—Poetry, Photos and Original Artwork by
Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal,
Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal,
West Covina, CA
WHAT I FEEL
After Orhan Veli Kanik
I am out to explain
what I feel on the page.
I want to talk about
things I know to be true.
With words I get the pain
out so I can live on.
With words I calm the grief.
With these hands I write and
wipe away my cold tears.
With poems I use this
voice for everyone to hear.
After Orhan Veli Kanik
I am out to explain
what I feel on the page.
I want to talk about
things I know to be true.
With words I get the pain
out so I can live on.
With words I calm the grief.
With these hands I write and
wipe away my cold tears.
With poems I use this
voice for everyone to hear.
STILL
Still as a monument
and voiceless like
the stones you were
made from. Your mouth
could not say things
or feel a kiss. Your
dream, if you had
one, was as sad
as your still head and mouth.
A butterfly
lands on your nose,
a dove graffities
your left eye, and
this was one dream,
or so I heard
from a small bird.
OUT OF THE DARKNESS
Look away.
The dead of night approaches.
The witching hour comes
to disturb the dreamers.
In the dark night,
darker than a grave,
a heart with no pulse pines for you.
With outstretched arms,
immense reach,
and incomprehensible strength,
a phantom comes
out of the darkness
from ancient times.
Its breath is like death’s stench.
Its dead eyes put dreamers
in their graves.
In nightmares, dreamers tangle
with the phantom.
Here, on its turf,
you lose every time.
The sign of the cross won’t save you.
Look away.
The dead of night approaches.
The witching hour comes
to disturb the dreamers.
In the dark night,
darker than a grave,
a heart with no pulse pines for you.
With outstretched arms,
immense reach,
and incomprehensible strength,
a phantom comes
out of the darkness
from ancient times.
Its breath is like death’s stench.
Its dead eyes put dreamers
in their graves.
In nightmares, dreamers tangle
with the phantom.
Here, on its turf,
you lose every time.
The sign of the cross won’t save you.
MY HURRICANE, MY AGONY
You are my hurricane,
the eye of the storm,
the unexpected rain
that destroys my roof.
I could barely stand
here, in this uneven,
flooded land. How deep
are these holes the rains
left behind? Who are you?
This soil will take years to
heal. You are my agony,
an agony like no other
that gnaws at my heart
and drinks all my blood.
You are my hurricane,
the eye of the storm,
the unexpected rain
that destroys my roof.
I could barely stand
here, in this uneven,
flooded land. How deep
are these holes the rains
left behind? Who are you?
This soil will take years to
heal. You are my agony,
an agony like no other
that gnaws at my heart
and drinks all my blood.
ONE DAY
One day
you will no longer recall my name.
The days will seem normal.
I lost
myself long ago, a capsized soul,
in desert oasis mirage.
One day
maybe another day, my name will
be removed from everyone’s lexicon.
One day
you will no longer recall my name.
The days will seem normal.
I lost
myself long ago, a capsized soul,
in desert oasis mirage.
One day
maybe another day, my name will
be removed from everyone’s lexicon.
THE COW GRAZING
I had my cold drink in the morning.
It tasted like grass.
I thought of the cow grazing.
I wondered if it felt the same taste.
I was hungry all morning long.
I felt like eating something good,
something hot. I thought of
the cow grazing. Will it end up
in someone’s oven or will it be
the goat grazing that never
once crossed my mind.
____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
TOOTHLESS
—Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal
Toothless lions
and crocodiles
walk along in
the land of toothless
beings. How sad
is the widowed
queen of the jungle
and the crocodile
all out of tears.
____________________
—Medusa, thanking Luis Berriozábal for visiting us in the Kitchen again today with his tasty poems and pix!
I had my cold drink in the morning.
It tasted like grass.
I thought of the cow grazing.
I wondered if it felt the same taste.
I was hungry all morning long.
I felt like eating something good,
something hot. I thought of
the cow grazing. Will it end up
in someone’s oven or will it be
the goat grazing that never
once crossed my mind.
____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
TOOTHLESS
—Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal
Toothless lions
and crocodiles
walk along in
the land of toothless
beings. How sad
is the widowed
queen of the jungle
and the crocodile
all out of tears.
____________________
—Medusa, thanking Luis Berriozábal for visiting us in the Kitchen again today with his tasty poems and pix!
"Will it be the goat grazing...?"
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy
of Joe Nolan, Stockton, CA
of Joe Nolan, Stockton, CA
For upcoming 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.
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.
Find previous four posts by scrolling down
under today’s post; or find previous poets by
typing the name into the little beige box
at the top left-hand side of today’s post; or
go to Medusa’s Rapsheet at the bottom of
the blue column at the right
and find the date you want.
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
(http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html)
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.
Find previous four posts by scrolling down
under today’s post; or find previous poets by
typing the name into the little beige box
at the top left-hand side of today’s post; or
go to Medusa’s Rapsheet at the bottom of
the blue column at the right
and find the date you want.
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!
(A cookie from the Kitchen for today):
autumn night sky wears
a single diamond earring…
—no, wait!—
that’s the moon~!