Saturday, May 27, 2017

All of this years, 2017 NaPoWriMon entries have been taken down!

All of this years, 2017 NaPoWriMon entries have been taken down, they have all been submitted and journals don't want to see them on a blog.

Reaching for Lips

Reaching for Lips

I'm interested in frost music,
the authenticity of dirty snow,
the impenetrable instant
when a body begins
to approach another body

when a river begins to enter another river
without undressing,
plunging into another dimension,
in a humble Arcadia of infancy

it might not even be a river,
nor a movement, nor form, but a garment 
of clothing covering the bodies
under a cherry tree with branches strangely open 

but it's not a cherry tree, it's more  
the shadow of a guardian angel.
Knees tremble when lips reach lips.

Another Virginal Silence

Another Virginal Silence

I do not believe 
in the Name of the Father.
I believe in you, who tosses 
and whisks my woods
when praying on my body.

I prefer to celebrate 
this slow euthanasia
with sweat-laden body 
and exorbitant eyes
on a meadow of radioactive stars,
beheaded mallards on my lap.

You dreamed the schism of the saints
the mystery of hermaphrodite wreckfish.
the Virgin of the dunes 
and vinegar 
for wandering antelopes.
When I see you sleep,
night perfumes herself with oranges.

Friday, May 26, 2017

Wednesday, May 24, 2017

My serenity

My serenity

written on warm dishcloths,
and paper placemats
with endless drawings
of terminally ill rattles;
the false premises of marijuana
smoking hook-ups  
climbing my old suffocations.

Sometimes they twinkle
because of the deceptive reflection
and turbulence of the wild,
the useless surrender of my desire.

The wind of my anguish
chases after you with a great spell,
a recipe for all your epochs,
a total, fleeting countryside,
a cry from thirsty mouths full of supplications.

My serenity is a sad, lonely Fairy Tale,
petrified guano dispersed in the air,
columns of dead bats burning, skin grafts
from an obese man inhaling blood.

I'm going to sew you a devotional scapular
with the words, COME BACK!

Mi Serenidad

Mi Serenidad

está escrita en paños tibios,
y en manteles de papel
con interminables dibujos
de cascabeles desahuciados;
son las premisas falsas de amantes 420
trepando mis viejos asfixies.

En ocasiones centellean
pero es solo el reflejo engañoso
y turbulento del salvaje
compuesto de la entrega inútil.

El viento de mi angustia
te persigue con un gran hechizo,
una receta para todas tus épocas,
una campiña total y fugaz,
llanto be bocas sedientas

de suplicas. Pero la serenidad
es un Cuento de Hadas tristes,’
guano petrificado disperso en el aire,
columnas de murciélagos muertos
incendiados, injertos de piel
de hombre obeso inhalando sangre.

¡Te voy a coser un escapulario
con la palabra, REGRESA!

Tuesday, May 23, 2017

Dear Friends,

Dear Friends, 

I am back in the hospital with bronchial spasm. It looks like it might be my heart or it might be the consequence of bronchitis I got last month. So, please feel free to say some prayers for me, I have been a believer in the power of prayer for a very long time. It is one of those things some people call miraculous, you have to see or experience it to believe, and I have seen it and experienced it many times in my life, so I DO BELIEVE IN IT.


Poem Up at Co-ZINE with another poem to be published next month

Poem Up at Co-ZINE with another poem to be published next month.

Co-ZINE is a monthly online publication seeking to showcase LGBTQ+ and ally voices and provide diverse, vibrant and educational content to readers everywhere.

No Truce Entropy

No Truce Entropy

Our feet strung on a string
of dead bodies. We stoop

lost in the puzzle,
the sunk-eyed terror in our days.

So many rotting mirrors
on the burning plains

of the battlefield, uprooted.
Denouncing the afterglow 

of what was beautiful,
the paradox of useless power.

Purple dahlias shout obscene goodbyes
from decomposing breasts.

Sunday, May 21, 2017

Nostalgic Rainy Afternoon

Nostalgic Rainy Afternoon

I close my eyes
create an opaque image 
diminishing the light flashing 
in the void, but in so doing, 
I get lost. I scream, 
silence steals my voice,
so, I return to thought.

