You were
By Armando Ortiz
You were
caramel salt
after our long hike
you were
black licorice
when I smelled those curls
you were
a jolly rancher
cherry kiss
you were
a ripe peach
warm to the touch
in this history of mine
you were
not an illusion
when our cheeks pressed
you were
golden silk
Zigging Road
By Armando Ortiz
On the splendid heights of dreams, the size of Himalayan Mountains, where you find sacred crystal streams.
Is how I feel when I hear your voice and the words that reach my ears put all frustrations at rest.
But I wonder where these rivers will take me.
Will I meander through gentle ravines and silent valleys where the water glides through the surface of the earth?
Will the journey lead us to violent clashes and tumultuous rapids that slam onto boulders of granite.
This dream turned reality is uncertain and I wonder how much longer am I able to handle the twists and turns of these unknown rivers that become asphalt.
You told me of a deeper good that can be found dwelling in my heart and of the service given to communities.
You were eager to hear my daily battles with youth and told me it was just normal situations in a teacher’s life.
But I feel like I can’t help you, your course of travel has been turbulent and chaotic with an ebb and flow of violence, and how am I to respond to such realities?
I'm there to listen, but can’t stop you from reminiscing about those days.
Uncertainty with the future is a double edge maze.
Do I want to complicate my life with more problems?
Does that plastic water bottle have vodka?
Is that where your fear of loneliness stems?
Should I not care and just enjoy the ride?
Jumping out before the raft sinks to the bottom of rushing waters or right before it flies off a waterfall cliff?
What is love?
What is patience?
Where does kindness lie?
Can it be found under a soothing voice or in the laughter of a mermaids’ pleasure?
Can it be found in my pleadings to cease the drinking?
Cease the mourning?
In many ways you were my rescuer, but I soon found that you too were barely afloat, and disheveled after tempestuous rapids and crazy roads.
A siren swept by the violent waters of a typhoon.
You’ve reached the bottom many times, but have you truly touched the surface of the volcano?
I don’t cry as I did when I let go of your hand at the airport that first time, but there is just an interminable sadness that surrounds me like an aura of uncertainty.
Life is so unstable and with you the ground seemed firm, but what is up ahead and what will we face?
Will you demand your luxurious lifestyle and eat out every day or settle for a common man’s life home cooked meals?
Will you be glad with simple clothes and a gentle warm hand?
I aimed too high and seemed to have fallen to the ground and it appears that whoever I meet is on shaky ground or doesn’t want me around.
I miss you, and love you, and so I think of you, but I have to let go, for your sanity and mine.
Valley Oak
By Armando Ortiz
Valley oak tree,
deeply grounded
roots mingling
with barren gully
like a standing pompom
its long branches
block the So Cal heat
soft winds makes one ponder
Unmoving tree
with dark brown skin
having reached
its farthest boundary
Continuing the cycle
with falling acorn
fattening bounty
Deer feeding
and dying in silence
while red tail hawks circle
watching coyotes dancing
Beautiful lady
baked by the sun
standing naked
like an autumn dream
Go to that canyon spring
and there say a sacrament
for something to happen
For you to become her
and I to turn into a mountain
Mojave Road
By Armando Ortiz
Mojave
A vast land of unknown
Vulnerable desert tortoise
entitled to cross Mojave roads
fetus eggs hidden in Yucca groves.
What if it was a trans-gendered crawler
would it be protected by human law
slowly moving on asphalt only touching it with claws.
Mojave
under the sun it glows.
The diversity of the desert terrain
is it evidence based or an optical illusion
the desert needs a voice and inclusion.
SUV crushing a baby turtle
means the extinction of this rare creature
and that is my science based conclusion.
Mojave
black light crawlers put on a show.
Break of Light
By Armando Ortiz
Break of light
emerging from the night
The beginning has arrived
the start of the day is fast approaching
Dawn’s sky is the pacific
reflecting its image in a vast ocean
Stars glitter like black mica flakes
flickers of people rising from the night
Welcoming the rays of a sunburst
embarking on a journey of life
canoes begin crossing the seas to islands
from this world to the next.
Break of light
emerging from the night
Some awaken into a prolonged slumber
at the cusp of birth
All sides see color explosions
and wonders in all directions
Life conceived
we emerge crying
Into a sea of emotions
and endless possibilities.
Return
By Armando Ortiz
I want to return to my youth
where I saw untouched landscapes
and from my youth to that imagination
where parking lots were dense forests.
Will I play with diecast cars?
Return
I want to go back to that mind
that saw the Yosemite valley
and from that mind to the eyes
that see the coast expand before me.
Will talking sea-lions and coyotes be there?
Return
With every blink of the eyes
I'm transported to that collective memory
in the eternal conception of time.
Will the sky be as blue as it is today?
Return
I want to be in the land of stone and water
and return to a world forever remembered
crashing waves and misty fog greeting me
seagulls and warblers talking to each other.
Will those sounds be there?
Return
Embers
by Armando Ortiz
The music stopped
idyllic melodies came to an end.
