Singing From The Heart

 

—Poetry, Photos and Artwork by
Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal, West Covina, CA 

SOLITARY

The solitary bird
perched on a thin branch
on a lazy afternoon
sang straight from its heart.

I listened to it
from my room. I was alone
too. But I did not feel lonely.
Its song filled me with joy.

 

 

 

 

EVERYTHING ENDS

Something blinds me.
Something blinds you.

Memory haunts us both.

Everything ends.
We practice saying goodbye
between the shadows.

We take to the sea
or the river

when land is on fire.
Its waters are soothing.
In the river, your reflection
of a river in your eyes.

__________________

CLOUDS

Who does not like clouds
that can present infinite forms
complimenting blue skies?
Their beauty unfolds and transforms.

At night they appear
surrounded by a crisp breeze
when the sea is in close proximity.
How the ocean waves imitate
the shape of clouds only to
unravel. How many words do clouds
form? Does not it make you smile?

 

 

 

 

FOR YOU

For you and all your pain and mine,
I share the seas and the forests
and its green, yellowing, and red leaves.
On the branches we can hang our bags
and on the grass we can lay down our
blankets. We can hear the white doves
sing and their distant echo will reign.
For you and all your pain and mine,
I share my open-hearted hope of joy
that will arrive when the hummingbird
comes from the sky to bring us luck.
The absence of pain is what we seek.
Let’s lay down on the tall green grass
and sleep as the lizard scuttles past.
Listen to the strumming of the guitar.
Hear it as you sleep and dream, so
gentle like a clear water stream. Let’s
start up a bonfire to toss in the bad
spirits, the thorns in our hearts, and
the pain. Never surrender. Let all the
pain go up in flames. For you and all
your pain and mine, I offer you the
blooming rose, a red one for love,
and the hope of a better world. Where
is the answer to our prayers? Is it hidden
in the face of the moon? Is it languishing
between the strings of dueling guitars?
Has it been consumed by falling rain
and shooting stars? Is it waiting to be fished
out as coins in abandoned fountains?

 

 

 

SPRING AND FALL

I will leave spring
to the singing cuckoo
and blooming flowers.
I will take fall
and one of the birds
with the rough voice and
a couple of trees
and one of the ghosts.

I love summer and
winter when it is not so
hot or too cold. The sun

has its charm, until
the heat starts to bite.
The cold of winter has
its claws of ice that sting.
The fierce summer heat
can ruin any walk as
it spreads it flame all over.

Just be happy with spring
and fall, and shorten
the seasons in half.

 

 

 

 

WIND OR SHOVE

Look at what the wind blew in?
I do not know what you mean, I say.
She said I should be a stone,
unmovable by wind or shove.
How strange, I asked, I do not
love this discourse or insinuation.

 

 

 

LEAD THE WAY

Stand in the light.
Shield the brightness
with your beautiful hands.

Protect your eyes.
Stand behind trees
with the bright green leaves.

Walk through the lush
mulberries you
see everyday from you window.

The fragrant smell
comes from nearby

to lead the way.
How sweet it is
to be alive and a part of this world.

____________________

Today’s LittleNip:

There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.
 
―Maya Angelou, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings

____________________

—Medusa, with thanks to Luis Berriozábal for today’s fine poetry and visuals!

 

 

 

 —Artwork by  Luis Berriozábal



 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A reminder that
Stephen Meadows and Rita Wakefield
will be reading in Camino this afternoon to
celebrate Native American Heritage Month.
For info about this and other
upcoming poetry happenings in
Northern California and otherwheres,
click on
UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS
(http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html)
in the links at the top of this page—
and keep an eye on this link and on
the daily Kitchen for happenings
that might pop up
—or get changed!—
 during the week.

Photos in this column can be enlarged by
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Find previous four-or-so posts by scrolling down
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Would you like to be a SnakePal?
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Just remember:
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for poetry, of course!

 

 LittleSnake’s Glimmer of Hope
(A cookie from the Kitchen for today)

daredevil squirrel
barely squeaks past
my monster of a car~