Sunday, April 23, 2017

Fever - NaPoWriMon 2017 entry !!!


A boy buries his hand
in his fever and pulls out stars
from his pocket.
Nobody sees it, I see
a child with a fever,
eyes closed and trembling
animals adrift
in his sky. Did he extract
sorrow from his soul?
A soul sunk in its own ashes?
He walks down the street
with his hand in his pocket
loosing fevers nobody sees.
He stares at an ox pulling the sun,
bones of the seas scrambled
in his heart. His letters
have fever, stars cast to heaven,
goodness set out to dry in the sun.
Death is death, my son,
and nothing more than that.

Daybreak - NaPoWriMon 2017 entry!!!


celebrates with hats
and open windows.
Terror flies off the cycle.

Mountaintops throw birds
in each other's faces.
Hope dawns in Airports, 

under the vault, 
shedding light of so 
many centuries.

Love and patience,
central columns.
We rub our hands

and laugh. We wash
our eyes and play.

Saturday, April 22, 2017

Gypsy Map - NaPoWriMon 2017 entry! Just 8 more days to go and I will take all these poems down to submit

Gypsy Map

Yes, my life a map
tracing rivers and prairies

with the poems of Lorca.
A life feeding off the night songs

of gypsies.
I'd own a large house

inhabited by five sisters,
a blood moon illuminating

the patio, streets loaded with wars
I prefer to forget.

The days of my life
made of flamenco and duende,

cartography without rusty guns
to my head.

Friday, April 21, 2017

Bebop - NaPoWriMon 2017 entry !!!


A sinister, crouching madness
found Charlie Bird Parker in a haunted well,

small miseries crushing his bones.
Madness like armies of the implacable

Corsicans followed him, hung
on the gallows of his solitary days.


the powerful high notes of his chords.
Did he want to correct the very hard opacity

of the world, or was it the long waiting
line at the gates of death?

Thursday, April 20, 2017

Poem Up at SLAM CHOP and Farrago Quarterly

Poem Up at SLAM CHOP!!!
Farrago Quarterly



Remedios Varo

I chose to be sea - NaPoWriMon entry 2017!!!

I chose to be sea

rather than rock. Be driven by wind,
without fear of succumbing
before the dark vertigo of cliffs.
Because after the fall,
I know the strength with which
my angry waves rise
and the whirlpools they form.

I know the soft foam that results from a burst
―thirsty lips fade when kissing your shores.
I hold in my chest fierce beasts
and witness love's embrace
with the swing of my music.

I'll bury corpses and dreams,
it will be worth this infinity of contradictions.
I know you will find me one day.
You'll ask the starlight to sail in the nights
and brave as Ulysses, face all the storms
to lead me to the shore where my crystalline body
dances for you on warm sands.
Your feet embrace my ephemeral caresses
with the desire to contain yourself
or return to my waters.  A sailor ashore
is a man lost to life.

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.

Carthamus - NaPoWriMon entry 2017 !!!


Me, with a deep pigeon look on my face
―of tunnel and sentimental car,
with the sighs of an acrobat.
My blind father's ahands
were more admirable than night.
I love the night hat of day,
the day after night.

My mother spoke like the aurora
and zeppelins that are going to fall.
She wore flag-coloured hair
and eyes full of distant astonishment

One afternoon, I picked up my parachute
and said, Bbetween the moon and two sandpipers.
Eternal rest approached like the earth falls on the globe.
My mother embroidered tears on the first rainbows.
Now my parachute falls from dream to dream
through the spaces of death.

I found an unknown bird
that said to me: If I were a dromedary
I would not be thirsty. What time is it?
He drank the drops of dew from my hair,
threw me three and a half stares,
and walked away a, Goodbye.

Tuesday, April 18, 2017

Just Because NaPoWriMon 2017 entry !

