Thursday, April 29, 2010

NaPoWriMo April 28, 2010 - Picture -© Sergio A. Ortiz, April 29, 2010

On Their Eightieth Birthday
dedicated to the Governor of Arizona

The poem has been accepted for publication.  I will put it back up after it gets published.

©  Sergio A. Ortiz, April 29, 2010

Cancion Para Un Niño En La Calle ..Mercedes Sosa-Calle 13

Residente Calle 13 - Papi te hago promo y to'es jaja

Queridos amigos, (Dear friends)  

Quiero invitarlos a que escuchen a Calle 13 - Musica urbana from de Island of Porto Rico, BORICUA!!!!   Allow me to turn you on to Puerto Rican Urban music-  RESIDENTE CALLE 13


Calle 13 Ft. Ruben Blades- La Perla (Official Video) [HD]

Wednesday, April 28, 2010

NaPoWriMo April 28, 2010

On My Own

Will there be a change
in your voice next winter? 

—I prefer to shelter it with rum,
walk through the monkey-puzzles
in the Andes.  Their leaves are as thick
and tough as my hands, scale-like
with sharp edges, heaving like my heart. 
The winds coming from the Pacific
fan out my reptilian branches.  Black-faced
Ibis fly overhead.  At least I know
they will return next spring.

©  Sergio A. Ortiz, April 28, 2010

Marvin Gaye "What's Going On / What's Happening Brother"

Canto a Lorca

Tuesday, April 27, 2010

NaPoWriMo Monday April, 27 2010: Picture © Sergio A. Ortiz April 27, 2010

Dead Cats and Poisoned Frogs

The feverish python made you shrink
like all the other little Hamlet's
Cerberus bribes: Business men
in silk ties, boogieing Isadora’s
whose scarves tangle when they
trundle around the globe
choking on meth-amphetamines.
They grease the bodies of social
security millionaires
in the back of warehouses.

You bring me Mariachis,
or Japanese paper moons
on my birthdays, but I am a virgin
attended by banana breads,
and an old withered Madeleine.

Money is the sperm fluid
dead cats and frogs take
to your bed—your breakfast,
along with freshly cut roses
imported from Iran while you listen
to drums announce the countdown
for yet another electoral confrontation.

Monday, April 26, 2010

Sunday, April 25, 2010

NaPoWriMo Sunday April 25, 2010: Picture © Sergio A. Ortiz April 25, 2010

The Rival

taken down for publication

©  Sergio A. Ortiz April 25, 2010

Saturday, April 24, 2010

The Protest the cutting of trees in Old San JU

By Sergio A. Ortiz

Dear Friend,

        I went to this protest thinking it was going to be a community protest of no great consequence. I had no idea of the seriousness of the problem in Old San Juan, a city that is hundreds of years old. Four days ago, I walked through this very site and took photographs of this garden on the side of La Casa Rosa. That photograph is in an album at Facebook. Yesterday, this was all that was left of that garden. To make things worse I walked by a couple cats that had been poisoned. 

        Some of you may already be wondering who to hold responsible for this atrocious act of stupidity and brutality, in Spanish we call it a "BURRADA". Well I have been informed that the donkeys on which to pin the tail for this criminal act are the First Lady of Puerto Rico and her friend, the First Lady of the city of San Juan. A city that is hundreds of years old and that has been the victom of donkey-monkey behavior in the past by our government. There is a Soap on our TV right now that describes our government's longstanding affections to this picturesque kind of mentality: Un Perro Amor. I wrote a poem entitled “Un Perro Amor,” it dealt with the same kind of unconscientiously idiotic behavior.

        The organizers of the event did a spectacular job, but I noticed there was no Puerto Rican media present. That got me wondering, but there were about 7 state police officers. Why, why does something so barbaric have to happen on an island already full of violence, and senseless criminality? This was not the kind of protest that could end up in a scuffle, there was no need for the state police to be present; even though we were close the governor’s residence. 

     When heard these two stilts artist ask a little girl who was responsible for the cutting of the trees, she answered in our very typical expressive way, a way that denotes a certain kind of respect while still belittling the person which is being pointed out. She puffed up her lips and with a movement of her head she signaled the governor’s mansion.

