My piece Who Am I? Featured in Shabd Aaweg- A Quarterly Review of Literary Fiction, Politics and Philosophy #literature

 Subbotina Anna: Shutterstock

I am thrilled to have my piece Who Am I? published by Shabd Aaweg – A Quarterly Review of Literary Fiction, Politics, and Philosophy, Issue VIII

Here are some teasers:

“…floats above the water as innocent as the breast of a young girl… Soon the sun will try to catch her naked and burn her skin … Pigeons will carry her across…

… I can see no relationship between my destiny and that which I do. I am …

At noon, the sun kneads the waters with rapture … the movement of the water on my skin. Its cyclical quality sends me in a state of ecstasy. No, it is not the ecstasy of Saint Teresa of Ávila. It is something similar to a soporific trance. I am dead and I am alive at the same time. I come from the sea. I return to the sea.

In the afternoon, my rational self awakes… I get preoccupied with verbs. I set one triangle in the normal position and I invert the other one. I bind them together…..  You are the goddess of vines, the mother earth, the chalice, the blood, the fertility of the womb. I mull over these desperate….

..I feed my iguana with cookies soaked in champagne… One kiss and you borrow my tears. One touch and I borrow your pain. A passage rite. I keep a coffin adorned with lilies in my bedroom. I sleep besides death like Sarah Bernhardt. Did you hear that noise? A rosary…”

Please read the entire piece here.

Thank you.

My book Passions: Love Poems and Other Writings featured in San Francisco Book Review and Manhattan Book Review.

@Gabriela Marie Milton

Neurosis #literature #fiction #prose poem

 Kiselev Andrey Valerevich; Shutterstock

I suspect I suffer from an acute crisis of half-bloomed neurosis. My past emotions do not fully interfere with my current experiences. The converse is true too. No sophistry added. How boring.

I jump in the water dressed in black lingerie made from Calais laces and Lyon silks. I can feel the waves pounding my body while my mind drowns in the ambiguity of the French Nouveau Roman standing mid-way between modernism and post-modernism like a drunken sunset that cannot distinguish between yellow and orange.

The foliage of the sea turns burgundy. Your fingers contour my face.

Oh, you.

I forget that my favorite poet is Arthur Rimbaud with his “A thousand Dreams within me softly burn” and “I shed more tears than God could ever have required.” All I remember is that once I wrote: “I’ve never existed outside of your obsession with me and my interpretations of you.” 

There is something about these interpretations that make you burst in cascades of laughter and art your love for me with lust.

One morning, left by my pillow I found your reply written on a large index card: “I had to bury your existence inside my obsessions. If not, your love could have not been fully stabilized. You above anyone else know that an absolute correspondence in love does not exist. Love is mathematical singularity.”

A wet little bird shivers in my palms. The foliage of the sea turns darker.

Your fingers contour the back of my neck.

My eyes catch fire.

Night, have mercy on us.

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excerpt from my upcoming collection of poetry

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My book Passions: Love Poems and Other Writings featured in San Francisco Book Review and Manhattan Book Review.

@Gabriela Marie Milton

On Fame #poem #flash fiction #thoughts

Photo: Gabriela Marie Milton

It seems to me that we struggled to survive for thousands of years so that today each of us can have 30 seconds of fame.

Our latest accomplishment may be our last.

It’s winter.

My book Passions: Love Poems and Other Writings featured in San Francisco Book Review and Manhattan Book Review.

@Gabriela Marie Milton

On Life, Love, and Literature: Collage

AZdesign; Shutterstock

How beautiful this winter would be if the sky were the color of your eyes.

A naked night knocked at the door. She wanted to buy love.  I sent her away.

If I must pick one type of love it wouldn’t be eternal love.

Every morning I wake up to a list of things “to do.” I hate things. I love only their meanings. 

If heaven were hell what would you do?

I do not speak anymore. Since I read Camilo José de Cela’s Cristo Versus Arizona I decided silence is the only thing I should practice.

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My poetry collection Passions: Love Poems and Other Writings is available on Amazon here .
Passions featured in San Francisco Book Review
Passions featured in Manhattan Book Review.