Wandering around like this,
between images I could never touch,
memories withering 
until my will is faint,
sitting on the corroded bench
time left me, I wait for small 
confiscated moments. The day 
we met to share old stories
no one remembers.

I paint stars in the sky
so you do not notice I am so small.
I leave a trail of footprints on the sand,
tell my stories, convince you I am true.
I place an order with the universe
so you are assured I'm still here.
On nostalgic rainy afternoons
I travel to your thoughts,
so you do not forget
all that I remember.

Friday, May 19, 2017

What is Said

What is Said

My hands, two balls of hair
trapped in the throat of a feline ghost
My fingers, covered
by your two-week beard.
I want to be a Polaroid snapshot
of a sunset. I’ll call it: selfie # 569
while I die.

You told me your girlfriend got jealous.
She does not know that friends 
can love each other
or that we tattooed death our arms,
and we gave each other stones,
and the river took our useless haiku;
that is, the filth of the city 
devoured by Godzilla.

I told you, I would paint my nails red
to hide the blood I always carry on my hands
when I touch something and it breaks,
when I miss you when I search for you 
and end up feeling alone. 
When I cry inside and rot.

Wednesday, May 17, 2017

When Alone

When Alone

Your voice, sickle echo, rebounds
off the wall. I, a thousand Argos

look at myself in your mirror skin
for a few seconds

but the slightest noise drives you away.
I see you leave through the door of the book,

the atlas ceiling, the floor board, the glass page.
You leave me without a pulse

or voice, without a face, no mask like a naked man
in the middle of the Street of Stares.

You’re the one I talk to when I forge the sun
with your footsteps.

Tuesday, May 16, 2017

Sleepwalking semblance

Sleepwalking semblance

for prenatal dolls
knocking on the door
with its nose shattered hemorrhage

Fallen from the sky semblance
Hindenburg fire
rusty shadows of the last angel

Face waiting at the language gate 
trojan horse 
night exposure of palatine judges

Resuscitating semblance
in the garden of heavenly delights
uninterrupted looting of Rome
millions of souls reduced
to tens of thousands of beggars

The face that knows
what beds are for 
will sleep forever
in its dollhouse

Sunday, May 14, 2017

the corner of sky - tanka

the corner of sky
heaven grants me
doesn't let go―
its blue devours my fear,
hugs & talks sweetly to silence

Next Best Thing

Next Best Thing

Our parents were astronauts
of two extremes.
Every vacant lot
where we used to play
started boiling over, so
we grew up (in word only)
against the prognosis
of a possible plague
of perverts arriving
to snatch us.
We were unlabeled objects
on the pavement
sculpting our silhouettes
for the trap,
babbling and babbling
until we vomited
the true value of silence.
At the end of the space race
reality always exceed fiction.

An Early End to Life

An Early End to Life

My skin, scroll written
by your trembling hands,
refulgence of your epidermis
in my skin’s blind memory.

My complexion, the crystallized
mirror of your smile
strolling through this world
devoid of trust.

What you cried, "don't hold your breath,"
is learning to ramble the earth.
What you called "love affair" is not blood
but it watered my body’s garden as if it were.

Yes, everything I own
is yours, yet I know
something closer
than myself

lives to the finish.
That makes the very life
you give me

I am the Featured Poet at Sheila-Na-Gig Online

I am the Featured Poet at 

Saturday, May 13, 2017

Friday, May 12, 2017

Between Two Bastions

Between Two Bastions

I am the guestbook pages 
hundreds  of people with a single name 
and many languages sign. 
Elegies chase after me.
I believe in the elephant, if he sings verses,
in music, when it creates itself,
in the flower of the Nile 
when it isolates its soul after death,
in the storyteller, if he takes off his shoes
before lighting the funeral pyre.

I am the earth in clusters of unknown maps.
Reason in the consciousness of unconsciousness.
The smell of fingers in the knitted shawl.
The pencil in its paperless orphanage.

I am the fire-eater on death’s mount.
The dancer in the open-air festivals 
of murderous sheikhs who renounce 
their right to my alms.

