My poem “the breath of love and death” voted Publication of the Month at Spillwords Press #poetry #published

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

@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela M.)

 

 

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  

@short-prose-fiction

image: nodff; Shutterstock; [link]

 

Who’s the God of an empty box? #short prose #flash fiction #poetry

 

I hope you do not expect me to greet you.

I do not greet takers and parasites. The sins of takers – who laugh in the faces of those who give – cannot be expiated.

Oh, you pray God! To whose God do you pray?

Who’s the God of an empty box?

Your actions are similar to those of others. Perhaps too similar.

Don’t confuse your emptiness with the majesty of death.

This August is too hot.

 

@short-prose-fiction. all rights reserved.

image: CARACOLLA; Shutterstock; [link]

 

fears of death #poem #poetry

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

image: Zolotatevs; Shutterstock; [link]