Wednesday, August 24, 2016

Nur of my dispassion




Nur


of my dispassion…
you jumped with your back
towards my face.
I adored your back sprinkled 
with kindness!
I don’t want for your eyes
that are so crammed pins
to scrutinizing my eyes
coloring them alkaline
in a face to face farewell.
Do it in front of our friends
so I don’t kiss you.
May our embrace rush the heat
of this mid-day hunger
before the world becomes toxic,

but remember to give me your back.

Monday, August 22, 2016

Cocaine



Cocaine


We’ll call this consumerism era
love making us a dose of powder
           
            let’s plough the devil’s property
            until the day of the golden ring
            and the cloying gala
            with an anthem to the Blessed Virgin

At the market of love
—buttocks paralyzed with rubber
to be desirable
—whisky, gold, and assets
so that you drift in my direction
and you’re not short of goods in your old age

You’ll open your eyes touching your husband’s back,
he’ll squint touching your backbone.
You’ll both load fingers and hands smelling of drool,
saliva, and lies.

Fruit of the devil’s property
this is how you’ll sleep.
Devalued currency dulling the trip,
devaluated gestures ending without meaning.

Two separate lines on a glass made of dreams,
you think, stir and join, disengage
images of your days of silence.

This is how they wake up,
attracted by the roll of bills that time despises
and uses to consume them.




            

Sunday, August 21, 2016

First poem in seven day challenge: "Monologue" by Sergio Sergio Antonio Ortiz, thank you for the invitation Chinedu Jonathan Ichu



Monologue



One word explains another.
Take "loneliness", it’s a gap
or a stone falling into the void,
even the air hurts and walking
is not enough, sleep dies
but you sleep. Loneliness is to search
for your height, your exact size, in others,
or rather it’s to divide yourself
to form a broad chorus of nothingness.
What horrible loneliness
is in the one who begs for affection
by blemishing tenderness. Let laughter
be laughter and hatred be hatred,
and a man be a man
above all miseries.

Friday, August 19, 2016

Fatal Surge




Fatal Surge


You tasted the salt
of my inner thigh,
dunes of fine, smooth skin
strung my most intimate garments.
I found honey in your rump
from where I drank its last fiber.

I followed the crescent moon,
the swell of the sea swallowed me.

Celebrating Lorca's 80th year of disappearance - Celebrando el 80ta aniversario de la desaparicion de Lorca



Madrigal a la ciudad de Santiago


Llueve en Santiago
Mi dulce amor.
Blanca camelia del aire
brilla su tiniebla al sol.

Llueve en Santiago
por la noche oscura.
Hierbas de plata y de sueño
cubren la desierta luna.

Mira la lluvia en la calle,
queja de piedra y cristal.
Mira el viento desvaído
surco y ceniza tu mar.

Surco y ceniza tu mar,
Santiago, lejos del sol.
Agua de mañana antigua
temblando en mi corazón.




Nocturno del adolescente muerto


Iremos callados a orillas del vado
para ver al adolescente ahogado

Iremos callados a orillas del aire,
antes que ese río se lo lleve al mar.

Su alma lloraba, herida y pequeña,
bajo los aromas de pinos y hierbas.

Agua despeñada bajó de la luna
cubriendo de lirios montañas desnudas.

El viento dejaba camelias trilladas
en la hoguera mustia de su boca triste.

¡Vienen mozos rubios por montes y prados
Para ver al adolescente ahogado!

¡Viene gente oscura de cumbre y de valle
Antes que ese río se lo lleve al mar!

Lo lleve hasta el mar de cortinas blancas
Donde van y vienen viejos bueyes de agua.

¡Ay, cómo cantaban árboles del Sil
sobre verde luna, como un tamboril!

¡Mozos, vamos, vengan, ahora a llegar
porque ya ese río me lo lleva al mar!

Tuesday, August 16, 2016

Sombra que duele



Sombra que duele


Cuando una caracola invade
el Mandir de tu corazón sin decir Om
ni quitarse los zapatos,
y no enciende el incienso
para rezarle
a tus muertos y el 
espacio se deshace
en tu cuerpo
como una ciudad en tinieblas
doy vueltas en esquinas
donde nadie—ni un solo hombre,
me espera
hueco de amor,
indiferente a la ternura.

Last Train to Nowhere - Ini adalah untuk Irwan, menikmati!



