Saturday, December 30, 2017

December 31st - tanka - ~ Dedicated to San Juan, Puerto Rico

December 31st
night's broken
the slow freedom
of a city in darkness

~ Dedicated to San Juan, Puerto Rico
New Year’s Eve 2017

I’m Somewhat Certain

I’m Somewhat Certain

I do not know for sure, but I suppose

that two men can one day love each other,

if they’re left alone little by little,

something in their heart tells them that they are alone,

alone on earth they penetrate each other,

they kill each other.

Everything is done in silence. As

light amasses inside their eye.

Love unites bodies.

In silence they fill each other.

They wake up in each other’s arms;

Then they know everything.

They're naked and they know everything.

(I do not know for sure, but I suppose.)

Friday, December 29, 2017

An Illustration of My World

An Illustration of My World

The same as your non-existent window.

Like a shadow of a hand on a ghost instrument.

The same as veins and the intense manner

by which blood travels through them.

Always with the same equity,

offering me its precious

continuity it ideally ensures

your existence.

From a distance.

At a distance.

Despite the distance.

With your forehead and your face,

all your presence, not closing your eyes,

and the landscape that leaps

from your presence when the city was not,

could not be

but the useless reflection

of your hecatomb presence.

To wet the feathers of birds even better

this rain falls from on high.

It locks me inside you.


yet far from you

like a lost path

on another continent.

Poems Up and acceptances

poem up at The Writing Disorder

Poem accepted at Barking Sycamores

Poem accepted at Narrow Road

Poem Accepted at Unlikely Stories V

Poem Accepted at Survision

I'm thrilled

Tuesday, December 26, 2017

On the Run

On the Run

Little by little I lose my star.

I am the orphan of something that dies.

I open the capsule to the most virginal silence,

evidence the light and word that impede me.

I am the perfume of the disinherited rose.

The orphanhood of beauty freezes me!

The full moon man and the human oblivion dump

are extinguished inside me. My voice sinks

and collapses like the language building

where God’s seamless epicenter resides.

There is no doubt, I am leaving for balsam

and sleep. The alive desire of the sonatina

with which I call “my man” to the party

has been ambushed. It's without earth wind

or the diphthong of my lyrical moan.

Sunday, December 24, 2017

Muted Things

Muted Things

When I was of age,

older than letting go

of the drool and shake

of my little arms,

I learned three dirty things

inside me:

My father said,

there's nothing for lunch.        (I’m poor)

I felt myself blush upon discovering

the throbbing, huge sex of one

of my uncles

under his pajamas.      (I’m a homosexual)

I saw a very fat cousin

convulsively clutching

a glass, singing the toast

from “Traviata.”         (and I love Art)

Events seething inside me.

Cold Fronts

Cold Fronts

There are days that decompose
moans, and there are dizziness’s

and cold front sentences, pasts stars
that can sense every emotion.

They remember everything. It is the
inescapable shock of memory;

the beginning of a day that has no choice
but to begin, that just offers itself.

Who knows what it feels.
 It never gives up.

Saturday, December 23, 2017

Third Absence

Third Absence 

You hid the light somewhere
and deny me a return.
I know this darkness is fictitious
because before you left fireflies
landed on my hands. You were you 
and we were intertwined bodies 
on the same bed. Neither of us 
saw the eclipse. We became cold, 
nothing more than acquaintances
and night turn out to be inaccessible.
We couldn't dismount it together.
You hid the light somewhere,
planted it in someone else’s eyes.
Now that you no longer exist
nothing dawns side me.

¿Cómo pinto la felicidad? - imitando a Lisel Mueller

¿Cómo pinto la felicidad? - imitando a Lisel Mueller

Como un regalo de mi amante hondureño
una lluvia de arco irises

Sí, un árbol de Magnolia China florecido
rociando su flor y su fragancia

mientras estamos debajo.
De repente robados de nuestros capullos,

reencarnados como extraños
demasiados divinos para ser trastocados.

