A beautiful poem by Ishita Gupta #guest post #poetry

My Dear Readers,

I am thrilled to introduce you to a wonderful writer Ishita Gupta.

In her own words Ishita “is a girl who chooses to explore and experience her life through words. Born and brought up in India, she is an avid reader, feminist, and a biology student. Ishita is also trained in a form of Indian classical dance, Kathak, and is currently learning contemporary dance style. When she writes, Ishita channels her hidden emotions, and tries to create a change in the society. She shares her thoughts at her blog Thoughts Resonate.”

Please take a minute and visit her site. It will make me and Ishita very happy.
Thank you.
Gabriela

Who am I?
by Ishita Gupta

A wilted flower on the sidewalk
A lone tear amidst many
I seem to have lost my essence
In life’s unfair journey.

Who am I?

A thorn in a basket of flowers
A black smear on white
In my relentless pursuit of happiness
I’m stuck somewhere between the lines.

Who am I?

A bug drenched in rain
A torn page of a book
I can only see grief
Everywhere I look.

Who am I?

A dove without wings
A lock without a key
I am on a lost track that leads
To the inner depths of the seas.

Who am I?

featured image provided by Ishita.

@Gabriela Marie Milton

My Dear Readers,

It is my pleasure to introduce a wonderful novelist, Darren Gilbert, whose book Montagnard was recently published.
Do you want to know more about Darren and his beautiful book?
Here is Darren in his own words:

Montagnard is my second book in the JD Cordell series, and while a sequel, it stands well on its own. It is a story that begins in the jungles of Vietnam, then whisks the reader to Niger and the Middle East and on to Thailand before returning them to Vietnam. While Montagnard is undoubtedly an action and adventure novel, to me, it is so much more than that. Themes such as courage, honor, loyalty, comradeship, and revenge wind through its pages. And, there are several strong women, a K9 warrior, gritty combat scenes, and a smattering of martial arts. There are even some great moments of humor. But more than all that, it is a story of love. Love of family, love of country, love of freedom. It is a story about the bond between a warrior and his K9 partner. It is the story of the relationship between those who have shared and survived life and death situations together, it is a story of friendship, and it is a story of redemption.

To be honest, I have probably been a writer my whole life. I have written lots of stories that no one will ever read. Most new writers will understand. There is always that nagging doubt; who would ever want to read that? Or, what if nobody likes what I have written? Finally, I decided to take the plunge. Serpents Underfoot, my first book and the first in this series is, by most accounts, a fairly good read. But it was my first, and I made several newbie mistakes getting it out.

The response to Montagnard genuinely humbles me. I guess that is because it tells a tale that is near and dear to my heart. I am a veteran who loves his country. I am a dog lover, and I have had the honor of knowing several strong women in my life. I am also somewhat of a romantic fool. And, I genuinely love my characters. They are, I guess, composites of myself and people I have come to know and respect in my life. But then, I think that is what any good writer does, isn’t it? They write stories that share a little bit about who they are, both in their lives and their dreams.

Darren’s book is available on Amazon here.

Please visit Darren’s site here. You will not be disappointed.

Thank you
Love
Gabriela

My Dear Readers,
It is my pleasure to introduce to you a wonderful poet: Joni Caggino.

Joni has been writing since she was very young as a way for her to express her feelings while growing up in an alcoholic household. She believes herself to be an old soul and gives any credit to her ability to write words that others may enjoy to God. Joni’s home is in North Carolina with her husband and two dogs. She is the author of the book, “The Path Towards the Light,” and her blog is the-inner-child.com. Her photography and poetry have been featured in Thefinestexample.home.blog. Her poetry has also been featured in Spillwords Press NYC. Please visit Joni’s site for more beautiful poetry.

Chuck-will’s-widow
written by Joni Caggiano on May 5, 2020

Hand-painted flowers slide off plates for two and dance
Daylilies and impatiens caress the porch with sweet aromas
Spring peepers and crickets sing a lullaby for baby wrens
Beautiful is the angel covering the table with feathers
Candles weep, crippling their size with passionate notions
Stars create a canopy in the skies, ornamenting the lively table
Whiffs of tasty food flood the senses of neighboring animals
She smells of gardenias, her long crimson hair adorned
With Moonflowers whose white blossoms open only at night
The chuck-will’s-widow sings a sorrowful but lovely tune
Greyish moss hangs low in wise oaks as wishful reminders
Her dress clings to her soft shoulders like a lover to a glance
Skin smooth like stones washed for centuries and as soft
As the foot that falls on fresh snow on the Appalachian trail
Waiting until candles cry no more and the food turns cold
Lovingly with arms outstretched, she blows a winged kiss
Gazing as it flies upwards toward the playful moon and stars
On this our tenth anniversary, how I miss you, she whispered
I will wait for you, my love, until God calls us to dine again

Photo credit: Piera Jill

And.. thank you to Joni for her magnificent review of my book Passions: Love Poems and Other Writings available on Amazon here.
Below please find an excerpt from Joni’s review. You can read the entire review on Amazon.