I am the book of doubt in the Word.
The temple walls with drawings 
of a thousand scenes of passion.
The tired god as he walks the streets
carrying the secrets spiders 
already revealed.

Wednesday, May 10, 2017

There was crime

There was crime 

in your eyes,
piercing truths gallop
in the air like absolute nonsense.

Your absence, a precise trauma.
There were litanies, erased,

deleted invocations, maps 
of ashstorms 

that still hurt my lungs.
Patience was happy with impatience.

You tried the calm, 
but committed the crime,

in your eyes, your pupils.
You don’t need to explain.

an old adios
never forgotten.

Monday, May 08, 2017

I love to hate

I love to hate

disjointed Nations,
the hatred of two hundred 
and seventeen thousand years
under the harmful influence
of cloistered gods.
I hate sugarbirds of ice,
hay, and alum.
I love to hate a bloody face
with immense
to the abyss.
The hatred of broken economies
of expansionist countries
on millions of naked people
treated like beasts.
Nations who adopt
the simple hate weapons
of crime and sleep over,
who drink the starving pottage
of the hottest
of the day.

Two Poems Up at Compose/ A Journal of Simply Good Writing

Poems Up and HEart Online Journal

This is special because my two poems are in 3MP format. 

Sunday, May 07, 2017

monster - tanka

lovely-haired creature 
devours my verses ...
born too soon vermin 
bellowing to God

Last Truth - for the US Congress on repealing ObamaCare

Last Truth 
for the US Congress

The wind moans
among dry grasslands.

Monster, lovely-haired creature
devouring my flesh.

Born too soon vermin
bellowing to God.

A specter rises, heavy
with loneliness, probing the past.

Paper castles,
deadly derechos, 

you will glow in the dark.

Saturday, May 06, 2017

Poem up at "Impossible Archetype"

*82 Review just accepted on of my poems

*82 Review (Star 82 Review) just accepted on of my poems. I'll let you all know when they go up!

Sitting on my Corpse

Sitting on my Corpse

I'm picking up
the pieces of my life,

disabled, winged
in agony,

the latent bottom
of my illness.

Bodies like mine


flesh and bones
already ancient.

Ode # 20

Ode # 20

I am not poking fun
at you Don Pablo, it's respect
disguised as laughter, but I cannot
stand it. I do not allow such forms
of humiliation, such an offense:
to write verses to an onion
and all the while, do it right.

On the other hand, I am so new
at this trade, I cannot thread
together more than three beautiful
lines to the man I love using qualifiers
you so skillfully waste
on elephants, artichokes, dogs,
salt-roses and onions.

Damn you, Neruda,
for using those expressions
and leaving them useless.

Friday, May 05, 2017



A body wants to be sea
and choose
shades of turquoise, of tempest,
of calm. A body wants to be tree,
have branches inhabited,
roots feed off the ground,
                               and decide
modes of density, leaf shapes,
ways to burn.

How to explain
                  this era of polluted seas
spitting dust, smoke, ashes
a peck of salt.

How to explain
acres of burned
stumps, droughts,
the collapse

of a drifting horizon.

Wednesday, May 03, 2017

Tropical Rain

Tropical Rain

Day purge, night cleansing,
tropical rains open

bodies to hundreds of eyes.
Bodies overcome by light

withdrawn from murderess skin,
devour waves of sunshine.

Reinvent ablaze amaryllis
flowers floating on static waters.

Bodies, rainwater, adrift
on a silent surf.

Tuesday, May 02, 2017

Five poems accepted - poems I wrote for the NaPoWriMon!!!

Five poems accepted for the Prophisizers reading series. It is part of the Brooklyn Waterfront Coalition. It is doing a series related to Bob Dylan's song. Curated by John Istel.

Sunday, April 30, 2017

in that region -- tanka

in that region 
where forgetfulness lives,
gardens without auroras--
me, buried among 
nettles of insomnia

Thursday, April 27, 2017

Blood & Bourbon - Spring 2017 where I have a poem will be available for a free download at iTunes

Blood & Bourbon - Spring 2017 - where I have a poem will be available for a free download at iTunes. I will let you know as soon as it's available, this is a print journal.

