Indulgence #poem #poetic prose #short prose #review #poetry collection

Skeletal fragments of coral and mollusks glued by calcite.

Limestone giving birth to grays, beige, and blue.

Your eyes as green as the grass on the dewy morning when slithering snakes were driven into the sea.

Tears on your cheeks. I wipe them with my palms.

The desire to rebuild your soul. I cannot stop it.  I am like those women who think that their naked thighs and transparent negligées can fix a broken heart. In fact, I am worse than them.  I think I can fix your soul.

I love you. Yet, my instincts are those of a simple worshiper of reality. There is no sanctity in them.

Oh, indulgence of the self, how ignorant we are.

My poetry collection Passions: Love Poems and Other Writings featured in San Francisco Book Review. 

Love.
Gabriela

@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela Marie Milton)

image:  Sandratsky Dmitriy; Shutterstock; [link]

Will you vote for me? My poem “If I Say I Love You” runs first for Publication of the Month at Spillwords

My poem, “If I Say I Love You” runs first for Publication of the Month at Spillwords Press NYC.

Will you vote If I Say I Love You by Gabriela M for publication of the month?

Please vote here.

You don’t need a Spillwords account to vote though it is easy to open one. You can vote with your Twitter or your FB account.

I will be delighted to have your vote. However, you should feel free to vote for whomever you think is deserving. All nominees are fantastic writers.

The voting will begin on the 26th of each month at 12:00am Easter Time
The voting will last for 4 Days.

Thank you.
Love
Gabriela

On November 2019 my poem The Breath of Love and Death was voted Publication of the Month at Spillwords.

featured image: Lyudmyla Kharlamova; Shutterstock; [link]

@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela Marie Milton)

My Book, Passions: Love Poems and Other Writings, featured in San Francisco Book Review #book review

We desperately want to love, to possess each other, caught in a perpetual rush to justify our existence.
Yet there is no love that can fully satisfy us. The passions of the flesh get exhausted in bed. What is left is exhausted by our imagination.

Excerpt from my book Passions: Love Poems and Other Writings [on Amazon here].

My Dear Friends,
Thank you to everyone who reads my work. Your support means the world to me.  Below please find the review of my book, Passions: Love Poems and Other Writings, in San Francisco Book Review.

The series transports us on a journey of love as much as it delivers us a thematically diverse set of emotions. This is a superb collection.”
Bobbie Peyton

Please read the entire review here.

Thank you.
Love.
Gabriela

@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela Marie Milton)

image: Liliya Kulianionak; Shutterstock; [link]

The Second Waltz-Poem #Poetry #Poetry Book

at 8 am you boil flowery teas
the kitchen smells blueberries
and it smells cinnamon
the French silk stockings are the perfect gift
wonders of the magic lamp
last night
our passion lit
twelve wicks

you say good morning
and I say not now
your eyes are thirsty like a drying well
you say I love you
and I say please wait
your kisses fall under the bracelets from my wrist
my heart is beating in your chest
I have to go
you want to talk to me?
perhaps another day
you know, another day will bring another night
why don’t you write to me?
will I come back?

my love,
in front of all these icons that you brought for me in Crete
I swear I’ll die again with you
inside the beauty of the second waltz
where we discovered our innocence
one chord per bar

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

Thank you,
Love
Gabriela

@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela Marie Milton)

dematerialization #poem #prose poem #short prose

shutterstock_251593474

It was a sort of dematerialization that left behind the scent of orange blossoms and the vague memory of sultry afternoons growing by the margins of the pond: those afternoons in need for seed germination. I am sure you can remember them.

You and your love for me which have always looked for my blood. I told you I am air and therefore I do not have a body. I fill the space in which other bodies manifest themselves.

I am every breath you take in your nights of love when you think you love other women.  Have you ever noticed how blue and humid is the air you breathe between two kisses? That’s me.

Oh, I agree. Sometimes I may look like plum lips and other times like tiny specs of red wine sprinkled on your shirt. Those are the times when the moon is full, and the cicadas’ wings listen to the vibrations coming from the membrane of their own abdomens.

It’s summer: pink roses, fresh lips, quiet balconies.

May I have my black nightgown back? I want to feel its silkiness against my skin.

Oh, you are right.

I do not need it. I do not have a body.

Is it my imagination or your breath just got heavier?

excerpt from my book in progress: Remembrance of Love [working title]

My book, Passions: Love Poems and Other Writings, is available on Amazon here.

The following is an excerpt from a review of Passions: Love Poems and Other Writings written by Fabian Bats. I do not know him. His review is voluntary. Fabian’s words brought tears in my eyes.  I am humbled and deeply honored by his review. His efforts to understand the semiotic of my poetry brought me to my knees.

“The first poem is my favorite in the book; it took a few re-reads to grasp, but when I did, I instantly thought to myself “Genius!”