Friday, December 22, 2017



de la tristeza 
cuando viene 
con disfraz 
de consuelo 
a última hora 
de la tarde
con los brazos 
no te dejara 
hasta el 

The Insomniac

The Insomniac

I go to bed early.  
Toss and turn in the bed.
Get entangled in sheets.
I read a little. Turn off
the light but no shut eye.
At three I get up.
I wake up my friend.
He advises I walk
to tire the body, then drink
lime blossom tea
and turn off the light.
I do everything he says
but I can't shut my eyes. 
I call my doctor. As always,
he talks, talks, and talks
but the man does not asleep.
At six o'clock, I load
the assault rifle,
walk to a train station

and      fire!

What Is Spoken

What Is Spoken

Because something remains,

I feel it, but do not talk about it

—a memory so visible

of a lover so absent,

So, I think of the silence.

I am surrounded 

by smoke that hurts,

the good way of suffering,

the glory of touch,

my diaries of fire.

If the compass

and the games have been

unspeakable: they frighten

everything with their 

diction of fear.

Wednesday, December 20, 2017

Once We Buried You

Once We Buried You

Dawn falls into its slit of light
and even though it's a miracle
the chorus of words withers 
in the windows as old as 
prayer book pages.

It’s the second day of mourning 
and people lie in uncertainty
while lightning strikes choirs 
who laugh at everyone.

I come to look at you rest 
in silence next to the procession
of permanent tidal waves
in the flower buds of your eyes.

I sprinkle water on your portrait
the third day of your posthumous party.
The food is not enough for everyone 
that devours your memory.

Plastic flowers hang on nothingness
and vague allusions accustom us to focusing
on the prayer book when lightning strikes 
and strikes until it arrives at the place 
of resignation.

To talk about memories 
that do not curse inside photos 
and goodbyes hidden between 
the lips of a veiled word
to calm the dawn.

Five days passed since your funeral 
and everything keeps repeating itself. 
Words dry up in the quiet 
light of a leaf storm.

Tuesday, December 19, 2017

Your games

Your games

start and end like a diversion,
I guess it made you laugh
to find my drawing next to yours,
you attributed it to a whim
the first time,

the next time you knew
it was intentional so you
looked at it slowly,

came back later
to look at it again, taking
the usual precautions:
the street at its loneliest hour,
no car parked at the corners.

You made sure to gaze
at the graffiti in front
with indifference, feigning
interest through the window
next door, then you
hurried away as if nothing.

Saturday, December 16, 2017

things that fade - tanka

the clash between
opposite proximities
impalpable-untouchable weight
of things that fade

A la deriva

A la deriva

duelo de proximidades opuestas,
la inconsistencia de la dicha:
para explicar su partida,
su materialidad

el peso intocado-intocable
de cosas que se desvanecen y
permanecen furiosamente,
tesoros derretidos,
posibilidades abandonadas

las sílabas se preguntan
en qué tono convocaran
el coraje para rendirse
 y obedecer
las leyes luego de la pérdida

luego de hablar de la tensión
al momento de obedecer

los ojos enmarcarán
el consuelo del perdón?

From where

From where

does this attempt,
this triumph, this excessive

impulse, this unneeded
salt frame, cruel

& lukewarm at times,
uncontrollable, perennial,

hateful, feeling
of sadness arrive?

Friday, December 15, 2017

miss me? - tanka

when the sun begins
to hide, a black-whiskered
vireo slurs
the question I'm asking ...
are you going to miss me?

Wednesday, December 13, 2017

Sam Smith - One Last Song (Official Video)

Sam Smith - Palace (On The Record: The Thrill Of It All Live)


My head is filled with ruins
Most of them are built with you
Now the dust no longer moves
Don't disturb the ghost of you

They are empty, they are worn
Tell me what we built this for
On my way to something more
You're that one I can't ignore

I'm gonna miss you
I still care
Sometimes I wish we never built this palace
But real love is never a waste of time

Yeah I know just what you're saying
And I regret ever complaining
About this heart and all its breaking
It was beauty we were making

And I know we'll both move on
You'll forgive what I did wrong
They will love the better you
But I still own the ghost of you

I'm gonna miss you
I'm still there
Sometimes I wish we never built this palace
But real love is never a waste of time

I'm gonna miss you
I'm still there
Sometimes I wish we never built this palace
But real love is never a waste of time
But real love is never a waste of time

Ed Sheeran - Happier (Music Video)


Walking down 29th and park
I saw you in another's arms
Only a month we've been apart
You look happier

Saw you walk inside a bar
He said something to make you laugh
I saw that both your smiles were twice as wide as ours
Yeah you look happier, you do

Ain't nobody hurt you like I hurt you
But ain't nobody love you like I do
Promise that I will not take it personal baby
If you're moving on with someone new

Cause baby you look happier, you do
My friends told me one day I'll feel it too
And until then I'll smile to hide the truth
But I know I was happier with you

Sat in the corner of the room
Everything's reminding me of you
Nursing an empty bottle and telling myself you're happier
Aren't you?

