A whole week #flash fiction #short prose — Short Prose

Via: A whole week — Short Prose

A whole week.

Seven agonizing nights; seven suffocating nights rushing over me, parching my soul with their torrid breezes.
Myriads of mosquitoes murmuring in the dark, looking for prey: my own flesh, my own blood.

Nights extending their heavy tentacles over the city, strangling it as a venomous octopus; abandoning it at sunrise lacking vigor, emptied of hopes, filled with trash.

Glued to my body, lace and silk soaked in perspiration: fingers of delirious passions looking for my skin.  

In this city clocks have no hands, years have no months, months have no days.  Outside of time, this city is innocent, perverse, philosophical, suicidal.

Shadows of your eyes

Fragments of your love.  

Dark.

image: Guryanov Andrey; Shutterstock; [link]

short prose from – Passions: Love Poems and Other Writings:
available for pre-order on March 30th.
publication date April 30th.

@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela Marie Milton)

Your thoughts … ❤

Invisible Movement — The Wonderful and Wacky World of One Single Mom

Were I to sit roadside
hands held out
sign asking for alms
would you see me?
Were I to stand at the bus stop
teeth chattering
sodden by rain
needing a fix
would you really see me?
Were I to sit next to you
meeting upon meeting
late night after late night
pressed into duty
pressed against the desk
would you ever see me again?
I am but one of the invisible
fallen amongst the cracks
head down
eye frown
look not upon the great
who can do no wrong
who can rape
who can plunder
who can murder without fear
alas
the day will come…..
judge not lest you be judge
bastardization for bastards
cower
betray
fall…..
pain reaped for pain
desolation for desolation
rejection
anguish
fear
all yours times tenfold.

©March 13/20
Picture via Pinterest

VIa:Invisible Movement — The Wonderful and Wacky World of One Single Mom

Good one. I relate. Personally abused when young by the egotistical alphas that are only in it for what they can take from anybody because they judge others, and think their above everybody else, instead of helping those supposedly below them who need a hand to raise them up. That’s what it raised from memory anyway…

“waltz” a poem by Short Prose

You can find it here — featured in Heretics, Lovers, and Madmen

I waltz into an empty ballroom
yesterday the ghost of Maja haunted Goya in the streets
hungry demons haunted you
effervescence, the molecules of those who’ll never be,
a door gets slammed
a key gets turned
the breath of earth is choked
initiation
my hair gets caught deep in the coldness of the stars
my fingers trace a rainbow in the inky sky
I buried our wedding bands
inside the mist of that which never is
I snow on you white flowers from the one forbidden tree
I jump like a wild lynx
I look for prey
you make pianos sneeze old rhapsodies
stop
it is too late to understand
who’s me


© 2019 Gabriela M. Who can be found here @ “waltz” — Short Prose

“the night of candlelight and wine” a collaboration from Gabriela M, and Francisco Bravo Cabrera #poem #poetry

A rose with thorns you wrap around my wrist

I tie your eyes with scents of mandarins

your heartbeats spiral red Cabo de Palos winds

your touches gallop on my wildest dreams

Valencia, garden where the lovers meet

where statues chant the prayers of the hours

and where some other winds,

perhaps the winds of Lent, not ours

will lift Mediterranean sands so we can’t see,

sighs of the future that the two of us could be …

Their hands clap bulerías por soleá

you and I, the same passion, we move to the same rhythm

your eyes undress a Carthaginian fountain

my hands undress a shadow, is that you?

we die in love as we had died before

in photographs that are not ours

in the port of Cartagena where we’ve never met

blindfolded looking for each other

like hedonistic lovers in the nights of carnival

we speak in languages known only by the flesh

this is the night of candlelight and wine

the night of gaps between the piccolos and tubas

you touch me with a branch of olives

I mark your skin with coloured glass

until the morning rises from the sea

and thus…

Valencia, look what’s happening to people like us.

Via short-prose-fiction and eretxa.wordpress.com

image: Eki, by Francisco Bravo Cabrera, oil on canvas, 40x50cm

Beautiful work you two. 👍 Such talented people, I’m a bit envious, I must admit. 😜

Centrifugal balance — fauxcroft

 by fauxcroftStandard

The centrifugal core of all of our beings

Revolves like one big vortex continually spinning,

It’s there to keep us even, there to keep us balanced,

So why do we work so hard at knocking ourselves right off our axis,

Why do we open up ourselves to all kind of mental harm

When what we should be doing is embracing love and calm

Stop involving ourselves external and beyond our control

And when we learn to do this we will then grow and then evolve.