Just Because

Today I’m going to bed early. 
Sleep little, 
until 6,
no stars, 
no clowns,
no mirrors, 
no brushing my teeth,
with all my clothes on,
my sneakers 
muddying the bed sheet,
just because,
I feel like it,
I’m done with
this cold
and the needles,
the drips,
the food,
but most of all
the fucking 

Monday, April 17, 2017

The Day I Die - NaPoWriMon 2017 entry !

The Day I Die

Everything here is silence ...
The church bells, hushed.                                     

I can’t hear my mother calling us to dinner.
That rumor of doors which announced

your entry is mum.
Cicadas won’t come to wake me,

nor will the cold force me to your arms.
Here, where my lifeless body lies,

I miss the awful noise of the clock.
I understand the cries which bring

the best news of the day, I'm not
under the morning sun with pregnant eyes.

I won't give cheers to the passing hours.
My heart no longer beats on that side of time.

Sunday, April 16, 2017

Miserable Paths - NaPoWriMon 2017 entry ! ! !

Miserable Paths

Duplicate distances
brim with patchwork,

twin days melt
at the crack of dawn,

dangling hanged instants,
broken lies in open spaces,

latent death injuries,
sores that moan, spill and decant

all at the same time, 
swirls of fire

and a sea of tongues
open my chest.

Saturday, April 15, 2017

From the Wall in the Hood - NaPoWriMon 2017 entry!

From the Wall in the Hood

I know other versifiers
dress like bards
Get lost in the offices ‘
of silence. Manage banks
of brilliance.
Calculate the balances
of fixed income funds
with essentias.
They are torches of kings
as well as gods, or tongues
from hell. They have soul,
or so they say.
But I settle for you
along with a conscious.

Friday, April 14, 2017

Brokenhearted - NaPoWriMon 2017!


When did this happen?
My angel only has one wing.
He’s been landloping
around soft corners as gently
as possible, he’s injured.

Guardian, take me
somewhere safe.
No wonder I’ve clouded
the mirror so many times
with my tears. Take me,
or let us be divergent together.

Believe me, longing
for a new tomorrow
is so cruel. And the land
of shadows is much
more spacious.

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 11, 2017

You Ruin Desire - NaPoWriMon 2017 entry !

You Ruin Desire

We'll eat pizza,
sleep on the banks of lust.

Won't look at my horoscope.
We'll bike to Infinity.

Walk on water.
Draw hearts in the sand,

recite my poems.
Cry & laugh at the sunset.
What do you say?

Of course, right after
I buy a hibachi at Costco.

Monday, April 10, 2017

At Lúpulo's Tavern - NaPoWriMon 2017 entry ! ! !

At Lúpulo's Tavern

Soft jazz, whispers, hugs, kisses,
promises and fingers intertwined.
Me, a young man afraid of the dark.
You, rattled by light. You dragged me
to the back corner, between twilight and twilight.
A waiter arrives, I ask for a hot chocolate,
you order red wine, take off your coat,
put it on the armchair. I lay my hand
on trembling places. Lights lower.
Roof rises. Chair collapses.
The coat falls, the chocolate, the wine.
Outside, the rain. Tourists. Suitcases.
The smell of Burger King ....

A poster advertising Cialis.

Sunday, April 09, 2017

When the dead talk about sex - NaPoWriMon 2017 ! ! !

When the dead talk about sex

trees resurrect from their flesh.
They're storytellers of clandestine love,
barbs of rivers that penetrate,
and those delivered to the sea.
They meander desires,
pantheons smell of cum.
They evaporate the kisses
in the humidity of coffee plantations,
in canyons, and banana fields.
The dead talk about sex
and invent new caresses
on the altars of the dead,
offer flower collars in memoriam
of the pleasures of the phallus.

The dead refuse to die abandoned.

Saturday, April 08, 2017

Paradise Now - NaPoWriMon 2017!