Ain't nobody hurt you like I hurt you
But ain't nobody need you like I do
I know that there's others that deserve you
But my darling I am still in love with you

But I guess you look happier, you do
My friends told me one day I'll feel it too
I could try to smile to hide the truth
But I know I was happier with you

Baby you look happier, you do
I knew one day you'd fall for someone new
But if he breaks your heart like lovers do
Just know that I'll be waiting here for you

Ed Sheeran & Beyoncé - Perfect Duet (Official Music Video)


I found a love for me
Darling, just dive right in and follow my lead
Well, I found a girl, beautiful and sweet
Oh, I never knew you were the someone waiting for me

'Cause we were just kids when we fell in love
Not knowing what it was
I will not give you up this time
But darling, just kiss me slow
Your heart is all I own
And in your eyes you're holding mine

Baby, I'm dancing in the dark
With you between my arms
Barefoot on the grass
Listening to our favourite song
When you said you looked a mess
I whispered underneath my breath
But you heard it,
Darling, you look perfect tonight

Well, I found a woman, stronger than anyone I know
She shares my dreams, I hope that someday I'll share her home
I found a love to carry more than just my secrets
To carry love, to carry children of our own

We are still kids but we're so in love
Fighting against all odds
I know we'll be alright this time
Darling, just hold my hand
Be my girl, I'll be your man
I see my future in your eyes

Baby, I'm dancing in the dark
With you between my arms
Barefoot on the grass
Listening to our favourite song
When I saw you in that dress
Looking so beautiful
I don't deserve this
Darling, you look perfect tonight

Baby, I'm dancing in the dark
With you between my arms
Barefoot on the grass
Listening to our favourite song
I have faith in what I see
Now I know I have met an angel in person
And she looks perfect
I don't deserve this
You look perfect tonight

Tuesday, December 12, 2017

In the window

Naked as the sun skull,
I blow murmurs to the clouds,
impregnate the pale neck of light
with my groping hands,
and swallow the agony
of the tired images 
in the puddles.

The rain stops.
Immersed in the howl
and the gratitude of eyes
I discover my Aunt's favorite
collection of poems.

A cigarette walks across 
the moon's dark ear. 
An Old-World sparrow pecks 
a hole in the metaphors 
while I write for the afternoon 
make-believe wages.

Monday, December 11, 2017

With You

With You

Because the soul does not live in things
but in the bold action of deciphering them,
I love the light that encourages my senses.

A thousand times I've wanted to find out 
who I am. After so many names,
so much crossing of my own compass,
I could hug sand for several centuries.
Watch silence pass and embrace it as well.

The truth is not in me every second.
It is a fleeting attempt to catch the ungraspable.
Truth is not in anyone, it's further
from a king than from beggar.
If someone thinks about pursuing it,
do not forget this: fire has always 
been a harbinger of decline,
the precursor intensity of oblivion.

When my eyes return to my origin,
I ask for one last gift.
 Nothing else.
Write all my words in my grave,
what I said a thousand times
and what I would have liked 
to have said at least once.
Keep my words nearby,
the ones that I used to love,
the ones that I learned along the way.

Include me within them,
do not fear their weight.
Treat them with respect.
Place them
             over my heart.
Truth is not in anyone, 
but words could engender it.

Maybe then, the words I said,
the ones you were accustomed to hearing,
will lie down beside me with tenderness.

