Seeing as my reblogs of Gabriela are the most liked of all my posts, I’m sure some of you will definitely will click the –> link <– and vote right now. If its not your first inclination to vote, would you please click here and read the poem and if you like it please vote.
I know my loyal followers and liker’s will click… Thank you folk for taking a second to click a couple of links. Her stuff is wonderful and she deserves every click. She has filled my days with beautiful words, and I tried to pass that beauty on to you all and never knew it would attract so many poets with so many more beautiful words from you talented writers. In this time of world wide fear and upheaval these words that make us think of beauty, happiness and passions and help both the readers and the writers feel better by giving an outlets for the pent up stress we all are experiencing. You’ve all helped me express and cope better with all the current intensity in my life. Thank you all for your support. The strange synchronicity and the apocalyptic feeling everyone in our mountain valley got spun into by our earthquake just after they decided to class it a pandemic still has us all thinking,, whats next?? This year has been like that for everyone to some extent. The more we come together and support each other the better we cope with this intense time of of unrepresented change and potentiality of death. It’s the same for everyone, for someone we all know is at very high risk at this time and we have contemplated the loss. Sorry for my bluntness. Stay well and stay close to your higher power. Don’t forget to vote for Gabriela. 👍❤ THANK YOU ALL!!
don’t wait for me please find another lover I’m riding camels with the Bedouins I’ll enter Alexandria by morning the day Mark Anthony committed suicide don’t wait for me please find another lover I’m in the Île de la Cité on Friday the thirteenth the Friday which forever will be feared the smell of burning flesh is choking me the Knights Templar are shedding…
I am humbled that I was voted Author of the Year at Spillwords Press. Thank you to everyone who voted for me, and thank you to the wonderful team at Spillwords Press (NYC).
“…from the writings of the titans coming from the Latin American space to the writings of their counterparts coming from the Slavic space. Yes, I am an American, but I am also a child of Europe. I have been fascinated, mesmerized, frightened, brought to tears…”
I’m so happy for you Gabrela! It is so great to see you get rewarded for your talent. I must say again, it’s not only about helping you, it’s more that you have helped me by your spirit attracting the best followers. You add some of the right elements into my Alchemical boiling pot. My chemistry here would not be right without “Chemical Gabriela” so thanks for all you do! Congratulations again!
let’s take the train and go to Vienna rent a room for a night and then waltz in your arms the waist of the night trembles fingertips touch a blue door which is locked I sit barefoot on the floor the windows’ eyelashes are yellow and drunk your voice moves stones in a lonely graveyard to bury the tears I cry and lonely…
I used to lift free weights when I was a soldier, and marriage made me lazy because I no longer wanted to impress young women. I got soft over ten years and the damage to my spine slowly caused stenosis in my c-spine enough to need pain medication’s. I guess I wasn’t the guy she fell for at 17. I learned she’s very selfish and a gay feminist dark Wicca Priestess, who’s now in a coven in the Newport OR area. I guess she also was not the young 17 year old woman I fell for in June 1983, and married on valentines 1990 after cohabitation long enough to feel I could trust her.
My Dear Readers, I was voted author of the Year at Spillwords Press NYC (2020). I am deeply grateful to those of you who voted for me. Thank you to you, and to the incredible team who runs Spillwords Press. I am deeply humbled and honored by this recognition. However, I’ve never written for the…
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.
TheCertifiablyTRUERavingsOfASectionedPhilosopher: Don't be afraid to think you might be a little 'crazy'. Who isn't? Check out some of my visualized poems here: https://www.instagram.com/maxismaddened/