@Gabriela Marie Milton

My Name Is Gabriela #fiction #short story #poetic prose

 asifakbar; Shutterstock

My name is Gabriela. Papa used to call me Marie. Nobody understood why. Mama believed that Marie was the secret name of his mother who was an actress. As far as I know my grandmother’s name was Lucrecia, and she was no actress. She was born into a religious family. Her uncle was a bishop. I have no idea how Mama came up with this story about my grandmother being an actress and having a secret name.  

I cannot write anymore.  If you want me to do it, you will have to lock me in the library. Only there silences become words, and words become soft and puffy like two humongous winter breasts glowing in the last rays of a sweet and sticky sunset.

Yesterday, I got lost in the sacrality of the winter carnival with its colors and aromas of musicality, and its hands of poetry extended to the moon and beyond.  

Oh, no, you locked the library door.

I start knotting the thin rosy bodies of the quiet words that make the four thousand volumes that reside in here. An aerial bridge extends over the world. Dressed in a full-moon regalia, I walk on it. Around me birds amalgamate the winds of the North with those of the South. I see stars floating on the seas. Blue meadows wave to me.

I cry. My tears reach the earth, and each and one of them grows into a new poem.

My name is Gabriela. Papa used to call me Marie….

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Passions featured in San Francisco Book Review
Passions featured in Manhattan Book Review.

@Gabriela Marie Milton

In Defense of Emma Bovary

 Stanislaw Mikulski; Shutterstock

I love how you dress for weddings: the repetitive movements of your fingers when you knot your bow-tie and that splendid nakedness of the white rose on your lapel, a true nuditas virtualis that makes me dream of the birth of a god in the zodiacal sign of Virgo.

I miss the glow of your face in the candlelight, the vibration of the wine glass’ crystal stem between your fingers, the memorable tunes of the waltz coiling around your senses.

It is dark. I lay on the sofa and the smell of pain killers and sedatives dwells in my nostrils. I can hear the noise of the withered leaves coming from outside. It frightens me.  The sweetness of the nuditas virtualis fades away. I think of Emma Bovary, the so-called narcissistic self-deluded character, the adulterous woman, the daydreamer, the nuditas criminalis par excellence.

How pathetic and enslaved by time our judgments are.  If Emma were a man, she would have had the masculine license to thirst for the feminine. No judgements would have been passed. There is no masculine equivalent of Emma Bovary in literature.  Profoundly telling, don’t you think?

Emma committed the mortal sin of having affairs.  She killed herself as self-punishment, we are told. How ignorant people who think so are. Turn the page and think of Emma as the woman who pitied the birth of her own daughter. Have you ever stopped to think why she would do that?

Those winds and the frightening noise of the withered leaves.

Where are you?

You do not visit anymore. You forgot your white rose on the head on my sofa.  I need to tell you again. I love how you dress for weddings.

My poetry collection Passions: Love Poems and Other Writings is available on Amazon here .
Passions featured in San Francisco Book Review
Passions featured in Manhattan Book Review.

@Gabriela Marie Milton

Barista Favorite: i am your soul/short-prose-fiction — Go Dog Go Café

I am honored and delighted that my poem “i am your soul” was acknowledged by Go Dog Go Café. For more beautiful poetry please visit Go Dog Go Café.

 

look for me my love

my body shines like lightening

striking down from Mount Olympus

i’m in the tremble of each tear

that poor hungry children shed

i’m the prayer of the lonely

the garden where the virgins blush

the mystic bite of occult ecstasies

i’m hidden in the Sistine Chapel

in haunted graveyards at midnight

i’m bursting from the keys of the piano

which plays alone Beethoven’s  5th

now call for god and breathe me in

for i am your soul.

 

We are pleased to announce the Barista Favorite from March 19th’s Promote Yourself Monday at Go Dog Go Cafe. It is short-prose-fiction’s poem i am your soul. You can read more of short-prose-fiction’s writing at Short Prose look for me my love my body shines like lightening striking down from Mount Olympus i’m in the […]

via Barista Favorite: i am your soul/short-prose-fiction — Go Dog Go Café