Sunday, January 02, 2022

Tree Speak

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

Because I waste words,
I could be considered dumb.
I like to think otherwise.
I am not one who hoards
words like some secret.
I often speak from the heart.

My silence is not loneliness.
My dreams are not far-fetched.
With words I try my best
to acknowledge your loveliness.
Day and night I think of you
and when I am dreaming too.


Down the road
the moon has fallen
and the stars weep.
The scavengers search through
the broken pieces.
The night is
on red alert.
A lot of light has spilled
with great force.
The moon has fallen.
The fallen moon
shines no more.
Silver moon blood spills out.
White light is gone.

The moon has fallen.


I saw the moon rise and fall
with eyes that hurt from weeping.
I saw faces on the moon that
resembled lost loves of my youth.

I could blame it all on drink.
I have not drunk for two months.
I do not think I have gone mad.
Perhaps my mind is playing tricks.

The clouds provide no cover.
Movable objects do not
obstruct the moon from my vision.
The faces look at me and laugh.

I do not want to see the moon
anymore.  I watch the birds.
A sparrow sings a song that
brings back painful memories of

my youth.  It sings the songs I
used to listen to when I
was in love.  I look to the moon
and face the faces of lost loves.


At twilight
I lived with regret,
unable to sleep.
At high noon
I should have read the clouds,
the crows on the wire,
the foreboding.
I had not taken a bite
of the rich food
that would be my downfall.
I trembled in pain.
My unhappy stomach
was cursed all evening.
If I could turn back
the clock, to noon,
I’d eat more sensibly.
This crepuscule
I would spend with Nellie,
without pain.
I would even take
an evening stroll,
on my headphones.
I would soak
in every note.

The indifferent universe endures
while my heart breaks time after
time.  The stars spit out light into
the dark sky.  I feel empty of hope.
I want the rain to wash me clean.
I want to start over.  I do not regret
to have loved.  I weep not for love
lost.  The indifferent universe does
not appear to be on the brink of
collapse.  I should not feel so bad.


The less you speak
the longer life you will live.
Words and rumors
will make you look silly.
In public, keep
conversation brief.
Blame it on the birds and
the rain on the leaves.
Say nothing.  It
is difficult to keep your
thoughts to yourself.
Be vague if you must speak.
Blame the words on
the wind, a black crow.
Do not cry like
a willow.  You are a different
tree, one that speaks.
Do you know they will cut
you deep?  Do you know they
will burn you down?


Today’s LittleNip:

—Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal
We turned to darkness
at night, walked into
the rose bushes and thunder
struck us, we burned, the rose
bushes burned.  I hopped and
hopped on burning heels.


—Medusa, thanking Luis Berriozábal from Southern California for his fine poetry and calendar art today, starting off 2022 with tasty dishes for Medusa’s Kitchen!
—Public Domain Photo by Joseph Nolan, Stockton, CA


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clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.

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