“Her pages fill one with thought and provoke all sorts of new meaning to the finding and holding onto love. It is difficult to pick a favorite as each poem has something unusual and magnificent to offer. I found myself feeling every word of her poetry in Wooden Bed. She gives us a glimpse of beautiful memories, and the instructions left for the one she loves but will leave behind as “guards are coming my wrists will be soon stamped – yours forever, from a concentration camp…. Each poem is a journey that is unsullied with the writer’s brilliance. This book is one that will be cherished and read again and again throughout the years.”

Thank you.
Love.
Gabriela

@Gabriela Marie Milton

Dear All,

I am delighted to introduce Eric Daniel Clarke – whose book, ‘Shorts – a take on poetry’ – will be published by Potter’s Grove Press on May 12th.

I met Eric in our world of blogging two years ago. Eric is a brilliant writer. He is an English gentleman and a true friend. And … Eric has the coolest and the most endearing hat I’ve ever seen. I am in love with Eric’s writings and with his hat. Please visit Eric’s blog Believing Sight Unseen.

Eric Daniel Clarke in his own words:

‘Shorts – a take on poetry’ the first book of my transition from scientist to writer will be published on May 12th by Potter’s Grove Press. Writing poetry came as a surprise to me. I’d a novel in mind, ‘Believing Sight Unseen,’ it still is; competing hard with the immediacy of poetry.

I started writing late, creatively, that is. Until 2012 I wrote disciplined non-fiction, lived a scientist’s life of peer review and publication. I worked at boundaries; of the physical and life sciences, of industry and academia, of research and mentoring, of observation and extrapolation. 2012 to 2017 the transition made, not easily, not smoothly, easing out of science, finding my way to write.

Turned out my approach to writing not so different to the way I did science – a little unconventional – using words in place of molecules to explore boundaries; real, imagined, of my mind and yours. In short, PowerPoint bullet points became verse – I like to keep things tight.

You can pre-order Shorts on Amazon here.

@Gabriela Marie Milton

My Dear Readers,

A stunning piece by two magnificent writers: Rachel and Watt.
I am thrilled to have them as my guests today.
Below, please read their comments on collaborating with each other, and their piece All’s well that ends well.

Rachel: regarding Watt and I’s writing, it has always been a remarkably easy process. We both admired each other’s writing, and in his words: “It’s easy to tread each other’s tracks without losing our own essence. When we write together, inspiration seems to brush shoulders with us like it might with an old friend, and words gather themselves effortlessly and travel to the mind.”

All’s well that ends well

Over time, real time, life has segmented me in sides and faces with very vague definitions. I sense that there are things about me that are routinely yet obscurely fed to a vending machine which gives me newer passions, different interests in return. Maybe I can trace it back to “when” but “why” is draped in nights when I lay awake with a dream in mind, and the next morning seems to blur it into a background that slowly fades into wallpaper that needs to be torn down because it’s just not as pretty anymore.

The ‘why’ is so much harder than the ‘when,’ but December raises the downy hair of yesterday on the back of my neck. No embrace for the girl of that calendar month, just a sigh of resignation and despair that rustles all the other pages of the calendar. My eyes see a whole year of good intentions and failed dreams that cling so desperately to that wall and under my skin. It’s like the realisation that last New Year’s hope was just an impulsive mistake and I forgot to make any brightened resolutions.

And it becomes an yearly abstraction, a push that plummets fractions, breezeblocks, out of an otherwise linear tower of reality. I look back at the lost pieces, and with what may be an illusion of growth, smile. That ache seems so small, unimportant, and what I have now seems okay for a minute. Maybe longer. Depends on the length of the song I listen to, and the longevity of the setting sun.

I can only say it in a whisper but this year has magnified the aches that have lingered for a lifetime. There’s a desperation in looking for the missing pieces in the fading colours of the sunset. In the hungry chaos of noisy gulls, I try to collect my crowded thoughts into groups of words that might ease my chapped lips and pour my coffee in the morning. I string them into necklaces and charms made of sentences – poems of moonless Septembers and melancholy Sundays. That way I can at least look at tomorrow without shielding my eyes.

There is something about words strung together in a sensible philosophy. Its incomparable to have had times in your life that sharpens its blunt edges and cuts into parts of you, refreshes everything somehow, and becomes strange to look at. Like gawking at your reflection on the mirror plated wall of a hair salon, while the barber keeps trimming your hair in a really bad way but all you can do is investigate your face and strike your eyes with a gaze they obviously meet. Just to realize, that it’s all there what needs to be, what isn’t, will grow back with more original strands and fibres. There’s always a road to walk towards everywhere, and since ‘all roads lead to Rome’, why does anybody worry.

Please continue reading on Rachel’s site here
or on Watt’s site here

I truly hope you enjoyed their magnificent work.

A gentle reminder that my book, Passions: Love Poems and Other Writings, will be available for pre-order on April 14th; publication date April 20th.

