April Pattern


seasons create art
with patterns and symmetry
winter in the Spring
white dustings accumulate
distinctive motif is birthed.

©2018 Liza Morales



The Last Encounter


‘I love you’ were the last words said

it was the night before you bled 

by morning, I missed dad’s calls

as you laid between bathroom walls
blood vessels bursted in your head

‘I love you’ were the last words said

massive bleeding flooded your brain

the thought of this, drove me insane
doctors said you wouldn’t make it

that prognosis didn’t seem fit

‘I love you’ were the last words said

intubated and face all red
I sang all night and prayed with might

til the sun came to smear its light

last breath …. spirit rose from the bed

‘I love you’ were the last words said. 
©2017 Liza Morales 

RIP Mom 4/8/51 – 4/3/08

Sweetener 27/30


I like my coffee hot, real hot. I prefer it bold and robust and lightly sweetened. Sometimes, I use flavored creamers to sweeten it, other times I use organic raw sugar.
I must say, every time I use sugar, I can’t help but think of my island, Puerto Rico and its rich production of sugar in the 19th century. I can’t help being reminded of the hourless days they toiled under grave conditions, for pennies a day. I can’t help but think of all the slaves that were imported for the greed of gluttons. I can’t help but think of how Puerto Rico’s sugar industry was manipulated, drained of their resources and ultimately dominated by outside capital, the United States.

sugar industry
arable land, plantations
stolen molasses.

©2016 Liza Morales

(Haibun poetry)

On Impact 25/30


the usual 8 to 4
on a luminous, spring day
brisk walk, lunch break
Dunkin Donuts, blocks away
tuna on croissant
brown bagged, headed back
traversing crosswalk
in money earnin’
north 6th avenue
corner of city hall
peripheral vision
a car drew closer
from halfway down block
stop sign said STOP
audible tones
in red and white
unhurried motion
moments passed
a thrusting blow
right side of body
flight up, sling shot
like a stunt trick
on hood of car
this young body
rolled then debarked
hard landing
slathered on sediments
black concrete
brawny thighs
battered to a blemish
in purple rain
on pearl white skin
cervical pain
spinal bulging
tingling sensations
muscle spasms

but these discomforts
emphasize the life in me..
spared, I’m grateful
breath is still granted.

©2016 Liza Morales

My Budding Soul 23/30


watch this garden flourish from my soul
seedlings of love embedded in a hole
that’s where magic begins to germinate
and roots of fortitude strive to navigate
like encircling vines that wrap a pole

nurturing the core is my daily goal
and letting go what’s beyond my control
allowing the self to ultimately elevate
..watch this garden flourish

I’ll continue to recover what my demons stole
they tried so hard from keeping me whole
but a soul like mine is not meant to dissipate
stems are strengthened and start to regenerate
to negate everything that’s been a toll
..watch this garden flourish.

©2016 Liza Morales

(Rondeau poetry)