Summer, Do Not Follow Me

—Poetry by Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal, West Covina, CA
—Sun God Visuals Courtesy of Public Domain

BIRD WATCHING

I have seen them from piers
soaring above the ocean
without desperate flapping
in the afternoon summer sun.
I have seen and heard them singing,

shaking their tail feathers,
providing comfort on lonely days.
I have seen them in winter
gliding up and down. I have seen
their portraits in local galleries.

I have often wanted to be
a bird as well, flying in
the heavens, singing songs
a human being could never sing.
I would not mind being a bird.

AT THE GATES OF THE SUN GOD

My blistered hands
find the sun more
and more trifling.

As I crawl on my hands
and knees at the gates
of the sun god,

I ache in the worst pain.
I need a dozen Advil
or something stronger.

These delusions become
real as I go up in flames
like a vampire in the sun.

How do I get out of this
hell on earth in this great
heatwave out of nowhere?

It was raining just the other
day. Now it’s summertime in
May. Where’s my April showers?

BUILT TO LAST

Who is built to last anyway?
I got a bum knee
that does not like
to cooperate when it gets too cold.
I imagine I’m getting old.
This knee has been this way since
I was eighteen.
I was always told about my old soul.

Who is built to last anyway?
I’ve got things taken
out of me to be able
to live a little longer. Cancer is not
a thing to mess with.
It goes and comes back. The strong,
the weak, the young, the old
have fought it like me.

Who is built to last anyway?
We do our best to
live with our burden.
Slowing down is not always a choice
when you don’t know how
long you will last. We build our lives
to get through the hits,
to live and survive.

A SINGLE SOLITARY THOUGHT

There is no surprise.
There is nothing.
I am not fooled.
A little bird told me these things.
I had a single solitary thought.
I was among the trees.
The trees read my thoughts.
The trees told the little bird.
And all I thought was this.
All I thought was I’m not in love.
I don’t know if it’s true.
I don’t know what to say.
I don’t know where I’m going.
I don’t know if I’ve said too much.
Where has the little bird gone?

A DREAM

You are a dream,
a ghost face, who
smiles a ghost smile,
without words. I

see your tears in
your ghost eyes in
my dreams. I have
travelled far in

eternal sleep,
a sleep like death.
I am a dream.

I chase a ghost
in my dream. I
feel so dead tired.

 
WALK ON BY

Summer, do not follow me.
Keep your hands to yourself.
You need to understand
more than anyone that no one

walks by my side. Take your
gold sun with you. Do not
go away sad. My one and
only is far away and young
love is dead and broken.

Summer, do not take me out.
You have worn out your welcome.
You need to understand
that those days are in the past.

If you see me crying, it is
from the light inside my eyes.
If I get high, it is not from love.
Shine your bright light elsewhere.
It’s too late for us. If there is
anyone that is blind, it is you.

I don’t cry anymore. If you need
to come again, walk on by.

  

DON’T FALL FOR A POET

Don’t bring up autumn
when you know it is fall to me.
Don’t call me olive eyes
when you know full well they
are green. You could say
they are light green. Why
did I have to fall for a poet?
I should have hooked up
with a banker or an accountant,
someone good with numbers.
Don't scrawl words in old
receipts or in the back of
junk mail envelopes. I am
tired of seeing them on
the kitchen table or in
the dresser drawer. It used
to be cute when we started
going out. You never write
things for me anymore like
you used to do. Don’t you
love me anymore? Have you
found a new muse? What is
her name? She better pray
I don’t see her in the street.

____________________

Today’s LittleNip:

PURPLE TREES
—Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal

The purple trees
have a name and
I am not a
good enough bard
to look at it
and name it right
on the spot. I
did a google
search and found the
name of the trees,
Jacaranda.
If the name was
any longer
I would not write
it down in this
poem that has four
syllables for
each line. These trees
are beautiful.

_____________________

Good Sunday morning, and welcome to Poet Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal  from West Covina, CA, who is joining us for the first time in the Kitchen! Luis is the author of Raw Materials (Pygmy Forest Press), Before and Well After Midnight (Deadbeat Press), and Make the Light Mine (Kendra Steiner Editions). His other books, broadsides and chapbooks have been published by New American Imagist, New Polish Beat, Poet's Democracy, Propaganda Press, and Ten Pages Press (ebook). Luis resides in California and works in Los Angeles. Again, welcome to the Kitchen, Luis, and don’t be a stranger!

_____________________

—Medusa

 Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal

Photos in this column can be enlarged by
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.

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Don’t fall in love with a poet. . .