Thursday, February 28, 2013

A found tanka poem


A found tanka poem


rough seas
when it seemed the Lord
was sleeping…*

a dissident nun hiding
under the cover of rapture*

___________________________

*A found tanka poem:  Pope Benedict bidding an emotional farewell at his last general audience

* Unholy Women BY chris abani

Wednesday, February 27, 2013

Haiku


Indian summer
clouds chase clouds
through the puddles

cicadas
the imprint of things
already gone

skinny dipping
on an abandoned beach…
the moon’s gaze

frozen in its tracks
a hunted deer blends
with the frost

hungry
…a magician
in her kitchen


the call
of a cuckoo
my body grows old

one point on the horizon she never reaches moon calendar

tanka a el gobernador de Puerto Rico


hablan los temores
como ríos que cruzan el mar
mis vestimentas
te saludan como desiertos
que huelen a llaga

llaga que huele
al naufragio de mi cansancio
al pasto resucitado
entre las llanuras de un pueblo
que no ha llorado a sus muertos


hablo desde el temor
de un aeropuerto sucio, vandalizado
por la madrugada
de un acuerdo que se ríe
del verdor de nuestras montañas  

Tuesday, February 26, 2013

Tanka


if a rainbow
knew loneliness and fear
could it be a rainbow,
am I just another faggot
drifting toward the edge

tanka


why share you?
I spring forth from the ecstasy
of being a lily
and become a legend while you hide
in the bosom of another

tanka


the end of questions…
you try to run your hand
over my face 
but you’re fattened with betrayal
wavering among the bamboo

tanka


I live on an island 
stained with dry blood… 
a man-moth 
filled with battered moonlight 
cutting through palmettos

Saturday, February 23, 2013

tanka


you grasp my hand
steer it to a place
beyond maps…
I am scared by the shock of arrival
the raw landscape 

tanka


I am the map
of a wet dreary town…
we exchange secrets
in whispers
lilies bend beneath our bodies

tanka


I am what is left
of his life
the black map
describing his voyage,
of deep descent into himself

Friday, February 22, 2013

tanka


my hair
scratches his dreams…
among the ribbons
a tongue bitten
by the language of assault 

haiku


my body grows old
the call
of a lonely cuckoo

Haiku


hungry
…a magician
in her kitchen

Thursday, February 21, 2013

Tanka


  if my life were a map
  it would be one of a man
  in the snow…
  picking mushrooms
  at the edge of dread

Wednesday, February 20, 2013

Tanka


there's not a single wind
that doesn’t know my shadow...
dead butterflies
     overpower the dawn light
on my eyelids


haiku


skinny dipping
on an abandoned beach…
under the moon’s gaze

Monday, February 18, 2013

haiku



pizza...
I can’t resist 
a third slice

Saturday, February 16, 2013

Tanka


I pray I won’t die
alone in some dark corner
of a hospital ward—
singing an opus
of horseshit and pearls

Thursday, February 14, 2013

tanka


I've been wondering:
Do things happen
when you drink too much.
Or is it just me
and my twisted fishnet imagination.

Tuesday, February 12, 2013

December Lights


December Lights


Back then, under a cold
December sun, you’d arrived naked. 
I’d ask for permission
so you could to stay under
my shadow.

You’d close your eyes
and open your skin,

to walk me through brief appearances
of galaxies, infinite transit of heartbeats, death
strolling down our legs.

Friday, February 08, 2013

Tanka


sparrows peeped
as I walked to the drugstore…
searching for the day
when nothing remains
but a quivering mayfly

Wednesday, February 06, 2013

http://www.poetserv.org/SRR36/ortiz.html

Published in Salt River Review

Sergio Ortiz
Topography


this is my story
and place of birth

a wheelchair
a body wrapped in a sack

a childhood jerked around
like an unwarranted curse

and the stubborn useless desire
for a pair of tailored hands

climbing up my thighs



 
Timeless


You, in my gravest hour,
perfumed with silence—what images

caused your fruit to fall?
 You left me shooting
cannonballs
at non-existent stars.

Nothing ever removed the water
you gradually painted on my lips,

no theatres, nightclubs, tuxedos.
Not even jetliners
or churches.

http://www.thiszine.org/poetry/good-morning-gulliver

Published in THIS LITERARY MAGAZINE

Good Morning Gulliver
by Sergio Ortiz

Welcome to my day Gulliver, the dogma of “no strings attached” embellish my
fingers and toes.  Welcome to the nausea tranquilized by the calla’s bribe
allowing the animal beneath the skin to sleep.  Welcome to my Mapplethorpe’s
finger fuck, three dimensional and stepping-off what’s left of hair, lips,
eyes with all of its deleterious offspring fastening a rope around my neck
to asphyxiate the desire to hate or love.  Welcome to the libretto of my aging
crevices touching and melting no one.
http://shamrockhaiku.webs.com/currentissue.htm

Published in the current issue of Shamrock Haiku

last summer day –
her parasol blackens 
the rose

-- Sergio Ortiz (Puerto Rico)

Saturday, February 02, 2013

tanka


listen to me,
seagulls that cry
like a great sad wheel,
the day mother died
I rode a horse for hours

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About Me

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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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