A Little About
​Myself.

Gisele Marasca-Vargas​ is the former co-owner of Creative Angle Media, a graphic design and publishing company, and co-publisher of Ahora/Now Orlando magazine, a semi-annual magazine that showcased Orlando’s Hispanic community and was published for seven years. Gisele also contributed articles and commentary columns to the magazine.

Blog Writer.  Contributing Writer.  Poet.  Story Teller.

Feature Stories and Poems.

RED
(Poetry Sampling)

Red. A color? No. much more than a color.
Red has a life of its own.
Red of blood running in veins.
Red of flesh, of life. Given or taken away.
Red of lust, of sensual dreams.
Red of steamy French movies and erotic diaries.
Red of high heel shoes. Red lips.
Red forbidden fruit. Red Rose. Sinfully moist Red Rose.
Red of wrath, of violence.
Seeing Red, exploding in a million pieces,
imploding in tiny blood-shot veins.
THE BUTTERFLY CONNECTION
About Our Roles In Others' Lives

One morning I was feeding the rescues cats that live in shelters around our home, when I noticed one of the cats in hunting mode, chasing something. As I got closer, I noticed the cat was mercilessly swatting at a butterfly, playing his catch game. I got closer, shooed the cat away and examined the poor butterfly. The back part of its wings had been slashed on several places, leaving the butterfly still able to fly, but only at short heights and distance. With pain in my heart for the poor butterfly, I decided to try to get it and move it to a safer location where it wouldn’t be so exposed. As I tried to approach it and carefully scoop it in my hands, the butterfly seemed to understand I was trying to help. It simply walked from my cupped hands to my left wrist and just sat there, seemingly waiting for my next move.
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THE YELLOW DRESS
How Often Do We Choose The Safer Path?
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One day, several years ago, when my mother and I decided to go shopping for clothes together, we stopped at a small, out-of-the-way store which was having a sale. Being the smart and thrifty shopper she had always been, my mother started scouting for the best deals, practical clothes in neutral colors which would “go with everything”, and which were her usual style. As she looked at some dark-color wool pants, I started casually looking through some dresses. Then I noticed, peaking through the long line of matronly-looking dresses in drab colors, a striking yellow dress with small red flower patterns. I showed it to my mother more as a joke than anything, not really thinking she would ever want to try it on. To my surprise, something in that dress made her wonder how she would look in it, and she decided to put it on.

My Work.

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