Songs That Rermain

It Isn't Mine 

* * *

—Poetry and Visuals By 

Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal,
W. Covina, CA

 

 

IT ISN’T MINE

Is the wind anybody’s?
It isn’t mine.
Still I hear it blow.
It dilutes my eyes.
And is the rain anyone’s?
It muddies up
the streets.
It isn’t mine.
Still, it cleanses me
and the roses.
Is the sky everyone’s?
It isn’t mine,
not the sun, not the
moon, or the stars.
Tell me and I’ll tell you
we are not possessors
of anything if we
cannot share everything.

 

 

 

 

IMAGINE

All Things Must Pass.


I wonder what song


I will be playing in


my head on my death 


bed. The Weight. 


Will that song carry


me off when I take


my last breath? There


Is A Light That Never


Goes Out. Will this be


the song in my head
when everything goes
dark? When there is
no more sound or
music to be heard?
Imagine; Smells Like
Teen Spirit. Will those
songs play as my soul
leaves my body? There
are too many songs
to fill this page.

 

 

 

 

STILL, THE SONG REMAINS

In the silence of thought


feelings of abandonment 


wash away with rain


from the skies. 

I hear a song from 

courtyards, empty houses,
and closed taverns
that spreads through church
aisles and horse carriages,
through open doors
and windows; through
strange towns, through
barbwire fence after barbwire
fence. I hear it vibrating,
such tender verses,
bouncing off the trees,

from the birches. The
song seems to be
forever fleeting like
the girl that got away.

Still, the song remains

after all is said and done,


or is it just in my head,


burning, like the weeping

willows down the road.

 

 

 

 

THE WAITRESS SMILES

The waitress smiles


when I order food.


Friendly, I wonder


if she knows I made 


a good choice, or


if her smile is a way


for me to remember


to leave a good tip.


I usually do anyway,


even when the food


is subpar. After all
she did not cook it.
The only drawback
for her is that I most
likely will not be back.
Her smile is lovely.
But if the food is not
good, I will not be
back anytime soon.

 

 

 

 

BAD LUCK TUESDAY

Bad luck Tuesday.


The moon was a witness


to my stumbling in the dark.


I found a hole to crawl in.


Kept company with a snake.

Its poison did not work on me.
Its fang was soft as butter.

Bad luck Tuesday.


I was a day late and a buck short 


for the winning lottery numbers


that were read aloud on TV.


I found a hole to crawl in.


There was dead man freshly 


buried in the hole still breathing.

 

 

 

 

MY SENTENCE

The day gives me my sentence.

I must stay in bed past noon.
I must practice to love myself.
I must nurse my wounded heart.

There is a strange bird outside


my window. It is the Phoenix


delivering a message from the 


sun. It is a bad joke I can’t repeat.

The day gives me my freedom.


I must head out to the city.


It is going to be a good day.

My wounded heart will heal itself.

 

 

 

 

GOING SOMEWHERE

I plan on going somewhere.


I plan on staying home.

Nothing is set in stone.
Life makes its own plans
for us sometimes. I hope
for something unexpected
to happen; something
beautiful I had not planned on.
I suppose I could be optimistic
for once. I plan on going
somewhere. I plan on staying home.

_____________________

Today’s LittleNip:

Don’t let the good days get to your head, and don’t let the bad days get to your heart.

—Caroline Ghosn

_____________________

—Medusa, with thanks to Luis Berriozábal for today’s fine poetry and visuals!

 

 

 

 —Public Domain Art Courtesy of Medusa

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A reminder that
Sacramento Poetry Center
will be honored by
Calif. Writers Club
today in Fair Oaks, 12-3pm;

Become the River Literary
Festival of Coloma takes place
today, 3-8:30pm; and
Bonfire music/spoken word
takes place tonight in Old Sac, 8pm.
For info about these and other
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
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.

Poets’ bios appear on their first MK visit.
To find previous posts, type the name
of the poet (or poem) into the little
beige box at the top left-hand side
of this column. See also
Medusa’s Rapsheet at the bottom
of the blue column on the right
side of this column to find
any date you want

Miss a post?
You can find our most recent ones by
scrolling down under this daily one.
Or there's an "Older Posts" button
at the bottom of this column.
(Please excuse typos in older posts!
Blogspot has been through a lot of
incarnations in 20 years!)

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!