.
I asked:
“Is Christina here?”
“Christina? Oh, Christina quit working here five years ago.”
Numb, I looked at you. There was something deeper than desperation in your eyes. Something that I could not translate.
Your arms pull me to your chest. I could hear your whisper.
“Please tell me we are married.”
I looked at my fingers. I had no wedding band.
Reminder
Please stay tuned for more updates on Tranquility: An Anthology of Haiku. Tentative publication date: late April. Publisher Literary Revelations.
My books (Only English) #1 Amazon bestseller, Passions: Love Poems and Other Writings (Vita Brevis) #1 Amazon Bestseller, Women: Splendor and Sorrow (Vita Brevis)
Thank you to all my followers who reviewed my books. Please read other reviews here:
The afternoon smelled of brick; I used to scratch the wall with my knees and nails on my way to the sea.
My blood stained my socks and fed the roots of the orange tree Mama planted one spring before my seventh birthday. Soon after, the tree grew blood oranges.
I used to dream I would reach the port before crickets would serenade the white cement between the bricks, and the evening wind would sew the wounds from the face of the wall.
I needed a God to lead me to the sea. In Mama’s stories, there were too many Gods leading souls to heaven. I did not want to go to heaven. I wanted to go to the sea.
I used to fail. I did not understand what failure is. The next afternoon, little ducks embroidered on the rim of my blue dress, I would start climbing the wall again.
One day I thought I would get to the port and run straight into the sea.
Little did I know that the day would come when I would first look into your eyes. The sea inside your eyes is like laundry left to dry on a wire. Long red poles floundered left and right like the wings of a moribund bird. The body of a boat eroded by salt, and by the kisses of the women of your past agonized in green and blue.
Your eyes: on the right, your love for me, and on the left, your hate for the world.
Did I say your love for me? You see, over time, I had to reconsider that formulation. Your feelings resembled more a never-ending animal magnetism than love.
Let me make one thing clear. No one person is sufficient to drive all demons from another one. You can think of Goethe’s elective affinities if you wish. I cannot save you from you. You need to help me. I can carry this conversation into the night and win.
Ah, winning! The day I understood I can win, I stepped into hell.
That day was the day I lost my innocence and, with that, paradise. Since then, my blood has never stained my socks. The orange tree has never grown red-fleshed oranges, and Mama stopped telling stories.
featured image: Gabriela Marie Milton, Greece.
My books (Only English) #1 Amazon bestseller, Passions: Love Poems and Other Writings (Vita Brevis) #1 Amazon Bestseller, Women: Splendor and Sorrow (Vita Brevis)
Thank you to all my followers who reviewed my books. Please read other reviews here:
Christina Schwarz, the author of the New York Times Bestseller “Drowning Ruth.”
“With lush language and lavish imagery, Gabriela Marie Milton. evokes a fantastic world ripe with emotion.” Christina Schwartz
Edited Collections: #1 Amazon Bestseller, Hidden in Childhood (Literary Revelations) #1 Amazon bestseller,Petals of Haiku (Literary Revelations) #1 Amazon Bestseller, Wounds I Healed: The Poetry of Strong Women (EIF)
Below is the opening poem from one of my #1 Amazon bestsellers, Passions: Love Poems and Other Writing, and a review by Fabian Bats that, in the beginning, refers to The Miracle of You. Fabian got it!
The Miracle of You
the moon’s right-hand pours soul into my flesh pigeons’ wings bring scents of lilac blooms the air gets drunk with poetry statuary women of the water flaunt their hair
within the loneliness of you my heart rotates five equinoxes on a wooden spindle your eyes pour flesh into my soul my body germinates the sounds of growing leaves I wash my hands into the waters of Guadalquivir in the scented night of those who never sleep I say I love you and in one single breath our wedding is transformed in an enraptured death
[Following is a volunteer review of “Passions: Love Poems and Other Writings” by Gabriela Marie Milton.]
