Adobo Criollo Sergio Antonio Ortiz Rivera

come heat my old bohemian bed , with myrtle- scented honey when I wake  I'll pluck the strings of silence 

a wink would have been enough   to abandon it all-- surrender to the rubbing of his body

Rosario Ferré, a noted author who achieved literary success in Spanish and English and who was a noted critic and essayist,  died in Puerto Rico  at age 77. Al caballero de la rosa En su abrazo yo abrazaba todas las rosas: las rosas de la piedra y las del sueño, las rosas del torrente y las del vino, las furibundas rosas cinceladas sobre el cráneo del sol, en ajetreo continuo; las de apretada nieve, rosas, con que ciño mi frente en un círculo de llamas; y las implacables que coronan la espina de la rosa; las que disgrega el éxtasis en torno a los banquetes del amor, y las que llueven ceniza y agonía sobre la faz del moribundo; las rosas del poema y las del humo, las rosas del rosario y las del tigre, las invisibles rosas de mi sangre y las azules que hará brotar mi muerte, mi terraza barrida y la brisa de las rosas entrando por los balaustres de la tarde; las rosas que treparon la escalera, y la que se prendió a la cerradura al él cerrar la puerta; las rosas de su sexo y...

https://hedgerowpoems.wordpress.com/ my lonely house under the moon’s stillness— you and I running in different directions, how many lives have we lived? . I sleepwalk on the ridge of a poem I’ll never perform … the storm inside

A Mind of my Own I’m complicated a ghostly figure afraid of aging… a squatter, a dreadful stain in a complicated world I was not born to impress like a working-class Puerto Rican waiting to win the Powerball… simple enough? I don’t want my name shortlisted in simplicities— no such thing as equal opportunity employer in poetry

so, I’m complicated a ghostly figure  afraid  of aging a resident, a tenant,  a dreadful stain in a complicated world

I was inside you everywhere the scent of sycamore with Paris around us and a fig on your lips

my eyes hike to my lover’s sex— we make love like the sea… in the flash of a bloody moon

these luminous bones this open heart these mild winds full of bent faces... cutoffs of things I want to love

cobíjalo, trasplántale mi cabellera escarchada que los sollozos  del amor humedecen las palabras 

shelter him, implant my frost-covered hair, tell him the sighs of love moisten the words worth living for

you’re so handsome I write to the night (word for word) to look for whoever is looking for me, shadow texts

I climb the wind imploring the bottomless-pit of my poems for silence... diminishing death’s adjectives

I sleepwalk on the ridge  of a poem I’ll never perform … the storm inside 

to a flower not far from reaching darkness... open to the delicate resolve of a dewdrop

I know the gentle stride of spring opens the coffer of my suicidal words... please, be my Valentine

Du bist mein Wasser, die Quelle meiner Kunst … Was ich verlieren kann es immer trägst Du mein Sonnenlicht or  Du bist mein Wasser, die Quelle meiner Kunst, was ich auch verlieren mag du bist immer da, mein Sonnenlicht tragend

tú eres mi agua la fuente de todo mi arte… cualquier otra cosa que pueda perder, tú llevas puesto mi luz 

you are my water, the source of my art … whatever I may lose it’s always you wearing my sunlight

I've run away from your mouth but that has only restored my past I’ve written about my life without you but I cannot find myself in it I’ve died so many times between your legs that now I’m Lazarus