a canary sings
your flesh pays its tribute to some other lovers
come and go like seasons
noisy V-shaped flocks
then i listen to a monk who reads
from a book of psalms
rings sleep on my fingers
arabesque designs shiver on my skin
pastel sunsets whisper in the winter’s sheen
i walk through your dreams
soaked in poetry, baptized by your verses
your heart adorns my chest
(work of ancient minters)
your lips burn my rings, and with them my fingers
agonizing wings toll bells in the air
i go for your veins, my hands rip your shirt
everything’s a dream
at the edge of silence
mirrors sleep and grin
you’re forever mine!
do you think i joke?
here’s the silver coin which can get you off
that’s what i thought
you would never take it
in the lovers’ bed monasticism’s asleep
a cat purrs on my thigh
your eyes become my eyes
my skin tastes like sweet pie
see, why Adam was so keen to sin?
for hidden in deep waters
You is always I
even in a dream
Published by Spillwords on January 22, 2019
you love me
like dolphins love to swim in warm and shallow waters
luscious humid silhouettes of the aquatic world
your fingers touch my skin
like priests in darkness the new testament
you love me
says the royal palm tree in the garden
which every morning waves to me
I lost my golden earrings and I found them
among the crushed carnations spread on our bed
the night in which Mendoza wine fermented our destinies
into its scent
I’ve never understood why you love me
the Howard Miller mahogany grandfather’s clock has stopped
somewhere it’s winter on the mappemonde
lost paradises hide in silver bracelets
why did you come?
and if you came
why did you leave?
Maria is a little girl
who walks barefoot
across the desert
coyotes howl under the moon
her heart is small
her dreams are big
a cactus waves at her
one day Maria will grow up
and she will buy herself
FIND ME! POETRY AND MUSIC
My Dear Readers,
I am delighted to let you know that my talented friend Ankit Thapa and I just finished our second online collaboration: poetry and music (vblog)
lyrics and recitation: short-prose-fiction (me)
“moons illuminate your skin…”
My Dear Readers,
My poem “Forgotten in the Port of Naples” is up at Spillwords Press.
Thanks you for your support. Love and hugs to everyone.
meet me in the Port of Naples
in humid nights inside the Palace of Capodimonte…
please continue reading here:
image: S-F; Shutterstock; [link]
i can’t see you
the spring’s floral certitude
showers petals in my eyes
lingers on veils forgotten at the altars
dreams interpret the language of cicadas
somebody plays the violin in the green room
like a flamenco dancer in Seville
i toss and turn inside my soul
your breath scatters on my neck
i stretch my arms to harvest poems
tongues of fire from your eyes
linger on my silky dress
rose thorns bite my thighs
it smells earth and grass from an old spring
i turn the page
i close my eyes
and i can see you
image: Stadnikova Mariya; Shutterstock; [link]
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
from the series “Mediterranean Love”
read more poems from this series here:
forgotten in the Port of Naples
image: Gaspar Janos, Shutterstock, [link]
Riddled with their mediocrities and their anxieties days possess me.
Oh, how few of us can find the splendor which lies in the infinite magic beyond the days.
image: Kiselev Andrey Valerevich, Shuttershtock; [link]
Oh, that quarter of the city wounded by its own sexuality.
Every street filled with shadowy characters: hungry scavenger birds looking to devour each other’s flesh.
Exposed skin and uttered sexual desires; bodies becoming their own souls’ mortuaries; a type of grotesque Greek tragedy whose protagonists lacked the nobility heroism bestows upon us.
It was painful to imagine what kind of wounds could reduce a thousand of Petrarch’s Lauras to infantile despondency.
Excerpt from the manuscript Glass Lovers
image: Kozlik; Shutterstock; [link]
My Dear Readers,
I thanked you many times for your likes and comments. I thank you again today.
Also, today I am humbled and delighted by the comments Christina Schwarz, the author of the New York Times Bestseller “Drowning Ruth,” sent me after reading my poetry manuscript.
“With lush language and lavish imagery, Gabriela M. evokes a fantastic world ripe with emotion.”
Below please find a fragment from one of my “evening fantasies”:
contaminated with verses my rebellious red blood ran from my heart to yours;
the smell of orange trees bloomed in my hair like in those forgotten Sunday afternoons in which we used to make love;
i saw the pregnant egg yolk – heavy as the passion of a tropical night – the imperishable yellow from around your finger;
a green iguana blinked and opened its “third eye” inscribing on my thighs the fairy-tales of the women you loved;
a bird gave me the evil eye: children’s fingers colored in blue hung on the Hand of Fatima trying to protect me;
it smelled love;
caressed by leaves i fell into the field of poppies in which we first met.
image: MoinMoin; Shutterstock; [link]