But the problem is greater than just cutting down trees. To date over 30 cats have been poisoned, it is so upsetting to think that the First Lady of our country is behind a criminal act of this nature. But live and learn, sure enough, she is. A poet I met not long ago, the person to invite me to the event, tried to explain the sociological motivations for this kind of a violent crime. She said that we need to take a closer look at the history of violence, specially during difficult economic times. People in government become fearful and they end up cutting down anything and everything that could obstruct the view, anything behind which a sniper could hide. I thought she was insane, or at the very least a nature fanatic. Then I remembered that I had recently written a poem about the very same thing, the title is “Platforms.” I wrote it thinking about how the Mayans drove away the Spaniards from their empire in the Yucatan. It will be published this summer.  But I am going to post it again for you to read here:

plataformas de lanzamientos

entre el odio y la guirnalda
vive un lobo esperantista/
entre el cacto y la dulzaina
existe rudeza de viento/
entre el borracho y la brújula
se emite el hedor que colma las distancias/
entre el pergamino y el volcán
surgen borrones de luz/
entre la zarzuela y los mayas
yacen institutrices neuróticas/
 poetes maudits /
entre la adivina y el granizo
se esconden riachuelos
y francotiradores.

launching platforms
between hatred and garland
their… lives the esperantist wolf
between a cactus and a lute
there’s roughness of wind
between a drunk and a compass
emanates the stench that fills distances
between parchment and volcano
smudges of light arise
between a Zarzuela and a Mayan
lie neurotic governesses,
poetes maudits
between fortune-teller and hail
there are hidden brooks and snipers

When you walk through Old San Juan you will see hundreds of mutilated trees.  The strategy is to gradually mutilate them until they finally die and once that happens a crew of workers from the city show up after midnight or shortly before dawn and bulldoze what is left of the tree.  Now, I am sure the office of the First Lady, or even the governor’s office is going to want to provide evidence that this is not a strategy, that is only due to the fact that the walled city is already facing a traffic problem during the day and that bulldozers would only heighten that problem.  Russia had all sorts of excuses to pick up the people they considered to be a threat any kind of government control.  Let’s not be naïve about these power issues.

This is the frog that is also being poisoned.  It is on the endangered list.  If anything, to poison an animal like this, for an intelligent and powerful public figure to poison an animal like this is a moral crime, let alone a criminal act.

Thursday, April 22, 2010

NaPoWriMo Thursday April 22, 2010

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Postcard to Willie Perdomo April 22nd 2010

Willie, papi,
Sorry I missed you at my alma mater
But judging from the way you’ve cut the amapolas
And all those barrio pitchers and jungle leopards
You write about, I thought it would be best if I waited
For the right milky constellation 
To appear before we actually met. 

So much has gone down in these two years. 
I still don’t see men like me in your poems,
But if the barrio is anything like the island
I know I’m in there somewhere.

By the way, listen to this: 
You didn’t just toe me an inch, no
Nor leave me to set my small bald eye
Skyward again, without hope

Negro, you should know better than to take me
Seriously, it’s all Klonopin
And lithium, gang rapes and LSD.

Promise you’ll read my manuscript.
It won’t disappoint you, or the guys in the barrio.

tuyo por el resto de esta fucking vida

©  Sergio A. Ortiz April 22nd, 2010

Men At Work - Who Can It Be Now (1981)

Wednesday, April 21, 2010

NaPoWriMo Wednesday, April 21st, 2010/ Picture © Sergio A. Ortiz, April 2010

To the Crying Venusians

dedicated to Ashley Santiago and Steven López Mercad
both brutally murdered trans-gender people
living in Puerto Rico

My skin shrieks,
a cave dweller notified
of yet another death,

filaments by which the eagerness 
of penguins annihilate
memories of dwindling
oceanic twilight. 

I did not want to leave
a trail for redheaded dragons
with fiery tongues to terrify

empty lighthouses,
meadows and the jingles
of readers on my day
of resurrection.

Queen Lazarus unwraps
my feet with the grace
of a deer tutoring my hands
in the art of dying.

Daddy, daddy, daddy
my knees are skin and bone.

I wear a pink triangle
and numbers tattooed
around my ankles.

©  Sergio A. Ortiz, April 21, 2010

Monday, April 19, 2010

NaPoWriMo Tuesday, April 19th: Picture © Sergio A. Ortiz

The Illusion

You punish me to provide
a spectacle of excess—tamp

my testicles with affirmations
of your power. Your mannequins blow

and breathe urgency like naked
bald-hydras morgue

between Santiago and Lima
where desert sands are voiceless.

