The Abandoned Island



Puerto Ricans

there’s war on my people

sterilization, genocide

for years



abandonment of the island

I hear their cries — it burns

quieted deaths


©2017 Liza Morales


The Swiftness of September



September seems
to have snatched
the Summer somewhere
the season shifted
so sharply and speedily,
sooner than scheduled

succeeding seasons
should steer and hold still
slowly switch its stride
savor the sum of significance
and set the stage up
for Summer to salute us
and save our sanity
like a summertime sunset

spirit stays sound
centered in sincerity
sliding through seasons
that serve several purposes
through space and the skies
stable and full of stamina

shivery airs
seep through my sill
saturating the sheets
with satiny sentences
that summons my service
to start another scribe
about what strays
and what stays–
a spiritual spy

special senses
signal me to surrender
like sacred songs
and sincere sayings
so, I start to scribble
a spoon of sentiments
slaying the speed
by seducing the secret
with stylish steps
towards the sudden sight
of a swaying Fall.

©2017 Liza Morales


On the Plane


In the Sky

the fear is diminishing
from that time
we almost couldn’t land
when landing gears got stuck
as we approached the airport
rumbles and thumping sounds
the aircraft shook a little
sensing something was wrong
I felt uneasy, but
we proceeded to land
at a pretty fast speed
brakes seemed malfunctioned
Laguardia’s runway is short
I thought we were going in the water
balmy hands squeeze arm rests
shutting eyes with anticipation
waiting to see what would happen
Am I going to die now?
No! I didn’t want to think about that
but it kept popping in my mind
it was a battle
I was scared
I was not ready to die
I have so much love left in me
this can’t be it!

but then, there was a moment
a moment of surrender
knowing it was out of my control
as the brakes made shrieking sounds
and the tires, discordant on the grounds
my sister and I gazed in fear
mouth agape
in shock of this reality
Is this it for us?
we began to slide from our seats
from the force of the brakes
the plane struggled to stop
we clenched our eyes
I prayed real hard, then
the screeching sounds ceased
and the plane came to a halt
it felt like I just woke up
from a really bad dream
a traumatic experience
after the pilot confirmed
“there were technical difficulties
with the landing gear”
fearful for twenty years after
wanting to travel
but not by plane
not wanting to take the risk
because next time
technical difficulties
may lead to my death…

until a transition occurred
in me, spiritually
practicing more acceptance
living in the moments
releasing my fears
especially of flying
because, you know
I wanna see the world
and how could I do that without flying?
after all,
what’s more beautiful
than flying above the clouds
coursing through blue skies
an aerial intoxication
up high, against gravity
my existence feels different
it feels destined
and purposeful

I continue to fly.

©2017 Liza Morales

Excuse me, are these your kids?



I get sucked into their mouths

where breaths are lost

inhalations are dense

but I hear the words

birthed in their throats

lungs filled halfway

they’re drowning

empty and trapped

with fist pounding chest

yearning for your love


their empty stomachs

weep at night

when you’re not home

they ache for presence

confusion, neglect

they don’t understand

but eagerness drives them

to comprehend

your self-hate

and ‘why?’

and ‘what happened?’

the gut churns

from the feeding of lies

rushed mornings

have become the norm

screechy voice

yelling ‘hurry up!’

and ‘where’s my keys?’

agitated nerves

peace seems to pass you

regurgitating darkness

tainting the spirits

that surround you

so, they wander

like lost cubs finding a way

scared and alone

clinging on to

the threads that dangle

redundant patterns

absence stings less

as time goes by

afflictions get heavy

hormones fatten

feelings flood high

perspectives surface

little by little

boyhood disintegrates

way ahead of time

rage builds up

resentment takes tow

they see you

they see all of you



and look at them.

Are these your kids?


©2017 Liza Morales








further and further

the distance becomes

my arms are tired

but your feet have mileage


a stranded spirit

charging full speed

like the express 6 train

zooming by

skipping stops

uninterested in the journey

seeking a destination

that always seems to come

to a familiar dead end

with no one there

but a mirror and yourself

you hate what you see

so you keep running

with tears in your eyes

not of regret

but more so, frustration

repeating the same

expecting something different

Get out of your way!

and hold still for a minute


but you oppose

it’s too uncomfortable

so, you keep running

like the express 6 train —

my arms are tired

but your feet have mileage

you will get weary,

I hope.


© 2017 Liza Morales



there’s a fragrance that rises

from the decadence of spring

adorned by a theme

of life and revival

a time that dwindles off

the murk of winter

flowers germinate

and the trees redress

greens, lavendar and pink

a gorgeous, pastel painting

the air becomes diaphanous

and the sun comes out to play

revving the zest in spirits

that froze over last season

children’s laughter ring louder

and breezes sing songs of hope

as energies amplify

from the essence of vigor beings

temperatures begin to ascend

in gradual increments

preparing us

for the entrance of summer

but until then,

I’ll revel in this space

of reincarnation

and slow breaths

of the present moment.

©2017 Liza Morales 

In a Moment’s Time


window, half-way cracked

morning breeze is cool

the birds are excited

their songs –arousing

blending backyard vibes

neighbors play their tunes

Caribbean sensations

sifting through the trees

as the Bronx brims with life

intentions for the new moon

and firetruck sirens

howl from a distance.


©2017 Liza Morales