—Poetry, Photos and Art by
Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal,
West Covina, CA
THE QUIET STARS
The quiet stars are listening in.
They are absent-minded some nights.
So far away, they can hear a pin drop.
They can hear you breathe and sigh.
So far away, their specialty is to shine.
Perhaps it’s their soul that lives on
when they die, a bright soul and light
as a butterfly? The quiet stars look
and look for peace of mind all night long.
The quiet stars are listening in.
Often their minds are distant and aloof.
They are good at complaining
when they are listening in.
They hear so much nonsense
and insane reasonings. It upsets them.
The quiet stars prefer the silence.
With silence, they can concentrate on
shining. They prefer the simple life.
The quiet stars give thanks to artificial
light. So far away, they wish for silence.
______________________
INSIDE MY HOUSE
Shadows converge
into my footsteps.
I go back to
my house safe with light.
This is the place
nobody haunts me.
Outside there is
always a presence.
Inside my house
I contemplate life.
Out in the night
I could disappear.
The streets become
a wicked labyrinth.
Inside the door
of my house I feel
I will never
go into the void.
The quiet stars are listening in.
They are absent-minded some nights.
So far away, they can hear a pin drop.
They can hear you breathe and sigh.
So far away, their specialty is to shine.
Perhaps it’s their soul that lives on
when they die, a bright soul and light
as a butterfly? The quiet stars look
and look for peace of mind all night long.
The quiet stars are listening in.
Often their minds are distant and aloof.
They are good at complaining
when they are listening in.
They hear so much nonsense
and insane reasonings. It upsets them.
The quiet stars prefer the silence.
With silence, they can concentrate on
shining. They prefer the simple life.
The quiet stars give thanks to artificial
light. So far away, they wish for silence.
______________________
INSIDE MY HOUSE
Shadows converge
into my footsteps.
I go back to
my house safe with light.
This is the place
nobody haunts me.
Outside there is
always a presence.
Inside my house
I contemplate life.
Out in the night
I could disappear.
The streets become
a wicked labyrinth.
Inside the door
of my house I feel
I will never
go into the void.
BETWEEN TWO LOVEBIRDS
Between two lovebirds,
I am alive because of you.
What I say is nonsense because of you.
From one lovebird to the other,
what more can I say about your eyes?
Lend me a hand, I am lost for words.
I watch the light of the sky fading.
If I fall asleep, the light will return.
____________________
BECOME MORE INVISIBLE
Even if I try,
I cannot become
more invisible.
But there are days I
get a look where I
am acknowledged.
I do not seek out
attention. Maybe
just a little.
I spy the naked
moon and wonder if
it watches me.
I feel its shine like
daggers thrusted into
my gazing eyes.
The stars turn into
birds, a flock of lights,
that blind my view.
I get on my horse,
which is my car, and
drive away to
a place where even
shadows disappear,
and I fall asleep.
Between two lovebirds,
I am alive because of you.
What I say is nonsense because of you.
From one lovebird to the other,
what more can I say about your eyes?
Lend me a hand, I am lost for words.
I watch the light of the sky fading.
If I fall asleep, the light will return.
____________________
BECOME MORE INVISIBLE
Even if I try,
I cannot become
more invisible.
But there are days I
get a look where I
am acknowledged.
I do not seek out
attention. Maybe
just a little.
I spy the naked
moon and wonder if
it watches me.
I feel its shine like
daggers thrusted into
my gazing eyes.
The stars turn into
birds, a flock of lights,
that blind my view.
I get on my horse,
which is my car, and
drive away to
a place where even
shadows disappear,
and I fall asleep.
CATCH FIRE
Words are my puzzle pieces,
the hairs on my head
that catch fire as I walk.
They are my toys when
all I want to do is play.
At times I am the cat
playing with mouse words.
Other times I am mouse
running for dear life
using words to avoid
the cat’s paws and
sharp teeth. Without
words to play with
life seems meaningless.
I walk around
the block with
my hair on fire.
The fire is the words
I cultivate in my head
when I feel like playing.
Words are my puzzle pieces,
the hairs on my head
that catch fire as I walk.
They are my toys when
all I want to do is play.
At times I am the cat
playing with mouse words.
Other times I am mouse
running for dear life
using words to avoid
the cat’s paws and
sharp teeth. Without
words to play with
life seems meaningless.
I walk around
the block with
my hair on fire.
The fire is the words
I cultivate in my head
when I feel like playing.
AS THE DAY WINDS DOWN
Let your beaten body recede
as the day winds down.
Let night ease you with song,
a great lullaby.
A pinch of stardust is all
you will need to deal
with life’s complexities
and ruthless fury.
Hope floats like a lone feather,
like a speck of dust,
swirling in the wind.
May you find comfort
as you take a deep breath. May
you summon a bit
of superhuman
strength to live this life.
_____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
YOUNG HEART
—Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal
Young heart, how you melt like wax,
like butter, like snow, how your veins
fill with warm blood, red like wine,
and dark blue through your pale skin.
Young heart, your life is fleeing, and
like time’s gazelle it will grow old.
_____________________
Click on Medusa's UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS (http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html) for details about today’s events and other future poetry events in the NorCal area—and keep an eye on this link and on the Kitchen for happenings that might pop up during the week.
_____________________
—Medusa, with thanks to Luis Berriozábal for today’s fine poetry and visuals!
Let your beaten body recede
as the day winds down.
Let night ease you with song,
a great lullaby.
A pinch of stardust is all
you will need to deal
with life’s complexities
and ruthless fury.
Hope floats like a lone feather,
like a speck of dust,
swirling in the wind.
May you find comfort
as you take a deep breath. May
you summon a bit
of superhuman
strength to live this life.
_____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
YOUNG HEART
—Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal
Young heart, how you melt like wax,
like butter, like snow, how your veins
fill with warm blood, red like wine,
and dark blue through your pale skin.
Young heart, your life is fleeing, and
like time’s gazelle it will grow old.
_____________________
Click on Medusa's UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS (http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html) for details about today’s events and other future poetry events in the NorCal area—and keep an eye on this link and on the Kitchen for happenings that might pop up during the week.
_____________________
—Medusa, with thanks to Luis Berriozábal for today’s fine poetry and visuals!
The listening stars…
—Photo Courtesy of Public Domain
For more about National Poetry Month,
including ways to celebrate, see
https://poets.org/national-poetry-month.
And sign up for Poem-a-Day at
https://poets.org/poem-a-day/, plus
read about Poem in Your Pocket Day
(this year, April 27) at
https://poets.org/national-poetry-month/poem-your-pocket-day/.
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!
including ways to celebrate, see
https://poets.org/national-poetry-month.
And sign up for Poem-a-Day at
https://poets.org/poem-a-day/, plus
read about Poem in Your Pocket Day
(this year, April 27) at
https://poets.org/national-poetry-month/poem-your-pocket-day/.
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!
