My poem The Last Love up at Vita Brevis Poetry Magazine and a Note to My Readers #poetry #published

Dear all,

My poem The Last Love published by Vita Brevis Poetry Magazine:

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…

continue reading with WP here.
or continue reading at Vita Brevis Press here.

My book, Passions: Love poems and Other Writings, can be ordered on Amazon here.

image:  Oleg Gekman; Shutterstock; [link]

On a different note, I apologize to all my followers for not reading your posts over the past two days. I promise I will do my best to catch up with everyone’s posts as soon as I can.

Work and painful experiences got in the way. As a professor the end of the academic year has always been a humbling and joyous experience. Generally, it takes 2 years to get a Masters’ degree.  After that it takes anywhere between 4-6 years (even longer in some cases) to earn a doctoral degree.

During graduation shaking the hands of my students, looking them in the eyes, and telling them: Congratulations Dr… it was a privilege to have you as my student. It meant the world to me. I did my best to equip you with knowledge and to teach you how to think critically. I encouraged you all along to challenge my thinking.  Now, you are ready. Go out in the world and create new knowledge: knowledge that we all can benefit from. Now, that you are at the same level with me I hope you will do better than I do.  With all my heart I wish you good luck and may your star be the brightest. Each and every one of your victories will speak to me. Each and every one of your victories will prove that you are great and that not even a minute from my countless hours of work during long afternoons and sleepless nights was wasted.  Congratulation Dr…Go for it! 

This year none of this will happen in person. My regalia will not leave the closet. It will be a painful experience for me and for my students.

Love to everyone
Gabriela

@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela Marie Milton)

My poem “The train to Vienna” published by Spillwords Press and Easter wishes #poetry #wishes

let’s take the train and go to Vienna
rent a room for a night and then waltz
in your arms the waist of the night trembles
fingertips touch a blue door which is locked
I sit barefoot on the floor
the windows’ eyelashes are yellow and drunk
your voice moves stones in a lonely graveyard
to bury the tears I cry
and lonely like children of war
we cut… 
please continue reading here.

Please read my Spillwords Author of the Year (2019) interview here 

Tomorrow in the U.S. most people will celebrate Easter. From the bottom of my heart to those of you who are Western Orthodox, “Happy Easter! Christ is risen!” To those of you who are Eastern Orthodox, “Happy Palm Sunday!” To those of you who are not Christians may you have a thousand years of happiness. May we all live in peace. Do not listen to false prophets. Do know listen to those who in sweet voices lecture you and claim they know better. Let your heart be filled with love. Read, write, paint, dance, sing, work the land, do what you have to do but remember to think for yourself. Only then we all will be fine.

Happy Easter. Buona Pasqua. Feliz Pascua. Joyeuses Pâques.

Yours

Gabriela

image:  Nomad_Soul; Shutterstock, [link]

© short-prose-fiction (Gabriela Marie Milton).

If I say I love you #prose poem #flash fiction #short prose

In a flash my mind shows me a thousand streets tormented by loneliness. These streets – once the grand wine-presses of human bodies and cars – are now haunted by sickness and eaten by desolation.

It’s spring. The ocean’s water is warm like a country bread. I can taste it.  The crisp crust, the sweetness of grains and earth melt on my tongue.

I miss you and the chestnut tree from that pastel afternoon when we first kissed.

Why did I love you? Of course, you were handsome, but it wasn’t that. I loved you because you could not have been conquered by the tricks with which a woman conquers most men. Why would I even want a man that any women with lipstick and stilettos can have?

I am digressing, am I not?

It’s spring. The water is red. Under the light of its pearls, flowers open like fresh young lips.

I avert my mind from the memory of your arms which tries to drag me inside an abyss of naked love; a love blessed with the force of the mistral and the sensuality of linked fingers under the moonlight.

The earth and the waters are one.

Yet the pain is heavy and filled with fluids like the chest cavity of a dead animal hanging up-side down.

I can see your boat. It’s beautiful.

The world is sick.

If I say I love you will you tell me what I can do to heal it?

Please read my Spillwords Author of the Year (2019) interview here 

My thanks again to Kevin Morris – a wonderful poet – for interviewing me. Please read Kevin’s interview with me here.

Love and good health to everyone.
Gabriela

© short-prose-fiction (Gabriela Marie Milton)

between the sacred and profane #poem #poetry #amwriting

the laughter of the symbolists
morbid
disoriented cries of birds
I pantomime seduction just for you
a naked shoulder, flowers, glossy lips
the lace of stockings lower than it should
I rip the left side of your shirt
you devour me with silver spoons
our love, twin-bladed axe between the sacred and profane
stolen from the forehead of a legendary ox
the promise of tomorrow
the promise that we’ll meet
shadows of a painting signed Dali
both of us
children of the same insanity

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

image: Guryanov Andrey; Shutterstock; [link]

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)

the biblical sense of to know #poem #poems

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
It hurts when I’m not
I ask for the help gravediggers can grant
I wrote I love you on a note that I locked
It wasn’t a snake, it was an iguana
the night the tango nuevo played its guitar
on fifteen decades you counted your prayers
my fingers were naked
my fingers were gloved

@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela M)

image: agsandrew; Shutterstock; [link]

my poem “Initiation” up to Vita Brevis Poetry Magazine #poem #published

deification of the virgin nymph
within my palms
the flesh of violet sunsets flips like fish on land
my eyes, inheritors of light
singular sinkholes punctuating a low sky
your love…
continue reading with WP here
or
on Vita Brevis Press here.

@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela M.)

image: Everett – Art; Shutterstock; [link]

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]