Last Train to Nowhere


I used to like crossing boundaries
with you, on you, tell you everything
like that flower-vine that grows
fast-forward. But we no longer
have those conversations.
The after-party’s over, lights on,
the dance floor's full
of passed out drunks,
men who lost the last train to nowhere.

Saturday, August 13, 2016

Rio 2016 - Monica Puig won gold in Olympic Women's Tennis for my country Puerto Rico


Te sigo escribiendo poemas desde el paraíso


Another beach in Puerto Rico

Te sigo escribiendo poemas desde el paraíso  


Eventualmente encontraras
tus mañanas…
lo cierto es que yo
no las tengo
las palpe de vez en cuando
antes de que orinaras mi cama
cuando fuiste campo
de margaritas
fue entonces
cuando busque tu oscura piel
de espanto y reviví mis Andes

ya casi amanece
mi sonrisa es amplio cuchillo
carroñero vendiendo lagrimas
en el caribe 

Ini adalah untuk Anda cintaku - There goes the man that was my lover




There goes the man that was my lover - Ini adalah untuk Anda cintaku


there goes the man
that was my lover…

what else can I say
if not even my moaning stirs
the fella who heaves   
his back on rocks
with me in arms

even the ashes remember
when he was nothing

I made water from the rocks
so we could bath

when he comes back                                           regretful
my memories
will unchain his neck

The Meaning of Light - I finally finished writing this one. It took me for ever, lots of interruptions


Puerto Rico, Bioluminescent  bay in Viequez


The Meaning of Light


The beast drinks water from the shallows
while the blossom sleeps where death awaits
on unavoidable nights. It translates voices
that it does not understand, and hopes to ask
about desire. Its deciphered imprints follow
the course of a scented field, it’s going
to overwhelm the printed hands
that rise above it blindly — created
to misguide. Trees will be the waves and boats
of fireflies setting sail in view of wind,
symphonic seeds navigate to other lands.
A storm plants death ruins on the plains.
After the time of bones, new grass grows,
a cloak of fear and loneliness waits in twilight
dimensions. A man blinded by rennet
in streaming light bites his rage, chews
the curd of false expectations, rates
desert paths. He does not stop offering
dilapidated visions, the challenge
of kissing gannets in an empty sea.

Thursday, August 11, 2016

A tiny bit of heartbreak



A tiny bit of heartbreak


You wanted 
to play 
so you opened 
my mouth
inhabiting me 
like a sulfur storm.
Each kiss 
made me different.
I couldn't go 
to sleep.
I stayed in the silence
of your perfect lips.

Where is your home
now that I've said 
goodbye?

Un poco de quebrante



Un poco de quebrante


Quisiste jugar
y por eso
me abriste la boca
habitándome
como un tormenta
de azufre.
Cada beso
me hizo distinto.
No pude marcharme
a dormir,
me quede en el silencio
arruinado
por labios perfectos.
¿Dónde está tu casa ahora
que te he dicho adiós?


It doesn’t matter anymore




It doesn’t matter anymore



You were a little
of what is forbidden
in fairytale stories,
extravagant hobby
seducing uncertainties,
little of what you said
you were.

I used to dream
of walking you between the lines
of your previous lovers
without worrying how full
of footsteps your body was,
I had your skin,

drank slowly from your scares,
imagined you walking
through the neighborhood
in the dark, the moon
dwelling on crystal glasses,
refurbishing the mind with memories
that everyone already used up

Wednesday, August 10, 2016

Surf



Surf


I loved, was rejected,
and slowly vanished,
but I loved again
and eventually returned
to the photographs
and the sea. Today
I am the surf. 

It’s winter in Paris



It’s winter in Paris


There’s a man singing
to me on the street.
He wears an elegant smile
and leans against a wall
like a question mark,
one who lives in a house
where no one sweeps away
the sadness. It’s as if 
Lenard Cohen were in my room 
describing the weight of melancholy
encrypted in the rain.


if it’s not leap - tanka



if it’s not leap
a year is made up of
three hundred sixty five
stumbles…
I’m testing the fall

Monday, August 08, 2016

Hombre de los ojos diminutos



Hombre de los ojos diminutos


Si no fuera
por la arcilla cocida,
las cuentas bancarias vacías,
y el temor
a mantener a un vividor,
me habría hecho pequeño,
insulsa ráfaga cansada
de aire erguido,
gran soplo
arrastrado por una cara bonita
Barbie Super Star
en el bulevar de los sueños rotos