Angels ― all in navy blue ―row with joy. A boy undresses as if nothing in front of the men who talk in the park under the shade of the myrtle trees. Sailboats in the marina, children in schoolyards, gardens and play areas dazzling with their colors. Paradise is like this. But who inhabits it, who dares to walk in its narrow paths, who thinks he guesses silhouettes in the haze which rises from the surface of the lake? The question, deceptively long as it divides into smaller stories, inside the galleries of an extensive cavern. Paradise, an indefinite question, Milton told Lucifer that hell was where he was. Paradise can be here or there, even,

perhaps, a little closer. But who inhabits it, who dares to fill out the form, pay the policy, leave everything, close the door, say goodbye, and cross the threshold? Some say that event is never given, that there is no propitious occasion for such a decision. To inhabit paradise encloses long and melancholy consequences, attitudes not always positive or encouraging. Dante returned to earth, but without Beatrice, and just at that moment the Comedy ends, the New Life is a strange allegory, since it was written before going to paradise. It leads me

to think, which was not clear when I started writing this, they may be survivors, that what we call reality, everyday life endures as a long wake, a long morning, a meadow that seems to have no end where veterans, experienced men and women live, angels ―without any doubt― that for very different reasons, were expelled out of paradise, but no one dares confess it.

There are no steps or instructions, no verses or pictures opening their doors, no policies or willful acts that lead us to into paradise. Only accidents, everyday life, day after day which suddenly breaks or derails its own time and space where there may or may not be gardens, birds, caves, boys of extraordinary beauty who undress in the most unexpected places. 

Friday, April 07, 2017

Hammocks for Hobos

Hammocks for Hobos

Build the sunrise,
go from one side to the other
like eternal oscillating strangers.
Wandering from bed to bed.
Airports, exceptional tickets
to → the scenery.
Adventures expire every third day.
The guy in room 1411 consumes dreams.
No matter how much a dragonfly flies
it never becomes a bird.
Tourist are just nostalgia.

Thursday, April 06, 2017

The desirous believe - NoPoWriMon entry!

The desirous believe

(poor beasts of hope)
that someday a man will find
a drink made of a thousand bodies without borders
and sea stupor between the thighs.
They think someday saliva men
will exhibit their luminescent tongues,
open at last everyone's eyes
and be pure meat.

Long, wide, dazzling man,
caressing eyes,
refuge in a fire without end.
Then man will not be able to move.
His flesh long and wide,
desire satisfied.
He'll lose his eyes
and it will never be a reflection 
of insanity again.

Wednesday, April 05, 2017

There were windy streets - NaPoWriMon 2017 entry!!!

white helmets in Syria 

There were windy streets

and cold suns on my skin,
his wounds still shiver inside me,
and days that came from death
to cast his face in every hour,
a soldier lost in the ice of his Gulag,

who forgot the why and where
of survival. Eyes seek the slipstream
of trains rumbling to the void.
Birds bequeathed their footprints
on his snowy back.

My eyes have not seen him,
the memory of streets that come
from night and run parallel to death.
I, the exhausted soldier,
the residue of undefeated battles.

*for the children murdered with chemical weapons in Syria

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! 

Monday, April 03, 2017

Dwelling - NaPoWriMo 2017 entry!


It continues to snow dust.
The sun comes out of the closet.
Jays enter under the door
jumping over a line of air.
The walls are flooded with salt.
The lightbulb swells, moans.
The bed’s in an earthquake.
A simultaneous scream 
splits the silence.

I'm wet April,
April full of screams 
and silences.
Today is the twentieth.
A holiday. I'm buried
with the flowers inside.

Sunday, April 02, 2017

Don't ask Don't tell - NaPoWriMo 2017 entry!

Don't ask Don't tell

could have worked
if you had a washer and dryer
at home, and you didn't
need to explain
to the Lady in Chief
at the laundromat
on Domenech Avenue
how your girlfriend was doing,
the one you brought to the apartment
with two kids, and another soldier.
The one you call your wife.

