Poetry from Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal

Shadows and Darkness

I trace life 
with a poem.
If I die, 
my poem 
will live on.

The shadows 
will recite it.
Darkness will 
commit it to 
memory.


Swallow Your Mirror

Swallow your mirror.
Digest your vanity.
You can do it.
Let it enter and exit
and flush it down
the sewers of
darkness and rats.
Somewhere it will
sparkle, the vanity
of your own making.
Let the crystals shine,
the shattered pieces 
all around. Who has
been down there?
Will anyone find
all that remains
of your mirror,
of your vain face,
and who will care?
In the sewers
where the dream fades,
where blood and glass 
flows. Who knows?
Are birds there too,
with lost songs that
drives one to tears?
There is no light.
Crazily, the deeper
you go down the sewer,
symbols are everywhere.
Suddenly, a road 
appears in the
shadow, and it must
be a wrong road.
Vanity stops
and asks if it is 
alright to die.
When it is no more,
when it stops,
you can hear the lost
songs of sickly birds.
The sewer ends here
with the lost songs.
You taste the blood.
The mirror repairs
itself and you see
the vanity fade.
The eyes are
open, not blind.
After awhile,
you exalt I am alive.
The mirror becomes
your best friend in life.

Plant a Tree

Be the mind
that turns words
to honey.

Be the eyes 
that bring fire
to the page.

Make it sweet.
Make it burn.
Make it live.

Do something
never done.
Take a risk.

Or plant a
tree that will
outlive all

the poems
you wrote in
your whole life.

Precious Lives

Street cat crosses my path
Precious nine lives at risk
Heat rising to one hundred
Precious life needs a drink

Kicks a can just for kicks
Precious time ticking fast
Bricks are dropping on the street
Precious has no need for shame

Wanna file a complaint?
Wanna make a federal case?
It won’t make it better 
Mean streets make mean cats

Avenue fills up with cats
Precious lives need saving
View it from every street corner
Precious days, precious nights

Hip cats walk on by
Precious time on their side
Slip up and things will change 
Precious luck could go away

Wanna file a complaint?
Wanna make a federal case?
It needs to get better
Suck the poison and spit it out

Way is the end of the street’s name
Pavement is the cat’s bed
Baby cat is out there too 
Night falls along with the rain

Ethereal whispers fill the air 
Precious voices drowned out
Imperial folks hoard their wealth
Precious like Sméagol’s gold ring

Stayed with the cat as it walked its 
precious life across the street
Made a left on the way home
Precious time ticking fast
Off work on Friday makes me

wanna go home and pass out
Wanna file a complaint?
It will not make things better
Mean streets make mean cats


Night in My Eyes

Salt in my tears.
Night in my eyes.
Faucet with drips.
Sea without waves.
Cautiously, I 
walk like the blind.
I settle in
my grave, alive.


Bio: Born in Mexico, Luis lives in California and works in the mental health field in Los Angeles. His poetry has appeared in Blue Collar Review, Crossroads, Mad Swirl, Unlikely Stories, and Yellow Mama Webzine. His latest poetry book, Make the Water Laugh, was published by Rogue Wolf Press.

Poetry Showcase by Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal : Grave Concerns