Thursday, September 30, 2010

Paradise



Paradise


For some, vaulted destinies
are affections
won against heavy odds. 

Appreciation of their value requires proof
words begin to take shape
invisible particles
leaving the odour of money.

This becomes the weapon
they fearlessly evade
their fetters broken,
their wounds written
on rocks.

For others, those who have long approached
hostilities or faceless insincerities,
money is the oasis
that requires no explanation.

However, balanced hearts
never waste time
in propositions of value.
 
Their abacus moves with caution
so as to not awaken the snake sleeping
between their sheets. 

Despoiled of Secrets




Despoiled of Secrets


We were close to the ground,
near the door frame in case of
an earthquake,  but you had to go

ruin it.  I didn’t care about ripping out
the plumbing, desperate as I was
for the salt in water...

You noticed the granulating yeast
on my skin and brought over
the divorce settlement

and witnesses?  Sure, he’s blonde
with baby blue eyes, interesting
and interested, yet half my age.

I wasn’t looking for a date
but I bought a new red and blue
umbrella.  Now, don’t touch me.

Four poems up at Sketchbook. Please, stop-by and read.

Four poems up at Sketchbook Review.  Please, stop-by and read.


sergio

Tuesday, September 28, 2010

Amok




Amok






Returning to bad days,
shadows meander surly

as my life runs amok.
Sot, I keep myself from being hunted,

deny I find pleasure in the rollercoaster-
ride, walk barefoot like a naive child.

Held by hands I cannot trust,
forcing me to put on boots covered

with mud and sperm, I become tearful.
At first sitting on a rock, yet fearless of death

I start to run on my hands over a burning pyre.
The glitter in stones ablaze.

Sunday, September 26, 2010

One of my poems been nominated by YB that Literary Journal for Sundress Publications for the 2010 Best of the Web Anthology

One of my poems been nominated by YB that Literary Journal for Sundress Publications for the 2010 Best of the Web Anthology. For those not in the know, here is a Sundress about-ski. And here are my nominations: Sergio Ortiz. "Transparency."Dorothee Lang. "Society of Swans."

Sobre un Tazón



Sobre un Tazón








Yo aquí solo, esperando
a que el moho de mis ojos distraiga
el azul enfurecido de tu estrella tirada.

Tus lágrimas me obligan a dejarte
marchar pero sé cuando y como
actúas; el fuego de tu ira me aprisiona.

Ahí, en el lugar del golpe.
Flotando sobre un tazón inmenso
de sangre quieta que todo lo dice. 
Ahí abre la flor de loto y me sutura
el perfume de tu virilidad

porque sabes que te he hecho mío antes.  
Te he sujetado entre mis manos 
como se acaricia una canción.

Sunday, September 19, 2010

When Friendship is no Longer Possible




When Friendship is no Longer Possible

When you came to me
my hands gave up
movement,

declared themselves
drowned in the multiplicity
of throats;  hands no longer

willing to accept  blood
as short-term payment
for friendship--

for in hell we saw each other
as lovers that didn't know
where to look whenever

they sat down
at the banquet  table.

Thursday, September 16, 2010

Danny Boy by Eva Cassidy

Eva Cassidy-True Colours





You with the sad eyes
Don't be discouraged
Oh I realize
It's hard to take courage
In a world full of people
You can lose sight of it all
And the darkness there inside you
Makes you feel so small

But I see your true colours
Shining through
I see your true colours
That's why I love you
So don't be afraid to let them show
Your true colours
True colours are beautiful,
Like a rainbow

Show me a smile then,
And don't be unhappy, can't remember when
I last saw you laughing
If this world makes you crazy
And you've taken all you can bear
You call me up
Because you know I'll be there

And I see your true colours
Shining through
I see your true colours
That's why I love you
So don't be afraid to let them show
Your true colours
True colours are beautiful,
Like a rainbow

Ohhhh
I can't remember
When I last saw you laugh
If this world makes you crazy
And you've taken all you can bear
You call me up
Because you know I'll be there

And I see your true colours
Shining through
See your true colours
That's why I love you
So don't be afraid to let them show
Your true colours, true colours
Are beautiful like a rainbow

I see your True colours shining through
See your true colours
That's why I love you
So don't be afraid to let them show
Your true colours
Your true colours are beautiful,
Like a rainbow

Eva Cassidy-Songbird



Songbird


For you there'll be no crying 
For you the sun will be shining 
Cause I feel that when I'm with you 
It's alright, I know it's right 

And the songbirds keep singing 
Like they know the score 
And I love you, I love you, I love you 
Like never before 

...

To you, I would give the world 
To you, I'd never be cold 
Cause I feel that when I'm with you 
It's alright, I know it's right 

And the songbirds keep singing 
Like they know the score 
And I love you, I love you, I love you 
Like never before 

i made it through the rain,by BarryManilow

Piano Player




Piano Player


to collapse into the defects
of a boiling sea moonstruck and impatient
to run my hands over dust heaven-hewn.
to pull my ears out and not quiver at the sound
of your name.  to walk to the end of the world
enter a bar and shoot myself in front
of the brave man you are.  I want
to want to love you, but I won’t.

Tanka



Tanka






sumo, path
        of salt and rock
    amorphous
intimacy, tent built
      on swift, hungry illusions

Wednesday, September 15, 2010

Tanka: touching the sky



Tanka:  touching the sky





foam stays
behind, disappears
we drift
thirst to watch you
fashion our garments

Red




Red


Why do I paint my lips red
when my secrets are hidden in blue?

