Adobo Criollo Sergio Antonio Ortiz Rivera

This Bitter Earth  Smoke in my eyes; a silhouette, a line of sea salt, rainbow memories mingled with bluegrass on a castaway  sail.   And there you are  sitting  on a sand dune.   And here I am,  silent Delaware  watching you count  minutes  from behind each other’s veils.  But for these veils  we walk among our anxieties too conscious of our nakedness.

To *Jose Manuel Otero Puerto Rican Writer I’m breaking in new point shoes.  Skin around the edges bleeds, unstitches the sky like the odor of madness to the dead —  when I am pulling down his zipper and filling my mouth with Andy Warhol copies of Marilyn finding the camera’s light on her lips. Her eyes sing;  “happy birthday— come get it.  It’s all mine but I’m giving you a taste. Baby, it’s not a cunt but I look just as good as she did in that white skanky dress, chichies and all,  I’m hard-on- pancho —to you,  fuck better than Juana la Loca too . For History's sake: ** Jose Manuel y yo no conocimos en los pasillos de la escuela superior.  El siendo unos años mayor se fue a estudiar a la UPI.  Luego nos encontramos en el centro de estudiantes y a través de un amigo mutuo, Reynaldo Rivera leí su primer cuento corto escasamente terminado de escribir en aquella mesa al lado de la mía.  Jesús Manuel se molesto mucho cuando ...

Sleeping with this Man He walked into my dusk so awake my shadows left fearing his reprove. Then he spoke in the softest of voices asking without asking. I wanted to watch my petals open while listening to his footsteps in the Fried-Eye of my memory, but I surrendered to whatever it was I had perceived by dawn’s mirror. * Originally written in December of 2008.  I know it is difficult to think of a journal as a man or a woman, or even as a friend's toy chihuahua, Lorca (he is transgender haha---) But this is the man referred to in the poem. sergio

Dear Friends,  I have received a second nomination for    the   Sundress Best of the Net  award s at Caper, The Journal . You are all welcomed to read the poem. sergio

Paradise For some, vaulted destinies are affections won against heavy odds.  Appreciation of their value requires proof words begin to take shape invisible particles leaving the odour of money. This becomes the weapon they fearlessly evade their fetters broken, their wounds written on rocks. For others, those who have long approached hostilities or faceless insincerities, money is the oasis that requires no explanation. However, balanced hearts never waste time in propositions of value.   Their abacus moves with caution so as to not awaken the snake sleeping between their sheets. 

Despoiled of Secrets We were close to the ground, near the door frame in case of an earthquake,  but you had to go ruin it.  I didn’t care about ripping out the plumbing, desperate as I was for the salt in water... You noticed the granulating yeast on my skin and brought over the divorce settlement and witnesses?  Sure, he’s blonde with baby blue eyes, interesting and interested, yet half my age. I wasn’t looking for a date but I bought a new red and blue umbrella.  Now, don’t touch me.

Four poems up at Sketchbook Review.   Please, stop-by and read. sergio

Amok Returning to bad days, shadows meander surly as my life runs amok. Sot, I keep myself from being hunted, deny I find pleasure in the rollercoaster- ride, walk barefoot like a naive child. Held by hands I cannot trust, forcing me to put on boots covered with mud and sperm, I become tearful. At first sitting on a rock, yet fearless of death I start to run on my hands over a burning pyre. The glitter in stones ablaze.

One of my poems been nominated by YB that Literary Journal for Sundress Publications for the 2010 Best of the Web Anthology . For those not in the know, here is a Sundress about-ski. And here are my nominations: Sergio Ortiz. "Transparency."Dorothee Lang. "Society of Swans."

Sobre un Tazón Yo aquí solo, esperando a que el moho de mis ojos distraiga el azul enfurecido de tu estrella tirada. Tus lágrimas me obligan a dejarte marchar pero sé cuando y como actúas; el fuego de tu ira me aprisiona. Ahí, en el lugar del golpe. Flotando sobre un tazón inmenso de sangre quieta que todo lo dice.  Ahí abre la flor de loto y me sutura el perfume de tu virilidad porque sabes que te he hecho mío  antes.   Te he sujetado entre  mis manos  como se acaricia una canción.

When Friendship is no Longer Possible When you came to me my hands gave up movement, declared themselves drowned in the multiplicity of throats;  hands no longer willing to accept  blood as short-term payment for friendship-- for in hell we saw each other as lovers that didn't know where to look whenever they sat down at the banquet  table.

You with the sad eyes Don't be discouraged Oh I realize It's hard to take courage In a world full of people You can lose sight of it all And the darkness there inside you Makes you feel so small But I see your true colours Shining through I see your true colours That's why I love you So don't be afraid to let them show Your true colours True colours are beautiful, Like a rainbow Show me a smile then, And don't be unhappy, can't remember when I last saw you laughing If this world makes you crazy And you've taken all you can bear You call me up Because you know I'll be there And I see your true colours Shining through I see your true colours That's why I love you So don't be afraid to let them show Your true colours True colours are beautiful, Like a rainbow Ohhhh I can't remember When I last saw you laugh If this world makes you crazy And you've taken all you can bear You call me up Because you ...

Songbird For you there'll be no crying   For you the sun will be shining   Cause I feel that when I'm with you   It's alright, I know it's right   And the songbirds keep singing   Like they know the score   And I love you, I love you, I love you   Like never before   ... To you, I would give the world   To you, I'd never be cold   Cause I feel that when I'm with you   It's alright, I know it's right   And the songbirds keep singing   Like they know the score   And I love you, I love you, I love you   Like never before  

Piano Player to collapse into the defects of a boiling sea moonstruck and impatient to run my hands over dust heaven-hewn. to pull my ears out and not quiver at the sound of your name.  to walk to the end of the world enter a bar and shoot myself in front of the brave man you are.  I want to want to love you, but I won’t.

Tanka sumo, path         of salt and rock     amorphous intimacy, tent built       on swift, hungry illusions

Tanka:  touching the sky foam stays behind, disappears we drift thirst to watch you fashion our garments

Red Why do I paint my lips red when my secrets are hidden in blue? Elegance is a commodity situated in the fine print of my silky innocence.   There is strength in water.  Water is the freedom I never have.  Art beckons an eye full of the kind of lust I can only share from a distance, walking through the scourged alleys of the city slums.  I dwell in secret among shadows lost to the echoes of a bolero.  Dance is my chore and magic.  Once in a while, I raise my offer to show a stream of temper. It is then men gaze on my every movement; I am a slave of lust schooled for a single branch that will never belong to me. The art of conversation bows as a swan, never rushing into a premeditate pose, equally matching the wits of young and forgotten trees.