You don’t have a name, you're what's never explained



You don’t have a name, you're what's never explained


crystal chamber
the sea
pale bedroom
where I wonder
in tears
cellophane planet
tumulus fishbowl
autumn fog
and more
shipwrecked
in the mysterious dance
of a smile

Saturday, August 06, 2016

Acentúas los pliegues de mis ojos



Acentúas los pliegues de mis ojos


Mi viejo hechicero,
lento desgarrar
de mi tibia negrura,
golpeas tu cuerpo sobre
mis costillas mientras
me desdoblo
y te miro desde la esquina
de mi cama mordiendo
mi espalda, acariciando
mis pezones, acabando
con mi rio, fatigado,
arropando en mi noche.

En la voz baja de tu hermosura



En la voz baja de tu hermosura


No gusto de flor primaveral,
prefiero jardín otoñal,
flor marchita a punto
de partir, tallo besado de ayeres,
tobogán experto en el delirio
con nalgas estrujando la tibieza de mi cuerpo. 

Solar Music - For my good, good friend Pasi



Solar Music


At the edge
of a dream in progress
a rowboat,
a faceless shadow,
invites me to drown
in its waters. Uncertainty
enters my feet, awakens
another part of me
and spreads a cold sweat
on my forehead. I jump
from the dream, switch on
the light trembling.


Despicable Night




Despicable Night


I don’t remember loving you
but I do recall
walking by your side,
your indigo eyes,
lips Parfait-Amour,
walkway of the sad
and lonely.

Friday, August 05, 2016

Aligerando el paso



Aligerando el paso


No encuentro descanso,
amores impúdicos tocan
constantemente a mi puerta.
Me rodean, rondan mis ojos
como vírgenes ciegas.
Se escurren entre mis piernas
buscando el calor
que en tiempos pasado
colmaba mis sentidos
de dicha. Ya ni lo busco,
no quiero la cama, no inquiero
la calma. El desajuste de horas
se arremolina en mi mano
lubricada. Es el olvido,
la inmisericordia de mi soledad.

Thursday, August 04, 2016

We're all that's left - this is dedicated to my friend Einstein from Indonesia, we talk a lot with each other




We're all that's left

“quedamos nosotros, victoriosos, con alas y deseos y dientes y locura.”
Efraín Huerta


The two of us lying on the sand
after making love on the beach.
You said it’s late
but I couldn’t imagine
you'd leave. I remember
the treaded paths, the beach resorts
where our hands defeated our bodies.
We were hybrids dreaming
of words and other fevered voices
while others sank like rocks
in the fog. I don’t remember
how many of these encounters we had,
the torn arteries, the bottomless anguish
deleted from my memory,
the storm traveling inland
destroying my divided past.


We're all that's left



We're all that's left

“quedamos nosotros, victoriosos, con alas y deseos y dientes y locura.”
Efraín Huerta


The two of us lying on the sand
after making love on the beach.
You said it’s late
but I couldn’t imagine
you'd leave. I remember
the treaded paths, the beach resorts
where our hands defeated our bodies.
We were hybrids dreaming
of words and other fevered voices
while others sank like rocks
in the fog. I don’t remember
how many of these encounters we had,
the torn arteries, the bottomless anguish
deleted from my memory,
the storm traveling inland
destroying my divided past.


We're all that's left



We're all that's left

“quedamos nosotros, victoriosos, con alas y deseos y dientes y locura.”
Efraín Huerta


The two of us lying on the sand
after making love on the beach.
You said it’s late
but I couldn’t imagine
you leaving. I remember
the treaded paths, the beach resorts
where our hands defeated our bodies.
We were hybrids dreaming
of words and other fevered voices
while others sank like rocks
in the fog. I don’t remember
how many of these encounters we had,
the torn arteries, the bottomless anguish
deleted from my memory,
the storm traveling inland
destroying my divided past.


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San Juan, Puerto Rico, Puerto Rico
Sergio A. Ortiz is an educator, poet, photographer, and painter living in San Juan Puerto Rico. He is a four-time nominee for the 2010-2011 Sundress Best of the Web Anthology, and a two-time 2010 Pushcart nominee. His collections of Tanka, For the Men to Come (2014), and From Life to Life (2014) were released by Amazon and Createspace as well as his full print collection of poems: At the Tail End of Dusk (2014). His collection of poems in Spanish, A La Orilla Lenta De Un Ocaso, was also released by Amazon and Createspace (2014).

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