Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal, W. Covina, CA
GLANCE
In an ever-changing world,
I glance at my watch,
time is limited,
a hurried glance is all I can muster.
I seek tranquility
but I am almost out of time.
Half-lowered were my eyes
when I took another glance
at the clock with wings.
I reach for the door.
My fingers turn to dust.
It must be a dream
as my chest constricts.
In the distance
a beautiful voice
calls from the shadows
as time expires.
In an ever-changing world,
I glance at my watch,
time is limited,
a hurried glance is all I can muster.
I seek tranquility
but I am almost out of time.
Half-lowered were my eyes
when I took another glance
at the clock with wings.
I reach for the door.
My fingers turn to dust.
It must be a dream
as my chest constricts.
In the distance
a beautiful voice
calls from the shadows
as time expires.
WANDERING EYES
I have wandering eyes:
everything is a canvas
with plentiful possibilities
that fits in a frame.
This is how I live life
with failure as a gift.
I am not hostile to shape
or color: l like escaping,
like larvae fleeing from
danger. Life comes in
stages. I am of the
opinion it is a gift with
a two-edged sword.
Treat it like a game
and you are sure to
lose. Take failure in
stride. Get yourself
off the floor and start
again. Let your eyes
wander and draw a
picture of life’s gift,
the soaring birds,
the changing colors
of the sky. A smile
on a stranger’s face
after escaping from
the arrows of sorrow.
I have wandering eyes:
everything is a canvas
with plentiful possibilities
that fits in a frame.
This is how I live life
with failure as a gift.
I am not hostile to shape
or color: l like escaping,
like larvae fleeing from
danger. Life comes in
stages. I am of the
opinion it is a gift with
a two-edged sword.
Treat it like a game
and you are sure to
lose. Take failure in
stride. Get yourself
off the floor and start
again. Let your eyes
wander and draw a
picture of life’s gift,
the soaring birds,
the changing colors
of the sky. A smile
on a stranger’s face
after escaping from
the arrows of sorrow.
YELLOW CAT
On top of the fridge
a yellow cat figurine
was set to pounce.
Tripping out as I
fall to the kitchen
floor the yellow cat
figurine pounces.
It breaks next to me
in yellow puzzle pieces.
When I come back
to my senses I sweep
up the mess left behind.
On top of the fridge
a yellow cat figurine
was set to pounce.
Tripping out as I
fall to the kitchen
floor the yellow cat
figurine pounces.
It breaks next to me
in yellow puzzle pieces.
When I come back
to my senses I sweep
up the mess left behind.
TO LOVE
Who does not want to love
before it is much too late?
Feelings become deformed
like an old tree’s root or
its branches. Who does not
want to love before the
feeling sours? Hearts are
complex and complicated
when they rely on a mind
that can no longer wait in
vain. Who does not want
to love when time ticks away
as health becomes a factor
and a hindrance to lasting love?
BOOK SMART
I saw how you ate
what you should not
eat. The sweets that
eventually
took a toll on
your health. I see
myself doing
the same thing. You
were book smart and
so am I. Why
did you eat like
that? Why do I eat
like that? We each
fought death for years.
I hope I can
make it as long
as you did, eight
months shy of your
seventieth
birthday. I know
it is not a race.
It just feels that
way. I need to
watch what I eat.
Perhaps I could
squeeze a couple
of decades out
of this body
that relies on
my decisions.
I may be book
smart but I am
failing myself.
MYSTIC SONG
The mystic sings his song
to ward off the spirits that
hide in a desert of darkness.
His voice does not tremble
and it does not waver. Its
strength keeps danger away.
The mystic sings his song
from the depths of his soul
sending the dogs from hell
howling, petrified with fear.
His voice instills hope and
courage in the face of
fierce demons who are sent
away shrieking and cowering.
____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
FIRST-THOUGHT BOX
—Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal
When I translate my own poems
something always gets lost.
From my lips to the page, I
change one word to another,
and I end up second-guessing
myself. I go back years later,
gradually making changes in
my mind, and still I cannot
decide what word I like better.
____________________
—Medusa, with thanks to Luis Berriozábal for today’s fine poetry and visuals!
—Photo by Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal
For future 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—
and keep an eye on this link and on
the daily Kitchen for happenings
that might pop up
—or get changed!—
during the week.
Photos in this column can be enlarged by
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in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.
Find previous four-or-so posts by scrolling down
under today; or there's an "Older Posts" button
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by typing the name of the poet or poem
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Would you like to be a SnakePal?
Guidelines are at the top of this page
at the Placating the Gorgon link;
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—
and keep an eye on this link and on
the daily Kitchen for happenings
that might pop up
—or get changed!—
during the week.
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-or-so posts by scrolling down
under today; or there's an "Older Posts" button
at the bottom of this column; or find previous poets
by typing the name of the poet or poem
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
to find the date you want.
Would you like to be a SnakePal?
Guidelines are at the top of this page
at the Placating the Gorgon link;
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!
