On Winning #poem #short prose #literature

Liliya Kulianionak; Shutterstock

The afternoon smelled of brick wall; the wall I used to scratch with the knees and the 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 light 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 day came when I first looked into your eyes. The ghosts of your victories and those of your wounds flapped inside your retina 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.

The sea inside 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 resemble 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 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 the paradise. Since then, my blood has never stained my socks anymore. The orange tree has never grown red fleshed oranges, and mama stop telling stories.

I beg forgiveness every night.

Every night the number of my wins, and that of my enemies grows.

I became you as much as you became me.

Yet I know no hate. You do.

What’s wrong with me?

*

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

@Gabriela Marie Milton

The Promise of Us #poem #poetry #poetry collection

The three days that we spent in that city.

The evenings, intoxicated by the smell of linden trees and the intimation of grace, entered our imaginations as the air fills a restless balloon.  

Under the 7am cold shower the first morning blossomed into layers of rose and gold; shivering skin hoping for the warmth of a kiss.

The afternoons grew childbearing hips and spun them in the soft air; the floreo circularities of the flamenco dance. 

Our candlelight dinners with their buttery taste, creamy textures, and oaked aged incantations.

The shell of our nights broken by mental possessions in front of which any other type of possession becomes superfluous. 

I remember you holding in the air an unopen bottle of wine. Then, head on my knees, you cried. 

Your tears trickled from my legs on the floor. The bed grew aromatic roots.

The promise of us, with its infinite ambiguity, spread through our bodies. 

The city, like a gigantic swan, deserted its breeding nest.

It left us to the mercy of an inexplicable love. 

Oh, yes, my love.

Oh, yes.

*

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

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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

Bloom #poem #poetry

 Suwan Wanawattanawong; Shutterstock

you cut a piece of my hair
it curls between your index finger and your thumb
in the distance
silhouetted against the snow
knotted kerchiefs
the dress of a woman who insinuates herself on people’s skin like mold on walls
in the little house hidden by oak trees
in the unmade bed where every night you sleep alone
I listen to the mineral eyes of a saint
while between your palms
the Little Prince plays with white plumes
signs that birds exist
the winter buries us deep in the ground
dissolved
our bodies gestate until the birth of spring
when on the top of an unspoken hill
you and I will bloom
into two trees whose fruit will feed the children of the world

Happy Holidays to all my followers. May your 2021 be fabulous.
Love
Gabriela

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

@Gabriela Marie Milton

Amor, Amore, Mon Amour – A Poem From My Poetry Collection Passions: Love Poems and Other Writings

 Liliya Kulianionak; Shutterstock
amor, amore, mon amouramor, amore, mon amour
love strikes like the Mistral in Saint-Tropez
winds, hallucinations of pianos,
decide to howl in D major
enigmas move inside the wombs
incubations murmur under the phases of the moon
bewitched, allegories of love raise odes to exasperated nudes
a prophet gazes at a virgin sybil
whose liquid eyes foretold our love in gold
reflections, lava of our souls,
a mirror hangs itself onto the wall in the red room
a phoenix rises
our bodies drown
into the liquid time of the Mediterranean
amor, amore, mon amour
the splendid flesh of a gestating poem
washes our singular and frenzied souls
amore colpisce come il maestrale
nei venti di Saint-Tropez, allucinazioni di pianoforti
decidono di ululare in re,
enigmi maggiori muovono dentro l’intimo:
mormorio, incubazioni sotto le fasi della luna
stregate allegorie d’amore sollevano ondine a nudi esasperati
un profeta guarda una vergine sibilla
i cui occhi liquidi predissero il nostro amore
nei riflessi dorati, lava delle nostre anime,
uno specchio appeso al muro nella stanza rossa
una fenice solleva
i nostri corpi affogati
nel tempo liquido del mediterraneo
amor, amore, mon amour 
la splendida carne di un poema in gestazione
lava le nostre anime singolari e frenetiche

Italian translation by Flavio Almerighi.

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

@Gabriela Marie Milton

My Poem Fight Published by Kashmir Pen Newspaper #poetry #published poem #prose poem

Liliya Kulianionak; Shutterstock

I am grateful to Mushtaq Bala – the Editor-In-Chief of KASHMIR PEN – for inviting me to publish my work in his newspaper.