The Lady in Chief
who already believes
she's enemy forces
starts laughing.
She's sure she can siege la plaza.
Asks: Sure, but are those your kids?

That's when you want to pull out
of desert storms. Your stomach,
hurricane Berta, stirs up the heat.
At ease soldier,
is what you want to yell,
but self-love doesn't let you.

That's when the combat
halts, another army stops
the crossfire. Both troops
head for their quarters.
Ceasefire, eyes
on the televised broadcast.
Comments postponed,

the TV soup
is about to begin.

Ambiguous - NaPoWriMo 2017 entry!


We agreed to move to the rhythm
of this ambiguity, to speak
without mentioning names.

At the risk of being wrong
we arranged to play this perfidious game
of rubbing garments and furtive glances.
We engaged in suspicious correspondence.

Someone should have warned us
that this game was unhealthy
- but how, if it was ours alone?

Forgive me, now, alone
with the kaleidoscope of your words
decoding each of the figures before my eyes,
all hidden denotation they entailed, revealed,
I do not want to be near this skin message,
your hot and throbbing body.

Let me ask for your forgiveness.
If I did not respond, if I kept dancing,
pouring soft lust as you turned,
if I did not dare to acknowledge your call,
it was out of fear and pride.

Tonight, I stop the dance,
lower my exhausted arms, advance
towards you, despite this suffocating fear,
the doubts oppressing my waist,
to give you a gift,
raise my eyes
to you.

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.

Airports - It's NaPoWriMo 2017! This year I am posting my NaPoWriMo poems in The Waters workshop


They’re always far away, wanting to take off
or in the middle of a flight to 
I do not know what night.
Perhaps escaping the fear of the wanderer
the waiting leaves them suspended 
on a pew in the clouds.
I search the map of my life in my flight log,
but airports are far
with the winds, the moon.

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.

Thursday, March 30, 2017

When the World Reached a Different Age

When the World Reached a Different Age

I pin my astonishment to his lips.
His black elephant eyes bleeding.

I save the light from under his hair.
Sun. Shadows in his eyelashes

bandy like grapes of a winepress.
I rebuilt the fever, and sunset flutters

in his socks. Him, medium in years,
thirty-seven. I tumble off his neck

when under the briefs
two fragile ships begin to submit.

Wednesday, March 29, 2017

From the Window

From the Window

There goes the drunken moon
on its way home.

I drink the night like a body
fallen to the cement of solitude.
The rats of the garden 
warm, shelter, and comfort
me with chewed kisses.

Dawn smells
like the bodies consumed
by the waters that fell
into the landfills
of who I use to be.

I do not know if I am or not
who wants the new night
the New Year
this age-old time to end,
and every yesterday turned into a song
warming my night.

Sunday, March 26, 2017



tal vez la última mentira
que escondo bajo la luna blanca de mis uñas.

Otro, tal vez el único recuerdo perdido
del eco sigiloso en voz de hombre seducido.

Otra, no está vida,
camina mareada 

en el desvelo 
de tu piel.



No dormiré.
Me acostaré inmóvil
hasta que llegue el alba.

Mis pupilas esconden
todo lo desechado.

Tiraré mis piernas al mar
para ver cómo me hundo.

Cuando abra mis ojos comprenderás
que estoy tuerto de sol y luna.

Así soy yo de sangre fría.
He pervertido hasta tu desprecio.



Llegué por aire
desde el gris de la memoria,
a los pinos más hermosos
que continúan pintando
la sal de mis perladas nubes isleñas.

No dejo de inhalar tus fragancias,
Catedral donde cante villancicos

en francés. Brisas soplan alegres,
acogidas a manos inocentes.

Despunta el revuelo
de las aves marcando el alba
y el crepúsculo
con su trova.

Allí aprendí que el sol cristaliza
la memoria. Luna bruja, hechizaste
mi vasija rota.

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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.