Adobo Criollo Sergio Antonio Ortiz Rivera

dog day afternoon—  I answer the call   of a lone cuckoo

This is the day I stop thinking little.  No more poems about things I don’t feel.  My skin is in havoc.  There are no butterflies around here, or cherry blossoms.  Time is the juxtaposition, and I can no longer run up a flight of stairs.  The lack of human touch is like burning in a lake of fire.  Consumed with pain you don’t have the courage to end the slow disappearance of strength.  So, you die more than you live.  You are not sure you are pleased with the things you’ve done.  There is regret, remorse, and a little fear.  But whatever happens, when the time comes you will go loveless and unmissed. Mount Fuji snow…   I wake up thinking   about tomorrow

searching for the right word … I choke in tears

In the Fields of Bones open window from where I hear a gloomy life walk by nothing but a shred of light conquers shadows and it was I who   thought that light was mine when all along it was the sorrow of finding a frozen melon-heart a handkerchief stalks my tears hopping my grief will be swift in the fields of bones  and parsley

a soft wind in the chrysanthemums Buddha's blessing 

hail in the middle of the sky a frozen river 

colorful birds beaming with spring… cave entrance

another rainy day… within these four walls a one-sided heart

In a Field of Sunshine At dawn, the ruins hidden in a field of weeds awake us.    You have your arms around my waist, our wings begin to grow.   We kiss and fly back into our cocoon unnoticed.    The end is not yet finished and we must keep away from the dying cities. two lives between two men in a field of sunshine

Tal vez fue la bruma lo que despertó el silencio o el calor de la hoguera.  Así de incierta es la vida, marullos de olvidos y recuerdos.   Por instantes sé que tuve una madre luego no recuerdo más que la muerte acurrucándome.   Vida y muerte, enfermedades degenerativas que deportan la inspiración a lo intangible para consagrase con la nada.  Así en ese va y ven desaparezco lentamente.

spring’s departure the two of us in bed reading Issa

spring fragrance she covers his body with mums

winter moon-- how I long for flowers by the waterfall

clear waterfall  a winter’s moon yet no flowers

silent tears . . .   mother's gravestone   buried in moss or mother's gravestone   buried in moss-   Buddhist prayers  

autumn wind how blue the mums look 

gorgeous gulmohar   yet it is raining… last day of April

march against violence-- cherubs view   the orchid blossoms  

crows perched on an iron fence... spring morning

mid morning –   ‘new leaves sagging   in the rain’