Awesomeness
Via: fauxcroft […]

Centrifugal balance — fauxcroft

Valencia #poem #poetry — Short Prose

a bird awakes the moon
a fish turns in my dreams
algae wrap around my wrists 
Valencia, I just saw you in his eyes
his skin is madness
made of sandalwood

the smell of autumn paves the way
loves lost on lonely cobbled streets
a shadow dances on the wall
a pen writes on a table by itself
on a deck
a sailor flips a coin
dreams,
dust of desiccated lands

impressions, fingers on the pillow
under a purple sky
dried wounds
Valencia,
this room is loneliness,
alienation,
and smells of sandalwood

@short-prose-fiction

Valencia #poem #poetry — #Short-prose […]

Valencia #poem #poetry — Short Prose

Love in Venice #short prose #flashfiction — Short Prose

“Would you like to remain in Venice forever?”

I bite my lips.

“Oh, no, but I would love to live here for an entire winter.”

“And what would you do?”

“Every night I will walk in Piazza San Marco, at that moment when the silence becomes so permeable that my steps can be heard from the moon. In the heated, mysterious, thrilling nights of the carnival I will change mask after mask, dress after dress, smile after smile, pain after pain, lover after lover. Every morning I will mix essences of perfumes, seeking for the very one that can revive the mystique of my body, intoxicate my soul, empower my mind. Every twilight I will dive in the coolness of the Adriatic Sea; my body shivering, my soul revived; my memory of him forever gone. In the night I will go to consult astrologer after astrologer in the less known quarters of the city.”

I stop.

The sound of a church bell tears apart the moist air.

He looks at me: blue eyes, dark hair; powerful voice.

“Tonight there is party at the Doge’s Palace. Would you like to come with me?”

“I am not going to parties anymore.”

“Why not?”

“I died long time ago, by mistake. Now I am just a Venetian mask.”

For a moment he looks flabbergasted.
….

excerpt from the manuscript Glass Lovers 
@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela M)

image: Mohammadreza Zeidabadi; Shutterstock; [link]

Another beautiful poem from Short Prose.

Love in Venice #short prose #flash fiction — Short Prose

The Angel of God #poem #prose poem #short prose #flash fiction — Short Prose

The Angel of God #poem #prose poem #short prose #flash fiction

He comes back only when the Angel of God makes blue and yellow rings fall asleep on my fingers.
One night he swore his oaths upon our unmade bed and the river Styx.
His guitar swore its oaths upon a red rose.
This is not the time of year when his tears – chariots of fire – fall from the sky.
Neither that day of spring when I lie in bed covered by wedding veils.
Those are the only times when his soul plays guitar behind the Japanese screen in my bedroom.
You couldn’t hear him playing in the library.
So, what did you really hear?
Do you believe that his ghost hides inside his portrait hanging on the wall?
Oh, no! This is not a Harry Potter fantasy. His soul is not inside any portrait.
Now, I think it’s time for you to leave.
Why? Are you asking me why?
You saw the inscription below his portrait: granted just a quote he loved.

There are only three things to be done with a woman. You can love her, suffer for her, or turn her into literature.

Here’s your answer. You can’t do any of those things. So, you better leave.
No, his soul wasn’t here tonight.
Tonight, it is I who speaks, not him.

@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela M)

Short Prose
image: Anna Ismagilova; Shutterstock; [link]
quote attribution: Lawrence Durrell, Justine

The Angel of God #poem #prose poem #short prose #flash fiction — Short Prose


Outstanding work Gabriela

⚔️Tyrants Rise/Tyrants Fall⚔️ — Poetry By Archangel White Wolf

I stand before you

I ask the reason

For your betrayal

And your treason

You broke the trust

Of the people

Under your rule

You strike fear

That’s the reason

Why I’m here

I’m the balance

Of the scales

I am the truth

Behind the veil

I uncover the secrets

Expose the lies

You hide in your tower

Surrounded by spies

And by decree

I make the call

Today’s the day

The Tyrant falls

I am justice

Silent fury

Today I am

Your judge and jury

great piece

⚔️Tyrants Rise/Tyrants Fall⚔️ — Poetry By Archangel White Wolf