Adobo Criollo Sergio Antonio Ortiz Rivera

Desiderata, Is It Needed         There are days  you walk around dazed and you're not very friendly. Minutes, even hours,  find you lost and I know  my presence confounds you. That's when you start talking in whispers. It's your way  of asserting the strands  of silver on your head, your Lord of the Flies dance  around my campfire. Don’t let it blind you. Virtues  abound in everyday heroes.

Poems Up @ Former People

Desperate The sea blew wind chimes, wind chimes dried the red roses, the roses heads of martyrs. My memory full of words, my thoughts looked for ghosts, forgotten nightmares from many nights ago. At dawn, my thoughts flew like seagulls. In the lit windows the ever-present portrait of death made desperate efforts to flee.

Poem Up @ Califragile

Poems Up at Unlikely Stories Mark V Unlikely Stories Mark V

El por qué la Mujer Maravilla siempre se afianza sola En e l sinuoso devenir  hacia mi destino perfecto voy a ser como  la Mujer Maravilla  que hasta en su soledad se maravilla de si misma  pero es incapaz de separar a su Amado  de lo que se ha convertido

Collusion Your eyes gazed on me with such quiet simplicity that for a moment they awakened my already unusual feeling of sadness. Your eyes examined me with such quiet despair that for a moment you awakened my atrophied piety. Your eyes looked my way with such hushed curiosity that I was briefly shaken by the iron teeth of a curse. Your eyes studied me with such desolate intensity that for a moment I blessed the miserable glint of tradition. Your eyes glanced at me with such unparalleled interrogation that words were just utterly useless. Your waterlogged eyes pored over me with such desperate love, that for a moment I thought I’d discovered the terrifying image of complicity.

Vienes a esta ceremonia como enlace salvaje de tu silencio, su lógica bien intencionada. Atestigua la cadencia que estalla en este instante, sazona el fuego, sostén los hilos invisibles que nos han mantenido juntos sin quemarnos. La suma de todos esos minutos, esos detalles minuciosos, la corrección no especificada de cada media hora, se ha grabado así misma en los centros que ocultamos de los seres en que nos hemos convertido. Ven a esta ceremonia como una voz que vuelve tan salvaje como tu silencio. Todas las contingencias están abiertas a la discusión. La buena voluntad puede ser el tema en el aire.

The arch of my life would not be the same without you in it. That's why these words are not just for you. They are if you want, somewhat selfish. I like to think that even in silence, and at a distance, you're always there. It is important that you know I feel you closer then what you really are, and that I celebrate you. I sense the kisses and hugs from one of your homeland, here in the Caribbean of my heart, that you enlightened and illume.

This Friday  is an indelicate   gesture.  It neither shouts nor kisses  nor frightens nor hugs.  It contains rage, does not let it out.  It is a hand that dances in the nude and is sought.

I celebrate night, the beauty of its murmur with the almost whisper of the ashes falling from my cigarette

Poems Up at Unlikely Stories V

December 31st night's broken residue-- the slow freedom of a city in darkness ~ Dedicated to San Juan , Puerto Rico New Year’s Eve 2017

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.)

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. Inside yet far from you like a lost path on another continent.

poem up at The Writing Disorder http://writingdisorder.com/ sergio-ortiz-poetry/ Poem accepted at Barking Sycamores Poem accepted at Narrow Road Poem Accepted at Unlikely Stories V Poem Accepted at Survision I'm thrilled

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.

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 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.