—Poetry and Original Art by Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozabal,
West Covina, CA
STARE AT THE STARS
Do you ever see the world
upside down and inside out?
Do you ever train your eyes
to look directly into the sun?
There are those who do. I
prefer to stare at the stars,
the little ones that hardly
shine as bright as the big ones.
From my bedroom window
I watch the moonlight and
airplanes. The world is big.
The world I live in is small.
I do not travel too far, which
keeps my anxiety low.
______________________________
ZOMBIE TIME
The hour winks and blinks
this Monday morning,
wishing last night was all
a figment of the imagination.
My mind feels heavy and
my mind stares at the clock,
more like a zombie than
an explorer.
______________________
TIME STOPS
I tried to recover
my sleep lost.
I tried to restart
the life I lived.
It is not easy to
know time has
passed me by as I
turn my head around.
There was a time for
dreaming and
it is gone for good.
Even time stops.
DOWN THE ROAD
Down the road
the path was clear.
The road here,
I could not move.
My nerves boiled.
I wanted you
more and more.
My path was blocked.
It was slow
getting to your
place, and still
I stayed on the road.
___________________
THE WINDS
The winds are talking
with swirling words
out in the desserts
and sand sea shores.
A complete whirlwind
absent of tears. The
winds are talking with
flailing arms in hopes
of destroying the world.
Down the road
the path was clear.
The road here,
I could not move.
My nerves boiled.
I wanted you
more and more.
My path was blocked.
It was slow
getting to your
place, and still
I stayed on the road.
___________________
THE WINDS
The winds are talking
with swirling words
out in the desserts
and sand sea shores.
A complete whirlwind
absent of tears. The
winds are talking with
flailing arms in hopes
of destroying the world.
FLOWING THOUGHTS
These flowing thoughts
both positive and doubtful
make being alive
a place of uncertainty.
Carrying a heavy weight
and fear of the unknown,
I take a deep breath. I
go around in circles with
joy and sorrow.
There are questions I have
no answer for. Finally,
I see the end and also
the beginning.
These flowing thoughts spring
to life, sprinkling
sweat, blood, and tears.
_____________________
THE THIN CLOUDS
The thin clouds
outnumbered the birds
but could not stifle their sound.
But I had
a weight on my mind and
it made me not appreciate their song.
The thin clouds
in the horizon did not
end their shift shaping.
I thought it
was nature attempting to bring
a smile to my face. Finally,
the thin clouds
divided and disappeared
along with my sorrow. Around
and around,
a slow wind circled me
and I felt it was nature again,
bringing light
to my state of being,
and I went from sorrow to
joy and to a blissful state.
_____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad.
― Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
____________________
—Medusa, with thanks to Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozabal this morning for his colorful poetry and calendar art!
These flowing thoughts
both positive and doubtful
make being alive
a place of uncertainty.
Carrying a heavy weight
and fear of the unknown,
I take a deep breath. I
go around in circles with
joy and sorrow.
There are questions I have
no answer for. Finally,
I see the end and also
the beginning.
These flowing thoughts spring
to life, sprinkling
sweat, blood, and tears.
_____________________
THE THIN CLOUDS
The thin clouds
outnumbered the birds
but could not stifle their sound.
But I had
a weight on my mind and
it made me not appreciate their song.
The thin clouds
in the horizon did not
end their shift shaping.
I thought it
was nature attempting to bring
a smile to my face. Finally,
the thin clouds
divided and disappeared
along with my sorrow. Around
and around,
a slow wind circled me
and I felt it was nature again,
bringing light
to my state of being,
and I went from sorrow to
joy and to a blissful state.
_____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad.
― Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
____________________
—Medusa, with thanks to Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozabal this morning for his colorful poetry and calendar art!
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Joseph Nolan, Stockton, CA
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.
Would you like to be a SnakePal?
All you have to do is 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.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.
Would you like to be a SnakePal?
All you have to do is 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.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!
