Poetic Prose by Gabriela Marie Milton and an Update on Haiku for Soulmates

Poetic prose by Gabriela Marie Milton

I remember the call from Brussels like a wound that never quite closed. Your voice trembled.

“Jacques ignored us the entire evening,” you said.

“The only thing he talked about was you. He seemed… obsessed. With everything about you.”

The line went dead.

I stood there, breath caught somewhere between my chest and my throat, and then I walked—no, I fled—to the closet.

My fingers found the white dress before my eyes did. I pulled it out like it had been waiting for me, like it knew. The fabric slipped through my hands, soft and familiar, still carrying that scent—Hypnotic Poison. His perfume. His gift. His presence.

Something inside me snapped.

I grabbed the scissors.

The first cut was hesitant.

The sound—sharp, final—echoed louder than it should have. Then came another. And another. Faster now. The blades tore through silk and memory alike, each slice a refusal, a protest, a scream I couldn’t voice.

Gabriela Marie Milton

Updates on Haiku for Soulmates

To those of you who submitted to Haiku for Soulmates:

Please be patient. Due to the overwhelming response we have received, we are diligently navigating through the selection process. Rest assured, we will notify everyone via email regarding your acceptance status. To ensure you don’t miss a moment of this exhilarating journey, please follow Literary Revelations for timely updates!

Thank you

Gabriela Marie Milton
Author, Editor in Chief, Founder.

Please follow me on IG @gabriela_marie_milton and ob X @shortprose1

My books (Only English)

#1 Amazon bestseller, Passions: Love Poems and Other Writings (Vita Brevis)
#1 Amazon Bestseller, Women: Splendor and Sorrow (Vita Brevis)|
#1 Amazon bestseller, Haiku and Tanka: Lull, Harmony and Power in Japanese Art – co-authored with Hikari (Literary Revelation)

Thank you to all my followers who reviewed my books.
Please read other reviews here:

Woman: Splendor and Sorrow: Love Poems and Poetic Prose by Gabriela Marie Milton in Portland Book Review
Woman: Splendor and Sorrow: Love Poems and Poetic Prose by Gabriela Marie Milton in Manhattan Book Review
Passions: Love Poems and Other Writings in San Francisco by Gabriela Marie Milton in San Francisco Book Review
Passions: Love Poems and Other Writings by Gabriela Marie Milton In Manhattan B

Haunted – Poetic Prose by Gabriela Marie Milton

Haunted – Poetic Prose by Gabriela Marie Milton

The streets remember you, every cobblestone etched with the memory of your footsteps, as if the earth itself had been branded by your presence. It’s been three years, yet the imprint of your steps lingers, a haunting echo that refuses to fade. I recall the way we’d dance in the empty streets, lost in the mystic glow of a sunset that unraveled itself just for us. The world melted away, leaving only the soft whisper of our footsteps and the fading light.

You vanished around the corner, turning left into the fading light, and I followed, my heart racing. But when I turned the street was deserted, the silence palpable. Yet, I could still feel the resonance of your steps, the vibrations of your presence lingering in the air. The distant chime of church bells pierced the evening air, and as the darkness gathered, it felt like the very shadows were alive, swirling around me like a shroud. In that moment, I was consumed by the ache of your absence, the longing to be reunited with the ghost of our past.

My books (Only English)
#1 Amazon bestseller, Passions: Love Poems and Other Writings (Vita Brevis)
#1 Amazon Bestseller, Women: Splendor and Sorrow (Vita Brevis)

Thank you to all my followers who reviewed my books.
Please read other reviews here:

From Woman: Splendor and Sorrow – Who Am I?, a poetic prose by Gabriela Marie Milton

POETIC PROSE BY GABRIELA MARIE MILTON

John William Waterhouse – public domain

Who Am I? published first by Shabd Aaweg and republished in my book Woman: Splendor and Sorrow :I Love Poems and Poetic Prose.

For five times in twenty-four hours, I face in the direction of the sea.

The first time the morning star 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. She will escape. Pigeons will carry her across the sea. She will melt into yellow waters. Her last rays will fall in my lap like feathers.

I will rejoice.

The second time, divorced from her night bed, the light disperses itself on the shore. I can see myself washing clothes in the sea. My hair is tied in a ponytail. I am barefoot, and my dress is rolled up. The skin of my lips is cracked. I bleed. The clothes I wash smell cedar and spices. The shadow of a seagull positions itself on my forehead. The sea reflects the twelve signs of the zodiac. I can see no relationship between my destiny and that which I do. I am scared.

At noon, the sun kneads the waters with rapture. Shells shed pearls on the shore. My own rational thought leaves my body. I delight in the waves like a gazelle in the grasslands. I feel the movement of the water on my skin. Its cyclical quality sends me into 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 awakens. My mind spreads its wings. I get preoccupied with verbs. I set one triangle in the normal position, and I invert the other one. I bind them together. I make myself a dress from pieces of paper inscribed with old symbols. Oh, femininity! You are the goddess of vines, the mother earth, the chalice, the blood, the fertility of the womb. I mull over these desperate efforts to equalize the feminine with the masculine. There is nothing in these symbols that points to the intellect of a woman.

In the evening, the sky stretches itself from blue to dark violet. The silk of the gloves hugs my fingers. I feed my iguana with cookies soaked in champagne. She hisses at me. I open a package of silk stockings. The door opens by itself. You step in. I stare at you. You are in by your own volition. 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 fell from the Spanish chest.

The wind slips between the petals of a rose and opens it.

Who am I? If I knew, I would tell you.

Did you say you love me? The twenty-four hours are up. Nobody is facing in the direction of the sea anymore.

There is no me.

NEWS

Now, more news about Literary Revelations and Tranquility: An Anthology of Haiku.

As I write, Tranquility is currently the #1 top release in the US and the most gifted book in Japan.

Literary Revelations is deeply grateful to everyone who bought the book. That helped us to donate to several charities.

You can get the book here:

Literary Revelations and Victoria Onofrei of Bloomsbury Radio (Victoria in Verse Show), UK, will organize a Poetry Festival on Sunday, May 18, 2025 – 5pm London time. The festival will take place via Zoom.

All contributors will be invited, as well as, those who are not contributors but bought the book.

I will come back very soon with more details. Please follow us at Literary Revelations https://literaryrevelations.com/, @gabriela_marie_milton and @lr_publishers.

Thank you,

My books (Only English)
#1 Amazon bestseller, Passions: Love Poems and Other Writings (Vita Brevis)
#1 Amazon Bestseller, Women: Splendor and Sorrow (Vita Brevis)

Thank you to all my followers who reviewed my books.
Please read other reviews here:

Christina Schwarz, the author of the New York Times Bestseller “Drowning Ruth.”

lilies of the valley #poem #prose poem #short prose #poetry collection

I can see the woman who assumes things. Every night she picks the flowers that I throw on the road: withered lilies of the valley. She wants to be me. She wants my blood. She does not know I rearranged the bell-shaped whites so no one else can breathe their sweet scents. No one else can be me. No one else can make you, you.

The woman puts the withered flowers in her bag.

A new moon rises over her left shoulder. Bad luck.

I shiver.

I rush to protect her.

I stumble.

Before he died my father said:

If you try to do justice to the wicked, you will forget to do justice to the virtuous. And if you forget to do justice to the virtuous you only work for yourself. That is the biggest sin of all.

I have to think again.

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.
image: Sandratsky Dmitriy; Shutterstock; [link]

@Gabriela Marie Milton