GAETANA PIPIA

Social Writer.

A Poem: Three Little Stars

Three Little Stars

A poem for my daughter and her sweet cousins.

By Gaetana Pipia

 

When the day turns to night and the sky turns to ink

There are three little stars who arise

Each one unique and as bright as the next

With wonder and light in their eyes

 

The eldest is clever, observant and fair

His fire a brilliant, blue blaze

A solver of puzzles, a diplomat too

Keeping watch of the young ones

With patience and care

 

The middle star’s gentle, her aura bright pink

A dreamer who dances and sings

A curious sprite with a spirit so sweet

Happily greeting each star she meets

Burning with joy and with love

 

The youngest star’s daring, inquisitive, bold

A deep purple flame seeking stories yet told

Making other stars laugh

With her tricks and her jokes

Til their dust sprinkles down from above

 

There are three little stars who live high in the sky

Past the clouds and the moon and the sun

Constellation of three, although not far away

A fourth little star will be born

A Poem: Unbroken

Unbroken

By Gaetana Pipia

 

Perhaps you’re too young to remember

The nights you’d sleep soundly between us

A precious ember we cherished

Our earth-bound star

Growing and glowing and of us

 

Perhaps we don’t want to remember

How nights like these slipped away

Lost in the quake that befell us

Love slipping through cracks

We’d forgotten to mend

 

I want you to always remember

That family is more than a frame

Your light will be cherished from two happy homes

Broken, unbroken, and made stronger

For you.

The Golden Maiden Excerpt: Chapters 1-5

I am happy to announce my science fiction fantasy novel, The Golden Maiden, is officially finished! Now that it’s written, I’m moving on to the next stage of seeking a  literary agent and  hopefully getting this thing published. 🙂

You can click here to read chapters 1-5 in their entirety. I hope you enjoy, and as always, feedback is much appreciated.

Interested agents can e-mail me at gaetanapipia@gmail.com or submit a message on the Contact page. I look forward to hearing from you!

Gaetana

A Poem: Android Love Song

Android Love Song

By Gaetana Pipia

I will kiss you deeply, love

But know this kiss is not a kiss

That these lips are not true lips

But merely plastic painted red

I will lie with you, my sweet

But know this bed is not a bed

But a projection of the warmth

That I will not, cannot feel nor give

I will take your hand in mine

Imitating intimacy

Feigning vulnerability

As if I wasn’t made of steel

And while this kiss is not a kiss,

You’ll enjoy me as if real

Delighting in the sound

Of my simulated breath

Of my poly-something vertebrae

Locking with a “click, click, click”

Arching into artifice

And artificial bliss

The Golden Maiden Excerpt: Diner Scene Continued

Here’s another short excerpt from The Golden Maiden–my science fiction fantasy novel-in-progress. You can read the first three chapters here. Comments are appreciated!

~Gaetana

Odelle looked down at his plate. The meat was of dubious origin.

As he cut into the stuff, its steak-like shape imploded into a brown, formless, gelatinous sludge. He shrugged, put down his fork and knife and reached for a spoon.

“I wouldn’t eat that.”

Odelle looked toward the voice. A tall, curious man dressed in a green suede suit was grinning at him from the open entrance of the diner.

How long’s he been watching me?

The stranger jerked his head suddenly and whistled toward something outside, his long, silver braid whipping across his back like a pendulum.

Moments later, two girls stepped into the restaurant to join him. They too had silver hair worn in thick, loose braids; they looked about 14 in age and were identical to one another in face and in form except that the skin of one’s lower abdomen had been peeled back, revealing the inner workings of a smooth, metallic exoskeleton.

“You best get out.” The waitress stood up from behind the counter, revealing a shotgun aimed at the unwelcome patrons. “Town ordinance say…it say you can’t be here,” she said, her voice faltering.

“Can we play with her, Daddy?” chirped one of the twins.

“Yes, can we?” echoed the other.

“Later.” The man frowned. He’d designed the girls to be veritable killing machines. But their psychopathic tendencies, and love for torture in its most depraved forms, were things they’d seemingly developed on their own. Android personalities, not unlike those of their human counterparts, were shaped not only by their programming–but by environment, individual experience and unexplained quirks in development. The girls had been made to kill. That they enjoyed doing it with such enthusiasm was a quirk of their own design.

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