Poetry by Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal – Better Days and Biography December 15, 2022
Posted by vscorpiozine in Los Angeles poets, Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal, Uncategorized, Veteran Poets.Tags: Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal, poems, poetry, veteran poets
add a comment
Better Days
I was less of myself
from the days I was better.
The mirror did not lie.
I left my best days behind.
I waited for daylight,
dreaming of better days.
I knew that day would come.
More of me would return every
hour of every day. The sun
would wash my eyes out and
return my soul that had left
my body believing I had died.
I was less of myself
from the days I was better.
Biography
I know I was born
and I know I am still alive.
I am here to tell you about it.
When I was a child
I was raised by my grandparents.
I had a good life growing up.
Each day was better than the next.
I had yet to see the ocean
and death was not a thing I thought about.
It might as well been a wounded beast
moaning in pain and I would not have
recognized that sound. I lived a quiet life.
I lived an innocent life.
I played in the rain and never got sick.
I learned grammar in school.
I did not know I would be a writer.
As I grew older I experienced the deaths
of almost all the people that influenced me
the most. I have my mother still,
whom I love most of all. Without her my life
and those of my siblings would be in ruins.
BIO: Luis lives in California and works in the mental health field in Los Angeles. His poetry and artwork has appeared in Art:Mag, Medusa’s Kitchen, Nerve Cowboy, Rogue Wolf Press, and Venus in Scorpio Poetry E-Zine.
Winter-Poem by Jade Blackmore December 3, 2022
Posted by vscorpiozine in Jade Blackmore, Los Angeles poets, poets from Illinois, Veteran Poets, winter.Tags: Jade Blackmore, poems, poetry, veteran poets
add a comment
It’s not cold enough at 50 degrees. The seasons are all mixed up.
We need a challenge, a thin sheet of ice, a specter from the sky.
A myopic wind chomping at the reigns.
Something to make the tribe tougher.
And then the window rattles you awake
To guarantee ice cube drudgery with each step.
The bridge across the river clotted with snow,
A crunchy and obstacle-ridden
reminder of your delicacy.
Square shards of ice in shoe corners, a numbing,
And then the reprieve –
A push through flimsy aluminum,
flesh crooked with cold pushes through to the crackle of home
The door hinge squeaks like a welcoming sigh
Then seals you into recovery,
A warm blast of love and soup.
Poems – Sleepless Again and Good Days by Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozabal May 10, 2022
Posted by vscorpiozine in Los Angeles poets, Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal, New Poets.Tags: poems, poetry
add a comment
Sleepless Again
Sleepless again,
awake at the witching hour,
an everyday thing,
no wonder I seem so tired.
I read and watch tv
like I have all the time in the world.
My thoughts are all scrambled.
Who knows when I will fall asleep.
I heard the birds
and their late night songs.
Nature is beautiful.
I sit down to write.
Gathering words,
I throw them against the wall.
Night is when I write
the small poems.
I go to outer space spaces.
I cut things short.
Good Days
Good days stray.
Bad days stay.
One day things
will balance.
Before then,
them bad days
know they are
killing it.
know they arekilling it.
That gets me
down. It hurts.
Help does not
seem to come.
Waterfall tears.
Arms hanging.
At times these
moments stray.
Today is
a good day.
Said as much
yesterday.
Give it time.
You know well
something else
is coming.
Do not fret.
It happens.
It is life
testing you.
Remain strong
in your mind
and hope for
the good days.
BIO:
Luis lives in California and works in the mental health field in Los Angeles. His poems have appeared in Escape Into Life, Live Nude Poems, Mad Swirl, Unlikely Stories, and Venus in Scorpio Poetry E-Zine.
Poem by Jade Blackmore – The Old Poets December 28, 2020
Posted by vscorpiozine in Los Angeles poets, poems, poetry, Uncategorized.Tags: Jade Blackmore, poems, poetry
add a comment
They all gathered in a basement near the beach. Sunlight covered by brick and photocopies, the pesky blonde surfers sent packing, the scourge of suburbia long gone.
The reluctant idol in western jeans ducks into his car, but he can’t escape. The parkig lot fence won’t shield him from the aftermath of his chosen profession. Every autograph paves a piece of soul flattened until he can escape incognito to another land .
Neon-haired old woman
Swathed in black
Yells across the room
Even louder than she did in her heyday,
Oblivious to the background bro calling her an old hag.
Her former partner-in-crime ostracized
For having the wrong opinion.
The woman who raises chickens and grows corn in her back yard
Discusses Bukowski with a slouching, bespectacled poetry professor.
In a previous life he was a long-haired bass player, dropping acid and sharing girls in Golden Gate Park.
The wine disappears from red Solo cups as conversations intensify.
The words of fallen comrades echo in front of scratchy 8 millimeter films.
Self-made local legends, revealed to a select few.
Only those who crack the code understand.
Transference and time fade the intent,
but the spirit remains.
Poems by Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal- Lightning Flash and No Need (The King of the Streets) April 29, 2020
Posted by vscorpiozine in chapbooks, Los Angeles, Los Angeles poets, Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal, Uncategorized.Tags: Los Angeles poets, Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal, poems, poetry
add a comment
Drawing by Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal
LIGHTNING FLASH
I see you in people I knew,
like a flash of lightning,
come and gone. I know you
are your own person, but
as frame of reference it is
not uncommon to make
comparisons. You have a
look in your face when I talk
and I can sense disappointment.
I know it will soon be over.
I have gone through this before.
There are no hard feelings.
I am accustomed to lightning
and how it shines and disappears.
NO NEED (THE KING OF THE STREETS)
As long as I have
a heartbeat
I will not ever
feel poor. At
night I make a home
in a park.
Food is all around.
I take from
the kind hearted.
Sometimes it’s
just around, on
trees, in trash
bins, almost fresh.
For movies
I watch the stars,
the people,
or the tall trees.
For music
I hear the birds,
crickets, and
cars zooming past.
For books I
have no need. I
read the clouds,
lips, newspapers
left behind.
I still dream. When
I become so
absorbed in
my dreams, I find
just enough
to get me through
the day. I
do not feel poor.
I am the
king of the streets.
There is no
need for a crown
or golden
robe. I keep still
when I feel
tired. If it rains,
I find a
bridge for shelter.
Do not feel
sad about me
Vscorpiozine's Blog 