4 out of 4 stars
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Passions: Love Poems and Other Writings by Gabriela Marie Milton is a book of 126 poems; 84 love poems, 6 Italian, and 36 others. In the foreword, the author was praised for her ability to pour out passion, from within her creative mind, into her poetry, and this raised my expectations for deep and insightful poems significantly. The author makes good use of the acknowledgments section, by communicating with the reader, which I liked. There is also a responsive table of contents at the start of the book that allows the reader to resume reading with ease.
As the title indicates, love is an overriding theme in this collection of poems, and the book is opened with one of such. The first poem is my favorite in the book; it took a few re-reads to grasp, but when I did, I instantly thought to myself “Genius!”.
After my first read, I had no clue what I had just read, “what is the link between the title and the poem?”, I thought, racking my head and moving on to the next poem, hoping for less murky waters to swim in -at the start of the book, it is humorous, I know. However, when I came back to read it again, and started seeing links, I felt butterflies, I marveled at the beauty of the words chosen and how a particular figure of speech was used here or there, and when the stars aligned in my mind, I saw clearly that the author was referring to the night of a honeymoon (it could mean a host of other things to other readers, simply because poetry is art). From this point onward, it was difficult to put the book down.
Geographical locations are referred to in metaphors and other figures of speech. Landmarks in Spain are mentioned several times in the book, and Spanish history is also referenced. A few other landmarks are also referenced; hence prior knowledge of Geography would make the poems all the more enjoyable.
The Italian translations section also has the English text placed by the side. The poems in Italian were very similar to the poems in the previous chapters, that were centered on love, however, one of the best poems in the book, in my opinion, was in that section, “Languor of love/Languore”. The final section in the book, “Prose poems and flash fiction”, had more understandable content, and two of my favorites from it were “Art” and “Thoughts”. They were written simply and beautifully.
I liked the wordplay very much, the figurative expressions were so well fused, that a wandering mind would be unable to grasp. This book is an advanced work of poetry, with complex rhyming schemes that change per chapter. It must be read with maximum concentration. This is a book of poems so I would recommend this book to those who like poetry, especially the romantic genre, and have at least beginner-level experience in poetry (like myself), also those who want to delve into poetry for the first time, can give it an attempt at their own risk.
The book has no profane language and mild sensual content, which could easily grow within one’s mind whilst reading. I rate this book 4 out of 4 stars, for being professionally edited, conveying a series of beautiful messages powerfully, and being a one of a kind book in its genre.
Thank you for reading and enjoy the rest of your day!
My books (Only English) #1 Amazon bestseller, Passions: Love Poems and Other Writings (Vita Brevis) #1 Amazon Bestseller, Women: Splendor and Sorrow (Vita Brevis)
Thank you to all my followers who reviewed my books. Please read other reviews here:
Christina Schwarz, the author of the New York Times Bestseller “Drowning Ruth.”
“With lush language and lavish imagery, Gabriela Marie Milton. evokes a fantastic world ripe with emotion.” Christina Schwartz
Edited Collections: #1 Amazon Bestseller, Hidden in Childhood (Literary Revelations) #1 Amazon bestseller,Petals of Haiku (Literary Revelations) #1 Amazon Bestseller, Wounds I Healed: The Poetry of Strong Women (EIF)
Our destinies caught in the deep lines of my left palm.
With my right index finger, I trace those lines again and again, until I cannot breathe anymore, until my left palm bleeds.
None of us can be judged outside endless flights between continents, outside of our tears and of our love for art, outside of the slippery slope that runs from amitié amoureuse to deep impassioned love.
One day all of us will have to understand that the past should stay in the past. That day is inscribed in my left palm together with our pain, and our tendencies toward the kind of love that transcends any earthly boundaries.
Please do nor forget that Literary Revelationsrecently published Celebrating Poetry by Cindy Georgakas. The book was a Top Release in American Poetry and Inspirational Poetry.
