I am thrilled my poem On Sacrifice and Meaning was included in Vita Brevis Anthology: Sight & Swept Away. Congratulations to the editor – Brain Geiger – and to my fellow poets who are published in this anthology.
On Sacrifice and Meaning by Gabriela Marie Milton (snippets)
Because I love you, I learned the meaning of sacrifice. …..
It is autumn; an autumn that came too soon and whose suicidal breath brought dust and diseases. The lamb will be born in the spring. …….
I try to advance but the liquid silver pulls me back. I cut its hands with a knife. Every cut fulfills the dreams of the knife; my dreams are still in the waiting room. …..
I rub my cheeks with rosemary and wrap my body in the alphabet of love. On my lips the unspoken words shine. How beautiful they make me look.
I restore the degradation of our myth to its rightful fecundity. The sacrifice becomes a festival, and the festival turns into creation.
If you missed yesterday’s anthology announcement, you can find it here. Today, your poetry ranked as the #2 bestseller in the new release poetry anthology category!
I can’t thank the Vita Brevis community enough. This type of performance is what keeps Vita Brevis reading-fee free. Thanks for making poetry publication accessible to everyone, and for keeping this little publication running.
And congratulations on almost becoming bestselling poets — let’s get up to #1!
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…”
I am grateful to Mushtaq Bala – the Editor-In-Chief of KASHMIR PEN – for inviting me to publish my work in his newspaper.
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?
This poem will be included in my upcoming poetry collection Woman: Splendor and Sorrow: Love Poems and Poetic Prose.
Fight was published together with If Only … Autumn in the 19, 2020 November edition of KASHMIR PEN.
My poem Dark Love is now up at Vita Brevis Poetry Magazine.
green, you smell with your tongue your thoughts pollinate mine your fingers endanger the sailors a water which opens its lips and drinks them ah, hour of man when did you become the hour of horrors? a book cover reads: Dictionary of Superstitions I see the girl who tears out…
continue reading with WP here.
at Vita Brevis Press here.
@Gabriela Marie Milton
featured image: Dmytro Vietrov; Shutterstock; [link]
in this pink summer of Jaipur dressed in silk and in monsoonal dances choked by smoke forgotten by lovers the nuances in which you speak my name sound hollow
and the little girl who has only a grain of rice
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Thank you again to everyone who bought my book, Passions: Love Poems and Other Writings, available on Amazon here. The book has been a bestseller under Poetry About Love for quite a while including yesterday and the day before yesterday.
The following is another review, one among many, done on an online book club by another reviewer whom I do not know.
“This is a mesmerizing collections of poems, ranging from love poems and writings in form of prose poems. This book brings back old memories, it re-ignites the long gone fire of love within the reader. It has an amazing effect on the reader as one reads the poems, one by one….With an excellent lovely language and lavish imagination, Gabriela ignites a fantastic mind full of emotions….I rate this book 4 out 4 stars. It makes me want to write poems. It is an inspiration, an entertainment and a lively way of educating and reigniting your fire of love. I quote a line in one of the poems,” we desperately want to love, to possess each other, caught in a perpetual rush to justify our existence.” It really makes sense and will make sense till the end of time...”
Inspiring reviewers, people who I do not know, and people who I know, is an honor.
My poem “who are you?” published by Wolff Poetry Literary Magazine.
who are you? which gale winds have blown you here? which fallen saint showed you the way? besieged by you, old loves abandoned in dark cemeteries lament like choirs in my Hellenistic Greece virgin thighs ferment inside your blood scared azaleas tremble on my pillows…
continue reading here