by Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal,
West Covina, CA
MORNING FOG
In the morning of fog
the mountains are invisible.
The fog covers the sun
and most of the sky.
No less than an hour
the fog loses its magic.
The mountains appear.
Their height reaches the
sky and the sun is bright.
The fog has ceased to
exist. Light fills every
space in the sky. Time
took the fog into its mouth.
You don’t have to believe me.
In the morning of fog
the mountains are invisible.
The fog covers the sun
and most of the sky.
No less than an hour
the fog loses its magic.
The mountains appear.
Their height reaches the
sky and the sun is bright.
The fog has ceased to
exist. Light fills every
space in the sky. Time
took the fog into its mouth.
You don’t have to believe me.
CARDBOARD PRISON
A cardboard home,
a cardboard gate,
a cardboard prison
not shrouded in
the mystery of life.
Who lives in there?
Who loves him, her,
they, them in that
home? I hear voices,
separate voices.
We can all fall from
grace and say grace
as we eat our meals.
A cardboard home,
a cardboard gate,
a cardboard prison
not shrouded in
the mystery of life.
Who lives in there?
Who loves him, her,
they, them in that
home? I hear voices,
separate voices.
We can all fall from
grace and say grace
as we eat our meals.
WAVES
Waves and waves
of nonsense leaves
us drowning all Spring;
Winter, Autumn, and
Summer too, the waves
came crashing like
never before. One by
one, each wave brought
nausea and anxiety
that will not leave.
Waves and waves
of nonsense leaves
us drowning all Spring;
Winter, Autumn, and
Summer too, the waves
came crashing like
never before. One by
one, each wave brought
nausea and anxiety
that will not leave.
ANYBODY WHO WANTS A DRINK
Anybody
who wants a drink
I offer my tears.
I’ve been bottling them up.
All these tears
I cried for you.
I cried for me.
I cried for everyone
wearing a broken heart on their sleeve.
I cried for you
like a hurricane.
Anybody
who wants a drink
I offer my tears.
I’ve been bottling them up.
All these tears
I cried for you.
I cried for me.
I cried for everyone
wearing a broken heart on their sleeve.
I cried for you
like a hurricane.
TELEPHONE
The young boy asks me
if the telephone was like
a giant cell phone with a
large monitor to watch
television? He asked if I
could talk to other people
by changing the channel.
He asked why it had a long
chord that was long enough
to take the receiver through
every room in the house?
That was dumb he said as
he scrolled down on TikTok
videos of cats singing and
dancing in Tuxedos. He told
me the video of a cat dancing
in a phone booth was his
favorite. He asked me if I
had ever called someone
from inside a phone booth
and if I was ever scared of
running out of breath or
being crushed by a car that
had gone out of control. He
asked if I ever dropped a
dime on anyone. He said he
heard about that in an old
YouTube movie. He laughed
at the cat videos throughout
all the questions he asked.
The young boy asks me
if the telephone was like
a giant cell phone with a
large monitor to watch
television? He asked if I
could talk to other people
by changing the channel.
He asked why it had a long
chord that was long enough
to take the receiver through
every room in the house?
That was dumb he said as
he scrolled down on TikTok
videos of cats singing and
dancing in Tuxedos. He told
me the video of a cat dancing
in a phone booth was his
favorite. He asked me if I
had ever called someone
from inside a phone booth
and if I was ever scared of
running out of breath or
being crushed by a car that
had gone out of control. He
asked if I ever dropped a
dime on anyone. He said he
heard about that in an old
YouTube movie. He laughed
at the cat videos throughout
all the questions he asked.
IN THE SKY
In the sky
nobody
is flying
to the moon.
About now
the dreamers
dream about
the bird man
on the moon
in street clothes.
The bird man
flies to the
stars in dreams.
Nobody
is sleeping
in graveyards.
The bird sings
for the dead
who cannot
hear one note.
The bird man
flies away
to the moon.
His song falls
on deaf ears
in the sky.
____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
WINDSHIELD
—Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal
Fly on the windshield
Red blood moon
In the evening light
The red light
Turns green
____________________
—Medusa, with thanks to Luis Berriozábal for today’s fine poetry and visuals!
In the sky
nobody
is flying
to the moon.
About now
the dreamers
dream about
the bird man
on the moon
in street clothes.
The bird man
flies to the
stars in dreams.
Nobody
is sleeping
in graveyards.
The bird sings
for the dead
who cannot
hear one note.
The bird man
flies away
to the moon.
His song falls
on deaf ears
in the sky.
____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
WINDSHIELD
—Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal
Fly on the windshield
Red blood moon
In the evening light
The red light
Turns green
____________________
—Medusa, with thanks to Luis Berriozábal for today’s fine poetry and visuals!
—Photo by
Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal
A reminder that
Sacramento Poetry Center’s
new workshop, Polyphonics,
begins tonight at 7pm at SPC.
For info about how to register for this
Sacramento Poetry Center’s
new workshop, Polyphonics,
begins tonight at 7pm at SPC.
For info about how to register for this
and about other future 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
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.
Poets’ bios appear on their first MK visit.
To find previous posts, type the name
of the poet (or poem) into the little
beige box at the top left-hand side
of this column. See also
Medusa’s Rapsheet at the bottom
of the blue column on the right
side of this column to find
any date you want.
Miss a post?
You can find our most recent ones by
scrolling down under this daily one.
Or there's an "Older Posts" button
at the bottom of this column.
(Please excuse typos in older posts!
Blogspot has been through a lot of
incarnations in 20 years!)
Would you like to be a SnakePal?
Guidelines are at the top of this page
at the Placating the Gorgon link;
send poetry and/or photos and artwork
to kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post
work from all over the world—including
that which was previously published—
and collaborations are welcome.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!
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
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.
Poets’ bios appear on their first MK visit.
To find previous posts, type the name
of the poet (or poem) into the little
beige box at the top left-hand side
of this column. See also
Medusa’s Rapsheet at the bottom
of the blue column on the right
side of this column to find
any date you want.
Miss a post?
You can find our most recent ones by
scrolling down under this daily one.
Or there's an "Older Posts" button
at the bottom of this column.
(Please excuse typos in older posts!
Blogspot has been through a lot of
incarnations in 20 years!)
Would you like to be a SnakePal?
Guidelines are at the top of this page
at the Placating the Gorgon link;
send poetry and/or photos and artwork
to kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post
work from all over the world—including
that which was previously published—
and collaborations are welcome.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!