Poem Up at Hinchas de Poesia !!!

Wednesday, April 26, 2017

Just got my hard-copy issue of SMEUSE where my poem

Just got my hard-copy issue of SMEUSE  where my poem, We, the poets of the Waka tradition, appears. SMEUSE is based in the UK. 

Anarquías - Para los ESTUDIANTES Y SINDICATOS en Huelga en contra de LA JUNTA Y RIVERA Schatz


El pasado ardía.
Yo, dominio fértil, heroico, tentativo

e inmenso, pronunciaba mi adiós
al ensueño. Estos días, el paraíso

para ladrones y viajeros embrujados.
Lo nuevo, criatura de la magia.

Tuvimos que inventar las secuencias,
otro templo, dudas convincentes.

Manejar el mundo requería consuelo
pues ellos buscában el perdón.

Esta novedad tenía la estructura
de un letrero desgarrador.

Nos pusimos de pie, luchamos,
engañamos sin lograr nada. 

Desaparecimos escoltados 
por el pasado 
vestido de azul.

Sunday, April 23, 2017

Thursday, April 20, 2017

Wednesday, April 19, 2017

Two poems up at Emerge Magazine Issue 1

Two poems up at Emerge Magazine, Porn and Airports. I love these two poems of mine.

Wednesday, April 12, 2017



Terrified. A cloud
sleeps alone in the sky.

I look at the bottom of my glass,
search for what is to transpire,

& what will not befall.
A tall, blond, green-eyed man

white as my cloud,
without an appointment

shows up, wakes me
from the dream.

Tuesday, April 04, 2017

The Voice 2017 Knockout - Chris Blue: "Superstition"

Chris has lent his “Blue Ribbon” vocals to Erick Baker Grand Torino, Fred Hammond, Kirk Franklin, and his own group, the Blue Brothers. Nationally, appearing on B.E.T., or locally, winning the 2015 Voice-Off Knoxville competition, Chris shares every ounce of his talent with his audience. You've got to be really talented to sing a Steve Wonder's song like "Superstition," and brave! 

Saturday, April 01, 2017

The Weeknd - I Feel It Coming ft. Daft Punk

Abel Makkonen Tesfaye, known professionally as The Weeknd, is a Canadian singer, songwriter and record producer. In late 2010, Tesfaye anonymously uploaded several songs to YouTube under the name "The Weeknd." This guy is one of the most talented singer/songwriters around!

Selena Gomez - Only You (Audio)

Selena Marie Gomez is an American actress and singer. Having appeared as a child in the children's television series Barney & Friends, Gomez rose to fame as the leading role in the Disney Channel series Wizards of Waverly Place. This chicana girl has a gifted voice!

Calvin Harris - This Is What You Came For (Official Video) ft. Rihanna

Born Robyn Rihanna Fenty, on February 20, 1988, in Barbados,Rihanna signed with Def Jam records at age 16 and in 2005 released her first album Music of the Sun, which sold more than two million copies worldwide. This Caribbean beauty is extremely talented.



Sitting on a terrace chair
the breeze moves ornaments
that clash
with his clean nails
and restless legs.

The cigar
creates anticipation
of another nude,
but the scene lengthens
music drips
and his eyes are
abyssed sunsets.

There is a certain
(his robe, a bird print)
in his presence.

Friday, March 31, 2017

Bare Embers

Bare Embers

You, naked
stretch out on my skin
like a hill bitten by the sun.
The fruit slips, grows, swells,
it's burning. At six in the mirror
you enter me
as the most expectant guest,
simple as a river of light.
You cover me with your man skin.

You, the tongue that runs through my veins
to silence me. You take my eyes off
painfully and give me two other arms
with which to weigh your inner thighs.
Your mouth drizzles on my back.
You scratch my back and write your name.
You talk to me with your bones.
My moan,
the longest sound you’ll hear tonight.

When we are alone, still naked,
when everything is over,

it hails.
The air has just discovered us.

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About Me

My photo
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.