Fight

Purple roots cover all trails that go to the foothills.
Veins that the earth pushed to the surface.
I smell lavender.
Your words grow in the breeze like a dough under the whispers of the moon. 
For three thousand years, sung by the poets of this land,
the naked shoulder of the mountain reigned in stillness.
The sky made itself invisible into a wooden box where my grandmother kept her rings:
memories of loves that now fit in a small chamber.
The sea and the afternoon’s breaths eclipse the taste of your colors. 
The blue that slipped between the same branches of the old poplar tree
stares me in the eyes.
Clouds ossify the fight of the earth against the earth.
Between my palms the body of a thin yellow candle.
I remember walking on a street where children were hungry and had no shoes.
I took my shoes off and wiped my tears with the back of palms.
Under my eyes the skin became red and rough.  
I wrote I love you on your left cheek. 
I threw all the silver coins I had onto the dust of the street.
They were meant for the dead.
Let them help the living.
I remember your hand caressing the silk of my dress.
I purge all memories except one that belongs to the future.
You and I chanting to the incarnation of love under a tree on the island where I was born.
The island where it is always spring and the earth that does not fight against the earth.
Did I tell you I was born on an island?

Fight was published together with If Only … Autumn in the 19, 2020 November edition of KASHMIR PEN.

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 Poem Moonlight Love Included in Words Of Power: A Poetry Anthology #poem #poetry #antology

 Liliya Kulianionak; Shutterstock

Thank you to Kevin Watt for including my poem Moonlight Love in his new anthology Words of Power.

Here is my poem:

Bones, blood, flesh trapped in a brilliant moonlight.
The sand of the shore carried faraway by translucent tongues of water.
Around me the mint grows taller than the trees; lassitude turning from gold to red.
Eyes become the locus where the desert and the sea meet.
Imprinted on my body the number twelve; the twelve horses of the sun-chariot.
He, the seller of time, looks at me.
His voice penetrates the membranes of my cells.
One hour of impossible love for two dimes.
I, who can foresee the future, buy.
The hour wraps around my hips like a passion vine around a tree.
For a second you, the lover of the visible world, hesitate.
Streets inundated by the sweet smell of citrus.
Arms hugging a void.
You cannot eat that citrus and you cannot touch me.
Moonlight love, remind me, why did I buy you?

Words of Power is available on Amazon here.

My book, Passions: Love Poems and Other Writings, can be ordered here.

Thank you.
Love
Gabriela

@Gabriela Marie Milton

My Piece Professions Published by Vita Brevis Poetry Magazine #poem #poetry #poetry collection

 Irina Sergeyeva; Shutterstock\

Motto
I get drunk on love, charity, and passion. These are my professions.

I walk into the three days we spent together.

On the first day, a nude silence wraps around my lips. Shortly after I can hear the noise of wine poured into glasses.
The hour to get drunk on love has come.
I touch your skin and another you is born.
Birds invade the sky.
A banquet of candles floods the streets.
A white thread ties my blood vessels at the exact moment when a religious procession walks by.

On the second day, drunk on charity, my sights descend upon the earth.
The dirty hands of the woman…
Please continue reading WP here

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.

Thank you!
Love.
Gabriela

@Gabriela Marie Milton

My Poem The Ides of October Translated in Italian by Flavio Almerighi #poem #poetry

 Maria Okolnichnikova; Sutterstock

Thank you to Flavio Almerighi for the beautiful Italian translation of my poem The Ides of October.
Grazie di core, Flavio.


I paid for all the happiness that was bestowed upon us by the Ides of October.
I used to feel the presence of the child all around me.
A woman said I should pick a piece of slough cast by a snake and wear it against my skin.
I did it.
Flushed as a young peach every sunset became a resurrection.
Roses wrapped around my waist and later in June the child was born.

A new October sets our pictures on the Spanish chest.
Emotions animate your cheeks.
Every night above the trees the moon nurses the stars.
When I see cocoons of the larvae, I think silk as soft as the hair of the child.
When I say I love you, I think death as the harbinger of birth.
Your lips tremble and your voice flattens.
I know you love me.
With nude fingers the Ides of October betroth us again.

[Ides as the 15th day in March, May, July, and October according to the Roman calendar]

Italian Version

Ho pagato per tutta la felicità che ci è stata concessa dalle Idi di ottobre.
Sentivo la presenza del bambino tutto intorno a me.
Una donna ha detto che avrei dovuto scegliere un pezzo di melma lanciato da un serpente e indossarlo sulla pelle.
L’ho fatto.
Arrossata come una giovane pesca, ogni tramonto diventava una risurrezione.
Le rose si avvolsero intorno alla mia vita e più tardi a giugno nacque il bambino.

Un nuovo ottobre pone le nostre foto sul petto spagnolo.
Le emozioni animano le tue guance.
Ogni notte sopra gli alberi la luna nutre le stelle.
Quando vedo i bozzoli delle larve, penso che la seta sia morbida come i capelli del bambino.
Quando dico che ti amo, penso che la morte sia il presagio della nascita.
Le tue labbra tremano e la tua voce si appiattisce.
Io so che mi ami.
Con le dita nude le Idi di ottobre ci fidanzano di nuovo.

[Idi come il 15 ° giorno di marzo, maggio, luglio e ottobre secondo il calendario romano]

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.

Thank you!
Love.
Gabriela

@Gabriela Marie Milton