Showing posts from December, 2013
my mother  passed away that March— a loon  followed me down  the curved river road
little blue mirror naked white river face that turns black when night seeps into your bed

Where do children play?

Where do children play? Their names carved in the keel of the vessel in which they travel; their margins, our boundaries, their songs, pushed to the center of what matters in our fallible and sensitive lives, seeking responses to the unknown.  Position yourselves next to the mystery of their music. Where do children play? In time . . . that abstract glimmer that does not bond to anything;  the school of a submissive homeland?

Para los maestros Puertorriqueños en su lucha por un retiro digno.

¿Dónde jugarán los niños? Sus nombres labrados en la quilla de la nave en que viajan. Sus márgenes, orlas de un confín. Sus canciones, clavadas al centro de lo que importa en nuestras falibles y minúsculas vidas, en busca de respuestas frente a lo desconocido. Ubícate al lado del misterio de su música. ¿Dónde jugarán los niños? ¿En el tiempo, fulgor abstracto, inasible ? ¿En la patria sumisa?

A Poem for Uganda: Our Wealth

A Poem for Uganda:  Our Wealth It is now illegal to be a homosexual in Uganda.   We went underground to escape the mist of colonialism.  I take off your shirt to tattoo a prism, a machine gun, and a dove dripping blood from its heart.   be a rainbow in the gale of life free of heavily-lidded eyes on the battlefield “Those who make peaceful revolution impossible will make violent revolution inevitable.”* Do not answer that middle-of-the-night-knocking at your door without resistance.  We are no longer children of the half-light. artless fog man-on-man smithereens in a moment  black-on-black blemish without a purpose ·          John F. Kennedy
cold air fills the city spring is at the end of a line where lovers search for joy like peacocks  

Published in The NeverEnding Story One Man's Maple Moon: Map Tanka by Sergio Ortiz English Original if my life were a map it would be one of a man in the snow…       picking mushrooms at the edge of dread Lynx, 28:2, June 2013 Sergio Ortiz Chinese Translation (Traditional) 如果我的生命是一張地圖 它將是一個男人 在雪地裡 ... 在恐懼的邊緣 採蘑菇 Chinese Translation (Simplified) 如果我的生命是一张地图 它将是一个男人 在雪地里 ... 在恐惧的边缘 采蘑菇
never mind the sting of winter solstice warm-blooded love we felt it on the divan and in the ballroom

Published in the second issue of BAMBOO HUT

an hour’s length in our noisy city starts with sadness and leaves in its wake this empty page
a heron, bluer than the lips of Lazarus, awakens to the harsh cry of a jealous sea
I dance on my heart when stars are spaced so far apart that doors opened to lovers close around them like a book 

accepted for a competition

The poem was accepted for a competition and had to be taken down.  Sorry!


Náutico escarcha que no se desprende de mis manos— entre flor y canto, rosa y viento, logramos vivir sonámbulo existiendo en ambos lados de una frontera— las primeras campanadas al alba en una aldea silenciosa siempre me halle en el limbo de las palabras perdidas el murmullo cimbró la tierra insular y fui aires del pasado que descienden a nuestras zonas dolorosas colocando a un lado la miseria, la ternura y la violencia

Me and my best friend


Woolies and Soweto Gospel Choir: Madiba Tribute

Asimbonanga (We have not seen him) Asimbonang' uMandela thina (We have not seen Mandela) Laph'ekhona (In the place where he is) Laph'ehleli khona (In the place where he is kept) Oh the sea is cold and the sky is grey Look across the Island into the Bay We are all islands till comes the day We cross the burning water Chorus.... A seagull wings across the sea Broken silence is what I dream Who has the words to close the distance Between you and me Chorus.... Steve Biko, Victoria Mxenge Neil Aggett Asimbonanga Asimbonang 'umfowethu thina (we have not seen our brother) Laph'ekhona (In the place where he is) Laph'wafela khona (In the place where he died) Hey wena (Hey you!) Hey wena nawe (Hey you and you as well) Siyofika nini la' siyakhona (When will we arrive at our destination)


held in ice as dancers in a spell leaves that fell on frozen over lakes— New-year bells bicker with the snow


watching him sleep in long alleys over a wild solitude I assume I’ve discovered the secret of life
he soiled his bushy muse with sequins— he ordered in a trick and called it dial-a-dick
we empty the dark in the dark . . . somehow someone finds by mistake a need fulfilled
he knew how to touch fire and leave unharmed . . . I knew how to open every door
we have rituals of regret, boys sent back home in body bags . . . we lie down in meadows and leave behind their corpses
wordless   as the flight of birds endless streams and mountains— Mandela

Mandela 1918-2013

a quiet exit free  Nelson Mandela— from a prison rock quarry to the presidential suite 


Sergio Ortiz





Me publican en Mexico

Me publicaron unas poesías en una revista literaria Mexicana;  CUADRIVIO Tu sexo Extraño tu sexo ciñéndose a mi lengua. Amo tu racimo de sudores olvidados, la gota de coñac que resbala por tu muslo con la indiferencia de una nube que se aleja. Amo tus claras humedades: las de tu esperma tramposa las de tus ojos lacrimosos. Mi silencio con sus fauces te rodea.


I trust that horses run through vast canyons though I watch through the window with small flutters of fear