What is different between us
is the intensity of our attraction.

Oh, how many nooses
I've stretch around the necks of gigolos

at cul-de-sac social clubs
where cellos moan

and mouths wilt as I listen
to tangos and pick up sugar

dropped on the table
trying to ignore the blood

on my recently buffed shoes.

©  Sergio A. Ortiz, April 19, 2010

National Cemetary- Picture © Sergio A. Ortiz

Sunday, April 18, 2010

Poems recently published in Letralia, a Venezuelan Literary Journal,


cuando el otoño no se acuerda su nombre
el timbre tiene que cambiar
y así se ha hecho
todos los timbres suenan
para querer, devolver
la movilidad
de tu conciencia,
la que no te vale
como el 
kayak que usas cuando
nadas por las nubes
tocando tu tendón de Aquiles
un poco envejecido
envejecido y embustero
a ti te mueve
el dinero
las conchas secas
la cintura estrecha pero envejecida
tu zapato derecho
la máscara que usas al correr
diez millas
de grama linda

putos zapatos
mi pobre pueblo
decenas de ranas y reptiles
políticos invadieron su pozo
ahora todos nos odiamos
virus de zapos con 
“putos zapatos”
de cocodrilo

La seducción
Para aquellos días íbamos a la playa
a practicar el tiro al blanco: la seducción.
Aprendimos inglés, o francés.
Leer quitaba un poco
la mancha de plátano así es que
no faltaba el 
Se usaba la palabra tersa,
voz sobre modulada, mirada acaramelada.
Éramos los afortunados nacidos
después de la última guerra,
los que desechamos la zafra. Los que no
aprendimos a matar
y desplumar una gallina vieja.
La turba de futuros empleados públicos,
con palancas políticas,

dedicado a mi tía
El día de tu partida
te soñaré perfumando albas
vestida de orquídeas híbridas
frente a la casa vieja,
a corta vista de la abuela

Gacela que por las venas recorres
el mapa de mi escuela
sentiré furia de olas
batiendo la arena capital
de mi memoria

Esto quiere ser
La Imaginación
Este masticado agri-dulce ajo / esta asimétrica
pierna de Greta Garbo / esta gruta de silencio involuntario /
este inédito presagio de beso rígido / este anticiclón
en la topografía de un suspiro / este gentil lubricante
de orgasmos bovinos / esta obsesión 
de convertir lo abstracto en lo concreto.

Las Palabras
Estas cartografías oblicuas /estas canciones corales
con esos destellos lejanos / estos guantes de cesti
del Foro de Augusto / estos pequeños momentos
de nuestras “visiones del paraíso”.

Lo Imposible
Esta bolsa de lona desnutrida /
este pintor de dientes relleno de cemento / este gato
algebraico resuelto / esta tarjeta postal invisible
para el hombre invisible / este retumbe
que aterroriza la boca de un niño.

©  Sergio A. Ortiz, 2010-04-17

Saturday, April 17, 2010

NaPoWriMo Saturday, April 17

To the rock of Sisyphus

a tide, yes a tide of blood.
We say so weedy a race

only happens in mythology. 
There the famished plump

the bellies of their camels in wars
empty of complaints.

Unicorns thin out in paper jungles
to survive the vinegar of our contracted livers.

Uta’s stare, and the absolute silence
of slender bony people wearing

black cornflowers, and purple cabbage-roses
on their surgically-enhanced-lipped smiles

at funerals revive our fears.  There is no Shangri-La,

no forest, canyon, or wilderness far enough
to stand and guard against their stiff

and lean assault on peace.

©  Sergio A. Ortiz, April 17, 2010

Friday, April 16, 2010

NaPoWriMo Thursday April 15

Evil and Heart

He used to wake me up at five a.m.,
eight a.m. on Saturday and Sunday.
I’d stare into his eyes and ken that skinflint
angel caressing the most obtuse features
seizing my morning thoughtlessness.

All sorts of miracles occurred throughout
the day, tricks of the heart.  Then
he bought me an alarm.  I knew a rook
had made its nest in his trunk.  It was

as if he’d moved me back and forth
through dosshouses, I couldn’t sleep. 
My friends said I resembled a comma.
That was, of course, until I met Omar. 

