Adobo Criollo Sergio Antonio Ortiz Rivera

you died in my arms right after pressing a kiss on my chest,  it tastes  like murder... * the things  that we  love tell us what we are citation: Thomas Aquinas

she forgets to pick up the phone waiting  for me to come home ... an empty socket by her side

I woke up with a smile on my face coqui(s) cradled my sleep capricious power of sound

he said yes while I said no and ran into the tall cedars in hope of forgiveness for those of us who sleep in dusty chambers there is no anticipation only roofless sky the structure of an open mind

evolution Jews in concentration  camps *their frozen  pupils, their prisoner's boot? Gaza a worm roiling the soil and making it fertile? citation: In the Lake Region BY  TOMAS VENCLOVA

my geography I find the climb inclined to the domestic volcano here... a handsome man on fire citation: Emily Dickenson

cats tails pirouette in my cosmos… universal poses of left over costumes from yesterday’s show 

I liked being young obsessed as I was at forty-five with feeling older the things that filled those years are gone

today I heard the loud humming of bees and saw the wind moving on a meadow... "blinded" written on the gulmohar leaves

a night in Venus death is close acquire the frilled wings of a winter moth        and meet me        in Venus let’s build a city with our hands on the narrow bed of our bodies and turn off the lights at dawn we can close our eyes and count until the sun rises before breaking it to pieces

in the absence of sparrows he drew dandelions… time, what it provides, what it destroys

rude nudists... we took a long look at each other and crept away citation CHRISTIAN WIMAN~ Do You Remember the Rude Nudists

a blue butterfly hovers above her shadow with battered wings she's earned the sweet release of her own death

Kindly submit up to 10 previously unpublished  tanka, tanka art, &/or  1 sequence. “Undertow Tanka Submission” to: undertowtanka @ gmail . com Or use Contact Form to the right *** by September 30, 2014 / second Issue to be online by October 3 At the end of your submission, please include your full name and country of residence.  All rights revert to authors upon publication. Your tanka must not be under consideration elsewhere or submitted to any contest.  Hopefully this will become a print Review in the near future. Best wishes, Sergio Ortiz,   Editor

the rubble of bark he’s dead … there I said it, a reminder of my own years of eating dates this is how it feels to lose it on those days when death cruises for good food and nice garments my torn body tears itself again— night's million shadows grow taller hour by hour my bleeding lips vanish, my brain blackens like the countryside

what can your past say that has not been said before? nude bodies oozing the sweet scent of peeled pine log... the odor of a naked man

hungover   naughty boys picking   coffee beans   sweat off last night's lost time ... it takes much to erase little

from a distance what will you do with a mended heart? a gate will open and there will be no more scorching timbers the river that was tainted by lies will be cleansed free of impurities 

the new red moon torn in witchy branches at a junction I stare up astounded by the silent darkness

mortals marching into heaven playing in the dusk of creation, bright faces turned upwards