Love and good health to everyone.
Gabriela

@Gabriela Marie Milton

Dear Readers,

A fabulous poem written by Mogamat Shafiek Reggiori. I am honored Mogamat accepted to be my guest. You can find Mogamat on Twitter @ShafiekReggiori

Bio:

Mogamat Shafiek Reggiori, 4th generation South African with an Italian background. Born Cape Malay. Loves to write poetry. The kind that touches an essential part of your soul. Love ballads being one of his favorite creations. Occasionally revisits long time Fantasy Scifi novels in the throes of creation. M. S. Reggiori is a soul whisperer that enjoys indulging with creatives of all genres. Read his words and he’d kiss the day you came. A dream of his is to be a distributor of God’s wealth, hence he would donate parts of his book proceeds to CANSA ORG (the South African Cancer Foundation).

Tonight I will sit on Signal Hill
Above Bantry Bay
& watch the Sun go down
Creating that champagne sky
While the world slows
Or perhaps its our voices inside
That quieten into
These viscous moods, we rely on

All turns bronze
If but for an hour
While yours slowly awake
Into a tepid dawn
That magic hour, spreads
Before both

& I cringed within
Crying happy tears
Down my rosy cheeks
For an hour
We’d share the sky
Between our two worlds

Well much the same
Halved by night
Would you watch it rise
It came from here
From me
There is a message written
Deep within
Its luminous beams
Let it rove over your skin
As if my soft warm lips
My hour calls for waffles
Beneath the Poplar trees
& I’m thinking yours
For warm steamed tea

If I could walk that path
Between us, this life’s roses
Like a bridge across the sea
I would run it
A hundred mile sprint
To the very edge of my will
I’d kiss you & release
A thousand butterflies
Into your sky
& I’d never again let you go
I’d hold you, so you could drag me
Into your prevalent day
Until the Sun burns the night away
But I’d stay, I want to stay

Amazon

@Gabriela Marie Milton

Dear Readers,

Andrew McDowell, the author of Mystical Greenwood in his own words:

“Though I know why I write , pinpointing what first inspired me to start writing is still difficult to answer. As I’ve said before, as a child I relished in my imagination, putting myself in different worlds. I’ve always loved stories, both written and dramatized. Plus, due to my Asperger syndrome, throughout my life I’ve had a variety of strong interests which I pursued learning more about. Maybe it was a combination of all these factors coming together at the right time. Certainly now as a writer, I want to keep trying different forms and genres, to keep learning and growing.”

Visit Andrew’s site here

Mystical Greenwood, Book I of One with Nature

Publisher: Mockingbird Lane Press

Dermot is a fifteen-year-old boy living in the land of Denú who has always longed for something more in life. His life changes when he encounters a gryphon and a mysterious healer. Drawn into a conflict against one determined to subjugate the kingdom, Dermot and his brother Brian are forced to leave their home.

A legendary coven must now reunite, for they are Denú’s greatest hope. In the course of meeting unicorns and fighting dragons and men in dark armor, Dermot discovers a deep, sacred magic which exists within every greenwood he crosses through, but his own role in this conflict is greater than he suspects. Can he protect those he loves, or will all that’s good be consumed by darkness?

@short-prose-fiction

Dear Readers,
“on love gone wrong,” written by a marvelous Italian poet: Flavio Almerighi.
(from the volume Storm Petrel)
Please visit Flavio’s site here

@Gabriela Marie Milton

The Garden of My Youth #Guest Post

A beautiful poem written by one of my friends, Virginia. I hope you enjoy it!

The Garden of My Youth

by Virginia Mateias

(translated from Romanian by the author’s daughter)

With barren feet I step on withered roses.

Out of warm blood-drops,

Memories will bloom

As I walk in the long since deserted house

Straining to hear

My grandmother’s echoing chants,

My earthly father’s forgotten voice.

From specks of dust and wind

I shall reassemble my Mother`s smile,

As my eyes dance away from cracked walls

Then turn to the sky above;

To the aloof,

Benevolent,

Nostalgic sky.

Sunset to sunrise,

I will walk the gardens

Till sleep comes for me and finds me

Hidden In a deep fissure

Near a tall window

Because, you see,

I have always needed high, large spaces.

Afterwards, my child will come

In search of me and of a smile

Embedded in bricks and mortar.

The house itself shall fall apart,

Cars will enter the rose garden,

And a new highway will be built over it;

Only then, will my family and I, utterly freed from space

Will move to the sky,

To the best place to look upon

Strange people we have never met

With detachment,

Condescendence,

And nostalgia.

In the spring of 2000 the poet, actress, and journalist, Virginia Mateias published her first literary work: a poetry volume in Romanian entitled “Persistenta Memoriei” (The Persistence of Memory). Virginia was acknowledged by her literary critics as “an authentic and spontaneous poet.” “The Garden of My Youth,” translated in English by her daughter, is a poem from her new book “In Umbra Ingerului” (In the Shadow of the Angel).

Virginia’s biggest passions: nature escapades, and travelling with her daughter on the footsteps of lost civilizations.