Santa Barbara Bowl |
Missing Persons |
Cotton Jones Performing |
Michael Nau and I |
This blog is to talk about my interests in travel, the outdoors, music, art, writing and literature; all of which have altered my views of this small world.
Santa Barbara Bowl |
Missing Persons |
Cotton Jones Performing |
Michael Nau and I |
Sacred Bird
by Armando Ortiz
The sound of god
engulfs everything;
it's a humming pulse
that flows inside veins.
It becomes
a smoky cloud
of buzzing wasps
found in the middle
of oriental deserts,
where a million red robed monks
blow the horns of heaven,
announcing the induction
to the ceremony of time.
Liquid mirages as real
As Himalayan rocks-
cleaver strikes flesh-
starving vultures
passing judgment
on one’s life.
Flying creatures-
devouring carrion
that die randomly
and violently
like a pair of dice,
-salivate for those
on fields of grey grass.
With penetrating eyes
they see through smoky clouds,
and find secrets kept from others,
while soaring, and searching
for the last goodbye,
waiting for the first cry.
Listening for the bullet
of the first shot,
and finding the first
who got got.
Perched
on that aged branch-
Ancient vulture,
sacred thunderbird-
reveal yourself
to us tonight.
How do you really look?
What face do you put
when you read our misdeeds?
Do you saver to eat
or cry a goodnight
-for this lost soul
wandering the night?
Are you the peregrine falcon,
searching for its prey,
to take back
to the holy house of prayer?
To the place
where tired pilgrims
cast their wares onto
the burning incense.
Do you sit
on a throne of ivory,
inside a building
that symbolizes love?
Are the melodies
coming from within
of women laughing of joy
or are they wailing goodbye?
Do you lift your hand and welcome-
in the towers of Heaven Mountains
where all souls enter-
or point to that dreaded direction?
Is it just decomposition
and regeneration?
a cycle that is
born when one dies?
Or a figment of imagination
With downcast eyes?
Angelique
by Armando Ortiz
Onyx and diamonds in the sky,
and we see each other with frozen eyes.
An immense distance separates us from our smiles,
but with each paused breath we shorten those miles.
You are like a porcelain doll surrounded by crystal glass,
and I am a weathered bronze marker listing events of times passed.
We are timeless pieces suspended
in the eroding moment of now.
Nothing more than traveling amulets
to the gods who cross caravan orbits,
and worship oracles given by the marble fountains.
Glass melts with time,
and metal oxidizes,
and we get lost in the labyrinth
of our smiles.
Our gaze lasts a lifetime
and we get lost
in the desires of ourselves.
Your eyes
become a collection of stares,
and an exchanged thank you.
They become
the pupils of a traveled
Tibetan guide,
and of the foreign student
who wanted to look
into these coffee eyes.
We wander this earth searching
but we might have already found
what is before our eyes.
Date with her
by Armando Ortiz
Let me take you on a date,
where you wear your shortest and lightest dress,
so the sun may caress those legs,
and make people look our way.
Let me take you to Thai town,
where the food is fresh and authentic.
There we can stroll down Hollywood Blvd,
so foreign crowds may see
me walking with a queen bee.
Let my mind experience this wish,
to fulfill its waiting desire
of words from within that showers you
with honey drops of bliss.
Let’s float above the stars,
and walk on clouds in heaven,
tracing the sun’s trajectory,
while driving west on Sunset’s way.
Let’s reach that place
where everything enters
a whirlpool of rays and ocean waves,
that make us sink onto the sand
to a night of ever expanding dreams.
Words of Desire
by Armando Ortiz
The same words of desire that make us aware of colors torture our minds.
Descriptions of beauty carry messages of blemish.
Brutality brings with it tenderness of love.
Salvation is for the perfect, and meek.
The great deed is in sin, and redemption is found inside inequity.
With art there is perfection, and with peace there is destruction.
With sounds I explain this world.
In a frenzy you stamp your feet,
like the old days when our grandmothers danced for rain.
You undress yourself with the naked night and disappear into the air.
Shape shifting sunset fox is your spirit.
The rattlesnake of your breath and that heavenly rhythm touches what I see.
Words don’t penetrate closed minds,
but you painted these memories with colors.
Hallucinations of the words that paint my mind with your image drive me crazy.