Her kiss
carved on his mind
left him floating in smoke
the central coast
forever virgin
together camp they broke.
Returning there
always reminds him of the time
they found lost canyons
and saw hidden grandfather trees
but she was looking for true love
and all he knew were magical places.
She thought he was interested in
better things, but all he wanted
was a smile that meshed with the present,
a memento of them
enjoying the simple things of life.
There were sparks,
and fires were lit
she left him sweltering
and now everything is dead
limbs, legs and mind are exhausted
the ground completely burned.
She flew while he scorched,
and the cold winds blew
feeding embers through the night.
Comforts of Night
By Armando Ortiz
Moon rays bombard
the anchored boats
Off the coast
they sway
We follow owls
through the night
Evening desert winds
pass through the canyon
Blowing out
to the silent bay
While your hand
feels my back
Rustling leaves
flood the arroyos
The cool oven jet streams
feed our burning fire
We sleep naked
warming each other
Mockingbirds
cut across
Manzanita trees
surround us
We embrace
under a blanket
The night is a starry splendor
sleepless but fully awake
We enter each other’s eyes
and find comfort
Pieces of Light
By Armando Ortiz
The world is a jet stream that takes him to world divine,
and if he conducts with respect he won’t be condemning himself to die,
but if passing to the next life a condemned man,
then let that light hit like a bullet, as the first ringing of a bullseye.
Walk and talk with truth and deep valleys with flowery meadows
will not only be recorded from his eye,
but that warm texture of soft hands that make ephemeral mudra signs
will guide the way, to the other side of the divine
that texture of time will be with him till eternity
and all that’s left is but a nothing dark night.
Interstellar Trail
By Armando Ortiz
Buddhist teaching,
word and symbol,
Vajra standing
on paper still.
Diamond sutra
hemp on plaster,
hand moving faster
laying a path of ink.
Holy priest floating
riding on tiger clouds,
dismembering ego
promising redemption.
Horse of the Great Plateau
rumbling into war
chariot of fire
demolishing walls.
Flying creature
found in white clouds
on frozen blue sky
protects the spirit trail.
Ancient pilgrim
walking through desert
passing through gorges
finding knowledge in the sacred.
Old Tibetan libraries
under constant repair
after years of cultural warfare
on silent mountain valleys.
Ring the bell
of present chant,
the setting sun
washed in corral dye.
Sketched masterpieces
capture the moment
the violet sky turns onyx
revealing the source of clamor.
Palace of refuge
with dining hall
where longing gets quenched
in a banquet under Guanyin’s eye.
Master’s imagination
sketched on paper
for blind men to follow
the pattern of the shining
interstellar ember.
Sutras kept alive
on blueprint scrolls,
four sided walls repeating
the divine cycle that’s law.
Autumn Leaves in Beijing
by Armando Ortiz
Two shadows were following me last night, giving the body a shivering fright. I turned around to see who was behind, but it was the street lights casting two shadows in the night. Walking home, and hearing noises scattering from the sides, the breeze sweeping the autumn leaves on the floor, but out of sight.
At a distance a black cat ran, crossing my path looking for cover, becoming a discarded newspaper twisting, scattering, and making my thoughts stutter. Discarded rubbish blown along, like dark ocean waves, became black tarantulas that crawled on the ground.
Later, I woke up in a cold sweat to the clanging of the metal door- late October, when winds shake pots and pans past the midnight hour. Traffic lights and flag poles shaking and resonating like a lone drumstick that lands on a snare drum.
On that crisp and starry night, I was afraid that death would soon take hold, and blind me with nightmare dreams while locked inside an endless dawn. Even if living on an island I would not be at peace, because something was haunting, but the mind remained clueless to what that could be.
In Beijing, amongst retired folk that woke up early to do their morning taichi is where I lived, frosty breaths blending with dawn’s flowing air. They seemed unfazed with nature’s change that was in the air, and moved their arms as if spinning and mixing clay-wares.
It was like being in a Bergman film, where I was supposed to see my body stiff, but then the next day the heater came on, and the warmth of my home, became a shelter of safety from the cold crawling into every corner of the city.
The last days of autumn, when the warm colors that trees wear fall to the ground, and brown dead leaves
announce the blistering winter’s arrival, who with sweeping broom sounds, rakes away all that has passed,
bringing a stiffening cold season that will refuse to move fast.
One day you will remember
By Armando Ortiz
One day you will remember my love and kindness. Seasonal winds will begin to shift south, heading toward distant reserves, and a misty drizzle will be heard from the window, but outside a sun brighter than light will breathe a baking wind on to you. Then a mountain of butterflies will appear on the date when you should recall my words.
On that day, pine trees will become bouquets of orange poppies that hang from every branch, and the hands of our giving mother will unfold as monarchs that rest on green needles sharing memories of us with every flap of their wings.
It will be a clear autumn day, where delicate yellow like leaves will remain suspended in midair, never to touch ground, under a noon sun. Despite this broken heart, harvester butterflies will pass you bye, and then, when I’m no longer here, they will whisper these words, “My love for you was an endangered phenomenon.”
