—Photo by Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozabal
—Poetry by Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozabal
West Covina, CA
—Other Photos Courtesy of Public Domain
LOCK HANDS
I will send you a postcard
of the brown mountains.
The beauty in nature is
extra beautiful in this town.
Here we could be happy.
I got my smile back.
Come and take my hand
and the other one too.
I had grown restless.
I just had to go away.
I look everywhere for you
from the hotel window.
There is easy living here
where the smiles are kind.
Let’s lock hands together.
Let’s go out in style.
I will send you a postcard
of the brown mountains.
The beauty in nature is
extra beautiful in this town.
Here we could be happy.
I got my smile back.
Come and take my hand
and the other one too.
I had grown restless.
I just had to go away.
I look everywhere for you
from the hotel window.
There is easy living here
where the smiles are kind.
Let’s lock hands together.
Let’s go out in style.
WIND ENTERS
Wind enters and exits.
Wind lingers sometimes.
Sometimes cold.
Sometimes warm.
It soothes and it destroys.
It whips up fires.
Sends the flames.
Throws you rain.
Wind untamed.
Sometimes wild.
Sometimes without restraint.
Wind enters and exits.
Wind lingers sometimes.
Sometimes cold.
Sometimes warm.
It soothes and it destroys.
It whips up fires.
Sends the flames.
Throws you rain.
Wind untamed.
Sometimes wild.
Sometimes without restraint.
GO TO SILENCE
Motionless,
I shudder
as I go
to silence.
Sickness fills
my heart. A
day and a
night without
you. Helpless,
my chest hurts.
Sounds of birds
in the trees
and prairies
don’t move me.
I listen
to the wind.
Motionless,
I shudder
as I go
to silence.
Sickness fills
my heart. A
day and a
night without
you. Helpless,
my chest hurts.
Sounds of birds
in the trees
and prairies
don’t move me.
I listen
to the wind.
WAVES
Waves
deep
as
land
becomes
extinct.
Waves
wash
over
tears
of
sadness.
Waves
engulf
this
land
of
killers.
Waves
silence
all
of
us
tonight.
Waves
deep
as
land
becomes
extinct.
Waves
wash
over
tears
of
sadness.
Waves
engulf
this
land
of
killers.
Waves
silence
all
of
us
tonight.
LISTENING TO THE VOICES
I came in to work.
The day was waiting.
I took it on and
I did my best. I
spent many hours on
the phone listening
to the voices of
people wishing for
better things. Face it,
I want better things
too. I listen to
them on the road home.
The voices stay with
me. In my house I
hear the voices too. I
cannot get to sleep.
I came in to work.
The day was waiting.
I took it on and
I did my best. I
spent many hours on
the phone listening
to the voices of
people wishing for
better things. Face it,
I want better things
too. I listen to
them on the road home.
The voices stay with
me. In my house I
hear the voices too. I
cannot get to sleep.
ONE DAY
One day I will come around
and one day I will touch moonlight
and become paralyzed.
Being under the radar is fine
with me. I live in a dream
where life is more comforting.
I do not dance but I sing.
Public places give me anxiety.
I stay off the sidewalk as much
as I can and wear the same shoes
I have been wearing for months.
One day I will come around.
It is easier to lay down and rest.
I rise in the morning to go to work.
It feels wrong to go everyday.
It is a necessity that will end one day.
____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
DIG
—Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozabal
These hands that dig
the earth without
gloves will one day
be six feet deep
under the earth.
They will not be
touched by wind or
rain. They will not
dig or make a
fist. Without gloves,
they will remain.
_____________________
—Medusa, with thanks to Luis Berriozabal for today’s poems, as he brings us the wind~
One day I will come around
and one day I will touch moonlight
and become paralyzed.
Being under the radar is fine
with me. I live in a dream
where life is more comforting.
I do not dance but I sing.
Public places give me anxiety.
I stay off the sidewalk as much
as I can and wear the same shoes
I have been wearing for months.
One day I will come around.
It is easier to lay down and rest.
I rise in the morning to go to work.
It feels wrong to go everyday.
It is a necessity that will end one day.
____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
DIG
—Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozabal
These hands that dig
the earth without
gloves will one day
be six feet deep
under the earth.
They will not be
touched by wind or
rain. They will not
dig or make a
fist. Without gloves,
they will remain.
_____________________
—Medusa, with thanks to Luis Berriozabal for today’s poems, as he brings us the wind~
For upcoming poetry events in
Northern California and otherwheres,
click on
UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS
in the links at the top of this page.
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—
and collaborations are welcome.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!
Northern California and otherwheres,
click on
UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS
in the links at the top of this page.
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—
and collaborations are welcome.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!
the wind