israel-ortiz-jr
Israel Ortiz, Jr., is an American poet, writer and playwright. He is unpublished and currently working on his first manuscript of poetry and novel: 'THE BELL JAMES'. Several of his earlier work can be found online at poetry.com and anthologies. His first written poem 'STONE FACE' was first published in an anthology book and considered for a poetry prize.
It's hard to breathe when
you're suffocating
in the ********
of others.
I like to stand clear
from people and their
******** drama. They
all enjoy drama.
If I start to suffocate
in my own ********
and lies, would you
be there to whisk me away?
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 1:46 PM UTC
You light up your cigar
like a smooth jaguar on the hunt.
As if you were savoring
every moment of it to a tee.
Down to business with no
horsing around. A better
***** cannot do a better job
like you are right now,
even on a good day. Yes, sir.
I knew when I saw them lips
that you would light my cigar
on extreme fire. Oh yeah,
and that right there is a good
thing. You give the best ********
in town. The best that I ever
had in a while. Just keep it
the same when you come back
next week to smoke my cigar
again. I am glad you swallow
all that good milk when you smoke.
Sep 2, 2014
Sep 2, 2014 at 10:44 PM UTC
Lately everywhere I go
I see nothing but a pale face,
I see your face, my face,
his face, her face and their
face. The brows are low
but the lips are up! Here
we beat the wind of
tomorrow and look up to
the gray sky for a simple
answer. But nothing in
life is never that simple.
Everything is blurred;
captured in slow motion.
I place my hand on a child
looking to be blessed. A
woman sits in silence but
her prayer is thunderous.
So strong as if breaking
down the walls of Jericho.
We light a candle for the
dead. I light a candle for
my brother. It is his face
that I see. I hear the voice of
Callas, intruding into my
thoughts but giving me
solace. Died of a heart attack
it is said. He put a bullet
in his head. You were both
cremated. I wish to be
dressed in white when I
am burned.
Sep 2, 2014
Sep 2, 2014 at 9:51 PM UTC
On the pulse of mourning,
we gather to salute you.
To eat from your plate of wisdom
and love. A purely magnificent
symbol of an earthly mother
and teacher. You are no doubt
unequivocally that phenomenal
woman; a woman of substance,
elegance, empowerment,
encouragement, strength, courage,
love, influential, giving,
understanding, peaceful, nurturing,
caring, independent thinker, motherly,
activist and poet. You have filled
our cup up with joy. You have instilled
in all of us that through your
imperfections and life's hurdles;
we too can survive. That we should
not be caged and to do unto others
what we would like others to do
unto us. Whereas to walk on the right
path of good, we will be rewarded
in gold. You were a mother to all
of us. You carried us and lifted
us when we were down but still
continue to do, through your poems
and writings. I have a dream! As we
all do, to walk in the presence of a
Queen - Maya Angelou. I am your
son spiritually, as you are a motherly
goddess, which I or we (your adopted
spiritual children) aspire to walk in
the graces of. You brought such hope
and fortitude into the lives you've
touched and inspired. That we now say,
thank you! Thank you for being that
phenomenal woman. We mourn you
no more but now sing to celebrate
your life.
Sep 1, 2014
Sep 1, 2014 at 11:24 PM UTC
You are most definitely
no muse to
one of Picasso's
paintings.
You are most definitely not:
Fernande
Eva
Olga
Marie
Dora
Francoise
Genevieve
or
Jacqueline!
I am most definitely
not a painter
but a
poet 'El Poeta'
Aug 31, 2014
Aug 31, 2014 at 5:19 PM UTC
Sunday!
A gray mouse on a blue morning.
The cat must've went away on vacation
Or atop of the bookshelf
dead asleep. I can surely use him!
Mr. Snowball where are you at?
He is a miniature version
of a polar bear, hence the name,
Snowball, an obese cat of thick white fur.
I see the smallest of mice and I immediately
turn into a scared elephant
on the brink of a nerves breakdown
hanging on a chandelier for dear life.
I can't stand seeing those little gray
creatures roaming around the house
scaring the bejesus out of me and sending
me into a frozen-like coma.
It was on that Sunday morning when
I was feeling blue as I sat down to work
on my writings like any regular day
when that little gray mouse suddenly crossed
my feet and my heart dropped to the floor.
Aug 30, 2014
Aug 30, 2014 at 9:10 PM UTC
Why did your love
always come
with an iron fist?
It always seemed
that your short-
comings and frustrations
were misdirected.
If only if you were
able to love me
with out your
heavy handed fists.
I took blow after blow
while I felt your
rage from your heavy
breathing affliction.
There was never a
better day or
night for you when-
ever you were home.
You always seem to
end up raptured into
this vortex which I
always ended up
under your wrath.
Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 9:35 PM UTC
Sometimes he is child-like,
releasing balloons up
in the air; crying because
a piece of candy fell onto
the floor; wanting an item
which someone else
already possesses; creating
a scene, begging to be held,
getting lost, breaking
things, yelling for no
particular reason,
farting in public, setting
out for mischief, falling
and getting hurt, blaming
someone else for the damage
he caused, creating a
ruckus in a peaceful place,
drowning out the thoughts
of others with the
insensitivity of his games
and selfishness,
behaving foolishly,
thinking that medication
is bad, teetering on
the verge of a
bipolar disorder
breakdown,
imaging himself
to that of a
character in Neverland.
Aug 28, 2014
Aug 28, 2014 at 12:11 PM UTC
You claimed to wear
my love like
a tattoo.
I fought for your
loyalty
so I wear it
like a tattoo. It
fixed nothing
just got worse.
Aug 27, 2014
Aug 27, 2014 at 3:26 PM UTC
Sometimes
I feel like I speak
a foreign language
to people
of no
intelligence
or
at least
it
seems
that way to me.
My
Puerto Rican
tongue functions
superbly
and I
always give it
a direct rhythm
for a
perfect tone.
Aug 27, 2014
Aug 27, 2014 at 3:04 PM UTC