After my first read, I had no clue what I had just read, “what is the link between the title and the poem?”, I thought, racking my head and moving on to the next poem, hoping for less murky waters to swim in -at the start of the book, it is humorous, I know. However, when I came back to read it again, and started seeing links, I felt butterflies, I marveled at the beauty of the words chosen and how a particular figure of speech was used here or there, and when the stars aligned in my mind, I saw clearly that the author was referring to the night of a honeymoon (it could mean a host of other things to other readers, simply because poetry is art). From this point onward, it was difficult to put the book down.”

You can read the entire review here

Thank you.
Love
Gabriela

@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela Marie Milton)

Flash Fiction “On Love” and a Review of Passions: Love Poems and Other Writings #poetry book

On Love

I must rebuild your love in my brain.
My soul bears the marks of castles lost at sea.

My Dear Readers,

Thank you again to everyone who bought my book. Special thanks to those who review it on Amazon. I plan to feature each Amazon review on my blog. Until then, here is a review, one among many, done on an online book club by a reviewer whom I do not know.

“The work of art is a beautiful thing. Poem is the master of all arts. It creates emotions deeper than mere imagination and beyond. It transfers human feelings to a realm of wonders. Passions: Love Poems and Other Writings is a book of art written by Gabriela Marie Milton…. I was wowed by the poems. I became engulfed in them…I have been inspired to write my own poems starting with love poems….”

Nothing honors me more than inspiring others. You can read the entire review here

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

Thank you
Love
Gabriela

@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela Marie Milton)

It was not love #flash fiction #short prose

I alternate deep and high-pitched tones; opposing predispositions of a breathing universe.

You favor discussions about T’s novel. T was a mediocre writer. Yet he did capture a side of me that fascinates you; a side that looks like those apparitions reflected in the mirrors of our bedroom every night.

What brought T and me together?

It was not love. You know that.

Perhaps it was the knowledge that all combinations are fundamentally flawed.

Did you raise your eyebrows?

No. Don’t touch me. I don’t want to be thrown in the swimming pool anymore.

 

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

@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela Marie Milton)

image:  Radharani; Shutterstock; [link]

All’s well that ends well (a collaboration) – a stunning piece by Rachel and Watt #Guest Post

My Dear Readers,

A stunning piece by two magnificent writers: Rachel and Watt.
I am thrilled to have them as my guests today.
Below, please read their comments on collaborating with each other, and their piece All’s well that ends well.

Rachel: regarding Watt and I’s writing, it has always been a remarkably easy process.  We both admired each other’s writing, and in his words: “It’s easy to tread each other’s tracks without losing our own essence.  When we write together, inspiration seems to brush shoulders with us like it might with an old friend, and words gather themselves effortlessly and travel to the mind.”

All’s well that ends well

Over time, real time, life has segmented me in sides and faces with very vague definitions.  I sense that there are things about me that are routinely yet obscurely fed to a vending machine which gives me newer passions, different interests in return. Maybe I can trace it back to “when” but “why” is draped in nights when I lay awake with a dream in mind, and the next morning seems to blur it into a background that slowly fades into wallpaper that needs to be torn down because it’s just not as pretty anymore.

The ‘why’ is so much harder than the ‘when,’ but December raises the downy hair of yesterday on the back of my neck. No embrace for the girl of that calendar month, just a sigh of resignation and despair that rustles all the other pages of the calendar. My eyes see a whole year of good intentions and failed dreams that cling so desperately to that wall and under my skin. It’s like the realisation that last New Year’s hope was just an impulsive mistake and I forgot to make any brightened resolutions.

And it becomes an yearly abstraction, a push that plummets fractions, breezeblocks, out of an otherwise linear tower of reality. I look back at the lost pieces, and with what may be an illusion of growth, smile. That ache seems so small, unimportant, and what I have now seems okay for a minute. Maybe longer. Depends on the length of the song I listen to, and the longevity of the setting sun.

I can only say it in a whisper but this year has magnified the aches that have lingered for a lifetime. There’s a desperation in looking for the missing pieces in the fading colours of the sunset. In the hungry chaos of noisy gulls, I try to collect my crowded thoughts into groups of words that might ease my chapped lips and pour my coffee in the morning. I string them into necklaces and charms made of sentences – poems of moonless Septembers and melancholy Sundays. That way I can at least look at tomorrow without shielding my eyes.

There is something about words strung together in a sensible philosophy. Its incomparable to have had times in your life that sharpens its blunt edges and cuts into parts of you, refreshes everything somehow, and becomes strange to look at. Like gawking at your reflection on the mirror plated wall of a hair salon, while the barber keeps trimming your hair in a really bad way but all you can do is investigate your face and strike your eyes with a gaze they obviously meet. Just to realize, that it’s all there what needs to be, what isn’t, will grow back with more original strands and fibres. There’s always a road to walk towards everywhere, and since ‘all roads lead to Rome’, why does anybody worry.

Please continue reading on Rachel’s site here
or on Watt’s site here

I truly hope you enjoyed their magnificent work.

A gentle reminder that my book, Passions: Love Poems and Other Writings, will be available for pre-order on April 14th; publication date April 20th.

Love and good health to everyone.
Gabriela

@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)