He’d call me up at five a.m.,
eight a.m. on Saturday and Sunday,
and grunt like a grizzly bear
without constraints.

My teeth would actually chatter,
and my skin sounded like
roasted, crackling pig.

But my heart never did get over
those everlasting Monday’s when Steve
softly poked whatever cheek he’d chose
to kiss that day and say: honey, wake up!

©  Sergio A. Ortiz, April 15, 2010

Wednesday, April 14, 2010

NaPoWriMo Wednesday April 14, 2010

Dear Reader,

I took this poem down because it will be published within the next few days at  Scythe.

©  Sergio A. Ortiz, 14th of April, 2010

Tuesday, April 13, 2010

Shakira - She Wolf

Recently I wrote a poem that will be published very soon.  The poem “Transparency” is a reflection on how little input most of us get to boost our self-esteem from the people that matter the most.  So much is overlook in family ties, lifelong friendships, and work relationships, we are left with the sensation of being locked-up in a cage like a neurotic animal reminiscing on the freedom of the wild.  Recently pop singer Shakira put out a video where while sleeping with her significant other she turns into some sort of a shewolf locked-up in a cage.  This is one of the most artistic videos I’ve recently had the privilege of viewing.  Our anger has no other option but to populate that cage with our imagination (in Shakiras case it is the many distortions her body goes through as a half-breed human/gothic animal) an imagination that struggles to find the balance between fiction and reality.  For some this is a good thing since it sets into motion the creative impulse, but for a good portion of people this struggle can lead them on the path to true isolation, apathy, and danger.  Our imagination is both artist and predator.  I believe the question that can help us keep a vigilant eye on this issue is: How transparent do we really believe our motives be?

©  Sergio A. Ortiz, April 13

NaPoWriMo Monday April 12, 2010

Satan’s Bride

The great payoff
is over. Turn your mirror
to the caterwauls

of Satan’s bride
if superbly round breast
and two weeks

vacation in the azure
with Circe be your goal.
Death has a first,

second, and third prize
in the lottery of stars:
a rare rumpus, a magical orb

sweetly rolling around
your arm pits, and clouds
on their way home

along the seashore.
The streets sing as well,
to hydrocephalic

politicians reeking
of a haunt.

©  Sergio A. Ortiz April 13, 2010

Sunday, April 11, 2010

NaPoWriMo Saturday, April 11, 2010

We Walk the Plank with Strangers

Dear friends.

this poem was taken down because it will be published in the next few days at Scythe

© Sergio A. Ortiz, April 10th, 2010

Saturday, April 10, 2010

The Crying Game - Boy George

NaPoWriMo Saturday, April 10

Dear Friends,
this poem was taken down because it will be published at Scythe within the next few days.

©  Sergio A. Ortiz Rivera, April 2010

Friday, April 09, 2010


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NaPoWriMo Friday April, 9th, 2010

otra vez flores
maravilloso lustre
tu piel sin teñir

Haiku ©  Sergio A. Ortiz, April 2010

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Pintura: © y cortesía de la Compañía de Turismo de Puerto Rico

NaPoWriMo Friday April 9 2019

A Letter to Emily

She makes the women think
I’m caught on her nail-dangles.
Although, I do admit
to a slight inclination, a tiny swoop.
I don’t blush. No, I won’t blush
like the gothic Bronte sister
& all her brilliant Oh’s.

For all it’s worth,
this rendezvous with tattle
teller dreams is all the marrow
I need.  Feel free to kick;
days beneath the high tide
cling to the wedding of words.
I’m never right!

©  Sergio A. Ortiz, April 2019

Thursday, April 08, 2010

NaPoWriMo Thursday April 8

to the oasis 

Dear Friends this poem was taken down because it will be published at Scythe  within the next few days.

©  Sergio A. Ortiz April 2010

Wednesday, April 07, 2010

Possible book cover.

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Pintura: © y cortesía de la Compañía de Turismo de Puerto Rico

NaPoWriMo Wednesday April 7, 2010

If it be not now, yet it will come: the readiness is all.
William Shakespeare

When did my mysterious
itinerary with words
begin:  the one I could clear
on stilts, one that could send me
crashing by the moon’s frozen lake
when I dance in the vertigo
of the forked road, like a tide
of shadows watching a pheasant
nest on an icy dolmen?

©  Sergio Ortiz, April, 2010

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