I am a Bird

I am a Bird

When the sun starts to hide
when it sinks parsimoniously
like a burned-out fire at the bottom
of the immense chalice
of sleeping water

I start singing and become a black-whiskered vireo
on the trembling branch of a mangrove
moved by the breeze shaking bathed leaves
by the last glimmer of twilight water
I sing to the jumping fish

They rise to the surface
sweetened by my trills
of slow sunsets hidden
in the thicket of the
agonizing horizon

Preterits of Another Light

Preterits of Another Light

These are the signs of the old flags
pierced by the gales of discord
The wide-eyed stares of the hordes
passed through here
Deranged, thirsty for relentless revenge

In these dilated savannahs impaled
those who dared defy the secular
domains of dogma

On the margins of these confines
waved Presidential flags and the strangled
voices of his ragged constituents
remain screaming in agony
while day comes to light

They remain the postponed promises
of legions of preterits mocked and reviled
We are the heirs of the sad vilification
of cloistered convents, peaceful tombs
and withered gardens

This earth has dried and from its bowels sprout thorns
in whose bosom bud the horizontally crucified
rising to the edges of the world

Sunday, December 10, 2017

My soaring boy

My soaring boy

who levitates on December afternoons:
I take care of you, cover your light slumber 
on cold early mornings

A faint twilight thread draws your river god 
body paddling over my calm waters 
on weightless Mondays

I celebrate your untamed, unheeded, 
festive beauty while you row back 
and forth from my stubborn warnings

to your delightful torso
which you attempt to keep secret 
during evening escapades on my waters

Three Poems Up at Rat's Ass Review

Three Poems Up at Rat's Ass Review

Friday, December 08, 2017

all those voices - tanka

all those voices
lurking in the urns
of my death—
my shortcomings break
your window shutters

Saturday, December 02, 2017

Thursday, November 30, 2017

Light to the World - Copyright Baha'i World Center

On Warm Afternoons

On Warm Afternoons

Your whispers call me,
write the prophecies that die
on my skin. I overflow in concave,
flexible moments where everything
I have invented about you fits.

I never find the tender caravan of fans
with which you cover your body,
or the mutual days of ecstasies
in the spaces of time. The reason hides
in the shape of a bronze stone man.

My imagination peeks to protect
and avoid melting at inopportune moments
of love. This is how blood travels 
to the farthest corners of my tested sweetness,
inhabiting the limits of your lusts full of mysteries.
I escape your burning witchcraft with hands
ready to rescue old tenderness.

The swift banks of my memory
suppress drunken details. I hear
a dissertation embedded in the vases
of death, the abys that rubs
my shortcomings on your chest

curls up, breaks the windows
of your beach. Draws snakes
with fangs that steal my hours of rest
then stretches out on your seashore
and wallows in your love spell

like cushioned silence of parsley.

Wednesday, November 29, 2017

Approaching Infinity

Approaching Infinity

I am not the fragile child

who thought nothingness

would one morning appear

to become nothingness.

I am not that baby boy

in whose arms reigned

motionless, lonely, silent arms.

Flight is all my soul needs

to feel your sorrow.

The Waves

The Waves

The body
is wakeful space
in translation,
inexhaustible tension
between outside and inside.

There are no shores
to contain the storms
and inward darkness
of its sweeping winds.

The body does not know
the extent of its inner anger.
The waves expel
and everything is erased.

I refuse to see
the empty corners
of my frame.
In its translations
I'm still a child.

Tuesday, November 28, 2017

Poem Up @ *Loch Raven Review, Volume 13, No. 2, 2017*

Poem Up @ *Loch Raven Review, Volume 13, No. 2, 2017,  Taurus  take a look!

Tell Me

Tell Me

Tell me how your hours go by,

your startled hates, your cheerful dynamites

and the electric waves that carry you lost

in the versatile foam of a surreal whiteness.

Tell me how you live.

Come to me, face to face;

tell me your deceptions (mine are worse),

your grudges (I also suffer them),

and that stupid pride (I understand).

Tell me how you survive death.

You have no secrets:

the gap of emptiness (or pleasure) is the same,

the sudden madness of some living moment,

the longing that stubbornly deepens emptiness.

Tell me how you die,

how you resign -Mr. Wise-

how -Mr. Frivolous- you shine like pure fugitive,

how you end up as nothing.

Friday, November 24, 2017

Nostalgic Hate

Nostalgic Hate

My ears listen to you lovingly
until the very end of love.

At the finish my hatreds harken,
my mind figures it's a weapon

made of paper and tattoo ink.
I'd journey to East Asia and do us

love-making in origami.
Listen to the paper fold finely.