Elegance is a commodity situated
in the fine print of my silky innocence.  
There is strength in water. 

Water is the freedom I never have. 
Art beckons an eye full of the kind of lust
I can only share from a distance,
walking through the scourged alleys
of the city slums. 

I dwell in secret among shadows
lost to the echoes of a bolero. 
Dance is my chore and magic. 
Once in a while, I raise my offer
to show a stream of temper.

It is then men gaze on my every movement;
I am a slave of lust schooled for a single branch
that will never belong to me.

The art of conversation bows as a swan,
never rushing into a premeditate pose,
equally matching the wits
of young and forgotten trees.

Salvation


Salvation





I stopped pushing salvation on inner city streets after my husband’s funeral.
Maples lining the road home reminded me of the kimono, and our baby;
anniversary gifts from Tent.

Rubin changed clothes as soon as we got home from Sunday school: toreror,
mariachi, prime ballerina.  It was difficult to keep a straight face in the middle
of an argument with a little cross-dresser playing in front of you.

In the beginning of autumn, that’s when he started collecting the feathers.  My
baby, fourteen, lifeless.  He found the first one outside a mud wrestling bar and
grill.  It had the Lords Prayer written on the feather.  Soon enough, they were
coming from all around the world.  He loved his collection.  I gave each one of
those bullies a feather.  I want to forgive but…

Tent was very close to his son, closer than the rope wrapped around his neck.
The impact of losing his son was devastating.  After the funeral I couldn’t wait;
I needed to look in the mirror, put on the kimono, cover my arms with the red
yellow leaves of the sash, and hide the teeth marks.

Tuesday, September 14, 2010

Ceniza




Ceniza


¿Después del barbecho,
que no daré? ¿Sangre viva,
semilla ensangrentada
sobre mi pecho? 

Eres el "golpe helado"
de mi violín amurallado.
La única ceniza que no guarde
en el vientre birlado 
y lleno de esperma,

el desconsuelo del sol después
del "hachazo homicida"
que forzó mi penetración.

Más no hubo lágrimas,
ni banderas fantasmas.
Solo el desplome del universo
con todos sus arqueros.

Between the Peel and the Seed




Between the Peel and the Seed


It’s the mango fibers caught between the teeth,
or men working in sugarcane plantations
living in close quarters.

It’s fear el negrito will wake-up
on the street without an education
after a serious hurricane.

It’s the consuming image of sculpted ice
bleeding away, and what we say
when we approach the ocean.

It’s a woman and her baby smeared
all over someone’s parking space
while an exterminating angel
walks into a church wearing
ten thousand dollar suits,
and he’s running
for governor.

Trees




Trees


Define a dragonfly  
trapped in the bone white sap
of an evergreen...


Eternal song?

Dolphins and Moons





Dolphins and Moons

A sword sharpened to perfection
is unworthy of mention

in my lovers presence unless
it be drawn with respect.

Bones wear out with age,
fire is extinguished by water.

Simplicity can be chained to the heart
like dolphins swim around the aura of a lunar eclipse,

but when my loved one touches my hair
I splinter into dancing moons.

Monday, September 13, 2010

Tattoos




Tattoos

Don’t talk to me about men dancing on Soul Train reruns.  They do their thing
and leave me in front of the mirror with my hair braided like an Aztec queen,
staring through the shower mist, as if El David walked in naked and I am
drooling at the view.  Forget about saying a prayer, it isn’t Forever I desire,
it’s not even sleeping on the left side of the bed. It’s the sun glowing 
on my back, my midnight train to Istanbul.  Why the skeletons on my
 shoulders?  Because tonight, I’m not the only one that’s lonely.

Ready for the Razor




Ready for the Razor
“Suffering is one very long moment.
We cannot divide it by seasons…”
Oscar Wilde: De Profundis



Have you seen Douglas walk
with giants wearing green carnations,
shimmering within liquid space
where mockingbirds dare not sing,
haunted by the brave with a razor
in the middle of the pageant of the stars?

Lips never stop complaining, intolerant
they see our shadows marching hand in hand
and forget the dew at first light.   From dusk to a leaning
dawn, we rest between each other’s thighs,
season to season.

What is the verb I’m missing;
down on my knees, chained, forced labor?
Iron has never been that comfortable,
or regret that significant.

The devil





The devil


is not without her charm,
her little abuses.
It’s the heat. 
It’s living in Arizona.
It’s because she’s got everybody there on a short leash.
It’s that she’s cheap
and cheap is too difficult
for her to really be creative.

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San Juan, Puerto Rico, Puerto Rico
Sergio A. Ortiz is a Puerto Rican poet and the founding editor of Undertow Tanka Review. He is a two-time Pushcart nominee, a four-time Best of the Web nominee, and 2016 Best of the Net nominee. 2nd place in the 2016 Ramón Ataz annual poetry competition, sponsored by Alaire Publishing House. He is currently working on his first full-length collection of poems, Elephant Graveyard. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Sergio A. Ortiz es poeta puertorriqueño que escribe en inglés y español. Actualmente trabaja en su primera colección de poesía, Elephant Graveyard, Cementerio de Elefantes. Ha sido nominado al premio Pushcart en dos ocasiones, al Best of the Web en cuatro ocasiones, y al Best of the Net, 2016. 2do lugar Premio Ramón Ataz de Poesía, 2016. Sus poemas han aparecido, o están por aparecer, en revistas literarias como: Letralía, Chachala Review, The Accentos Review, Resonancias, por mencionar algunos.

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