Imagine my ears there,
where the only thing that's heard

is me disassembling, each time,
every time, at the end of tenderness.

Where hate is nostalgic
finalization of affection.

Sunday, November 19, 2017

Nina Simone Explica Delirios al Gobernador de Puerto Rico

Nina Simone Explica Delirios al Gobernador de Puerto Rico

¿Qué perspectiva única trae un estudiante minoritario a una clase de física?
- Juez de Justicia John Roberts, Tribunal Supremo de los EE. UU., Fisher v. Texas,
9 de diciembre de 2015

Nosotros fuimos inocentes una vez, sin la protección
de nuestras mentiras. Sin dragones. Celebramos incrementalmente

el no real, el nunca lo fue. Lo que pasó fríamente sobre los mares
olvidados y la roca del río—

fusionada entre una pradera sin nombre y un delta desconocido—
todavía se extiende sin interrupción, sin proclamación. Llamamos

al perro muerto porque los niños pequeños no entienden la muerte.
Cuando Cortés llegó a la costa de México ordenó

que trajeran a un nativo a su barco, ya que él creía que era el perfecto
conquistador. Le preguntó a su cautivo. Ma c'uhah que, el hombre respondió,

y los españoles oyeron su primer yucateco en el lugar
de su descubrimiento, donde Ma c'uhah que en maya significa

"No te entiendo." Tu amor vodevil por los conquistadores
es solo un salvavidas entre codos. Te vas vivo

y regresas en falsete. Me gustaría presentar estas canciones
a los niños de mi juventud que se burlan y se jactan de las baratijas.

Ellos creen que deben ser tomadas de la habitación de su hermana
y reventadas por aburrimiento y tacones de botas, aunque sea solo

para forzar confesiones de las gargantas de sus cautivos. Todos
están protegido porque todo lo fingen. Prefieren no hablar

que hablar disparates sobre un futuro 
donde los administradores de esta isla olvidan

que todavía usan sus viejos sombreros. 
Su arcaico lenguaje satisfecho de estar obsoleto.

Comrades of the Dream Life

Comrades of the Dream

I recognize you,
those with the moon
spread on their face,
whose faces have no beginning
but have a resounding
and enveloping end,

the ones with smiling sores
on their bodies,
who sweeten thorns
and pin hope to hearts,
who have painful tails
and tender eyes, and move
like a falling leaf or a
shooting star.

I regret your arrival
before or after the pain,
always at the wrong time
but when needed.

Volunteers of laughter,
multipliers of atmospheres,
inventors of the game
who win without winning
even when losing.

Brothers of the flesh,
companions of the fierce tooth
that leaves a mark,
connoisseurs of navels and buttocks
and of their own music,
I greet you!

Friday, November 17, 2017

Pablo Alborán - Vivir (Audio Oficial)

Pablo Moreno de Alborán Ferrándiz[a] (born 31 May 1989 in Malaga) popularly known as Pablo Alborán,[1][2] is a Spanish musician, singer, and songwriter.[3] In 2011, he was nominated for three Latin Grammy Awards.[4] Alborán has released three studio albums, two live albums, and various musical collaborations. His records are distributed by Warner Music which debuted in 2010 with their first official release, "Solamente Tú", the first single from his debut album Pablo Alboran(2011), released in February 2011. The album ranked No. 1 in its first week of sales, making Alborán the first solo artist to sign a complete debut album to rank to the top since 1998 in Spain.[5]

A few months after releasing his first album, it was published in acoustic as the first recorded live concert by the singer. Several weeks after it debuted to the top in Spain, it was launched in Portugal, getting to be No. 1 for several weeks. Of all his singles, two stand out in terms of popularity: "Solamente tú" and "Perdóname" which he sang together with singer Carminho, being number one in sales, both in Spain and in Portugal.

Wednesday, November 15, 2017

Today at 5:30pm Montreal time Post Review will publish one of my poems

Today at 5:30pm Montreal time Post Review will publish one of my poems. It's the first time I get published in Montreal,

Tuesday, November 14, 2017

Friday, November 10, 2017

Chapbook Acceptance at Finishing Line Press

Finishing Line Press just accepted my chapbook, "An Animal Resembling Desire," for publication. I will be sending out notices for pre-orders as soon as I know the details.

Sergio A. Ortiz

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