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home | poetry forum | Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal

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The spring sun can be
very pleasant when
there are no hands on
the clock and no job
waiting to be done.

It is so very pleasant
to know there are no hands
on the clock and the job
comes with vacation
time and holiday time.

The spring sun shines on
as I lie in my couch
at home having a
very pleasant dream
about handless clocks.

- Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozabal

(featured in the poetry forum 02.20.15)

editor's note: Let's make Big Biz this way; install handless clocks on every wall and a couch by every desk. - mh


She carried out my execution.

She was dressed in red.
I nearly ate my heart.
There was something about her.
I slipped into nonexistence.

She was dressed in red.
Perhaps it was foreshadowing.
I nearly ate my heart.

I was speaking in tongues.

She filled me with anxiety.
I could not move to save my life.
I was speaking in tongues.
She made me disappear.

I walked in green pastures.
I laid down in a meadow.
I found a peaceful end.
I disappeared without a trace.
I tired of myself.

I could not blame her.
She was kind enough
to end my misery.
I felt her hair brushing on my face.

I found a peaceful end.
I ceased to exist.
It was useless to resist.

- Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozabal

(featured in the poetry forum 09.19.14)

editor's note: Ethereal, external executioner to carry out our self-sentence; assisted suicide. - mh


Youth is not immortal,
though a heart can remain young.
One July morning
I called her beautiful and meant it.

She thought I was silly.
I thought I was brave.
I was longing for acceptance.
My heart was weighing a ton.
I was far from Don Juan.

She was the woman of my dreams,
the most beautiful creature.
I wanted to shout it out.
She made me face reality.
She brought me down to earth.
She beat sense into my heart.
I live with a curse ever since.
I continue my journey.
I still believe she is beautiful.

- Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal

(featured in the poetry forum 03.08.14)

editor's note: This beholder is the best Don Juan; a true believer. - mh


I find comfort in the not knowing.
I am a lazy detective,
like a fish out of water.

I find comfort in the long evening.
I find no lightning in a bottle,
just the wine inside.

I live this way.

I find the heart too fragile and weak.
It does not soar like eagles.
My gloomy eyes do not shed tears.
They are just serene.

- Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal

(featured in the poetry forum 08.31.13)

editor's note: I prefer wine to lightning, myself. But, exercise for my weak heart couldn't hurt, could it? - mh


I’ll meet you where the sea ends,
where the sky is eye level,
where boats are houses
or shipwrecked. I’ll meet you
where the horizon is at your
feet, where the water drowns
the sky. I’ll meet you where
there is no movement, where
one just sits and stares at
the blue sky at our feet.
I’ll meet you where the colors
of everything are off and
the only color is blue.
There is such a place, where
the sea ends and where
the sky is at eye level.

- Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal

(featured in the poetry forum 03.04.13)

editor's note: When you meet on that shipwreck sea, bring a lifeline; enough to save two. - mh


The secret voice
finds my wound.
Like a needle
it pricks me.

With immense sound
it shouts in
my ears and I
start to bleed.

The secret voice
lingers like an
echo that won’t
go away.

It bores through
my skull. It will
not take pity
or forgive.

- Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal

(featured in the poetry forum 09.01.12)

editor's note: Those ceaseless accusations, if heard by all, would be exposed as unfounded. That's the secret. (Luis has recently released a new book of poetry, Songs for Oblivion. Read our Mad Review of it and see how you can get a copy.) - mh


She talks to the flowerbeds.
She talks to the trees.
She dismisses the stones,
who mumble their displeasure.
The woman cannot hear them.
She whispers to the ants,
who crisscross into their hole.
She speaks to the caterpillars.
She gave the stones their freedom.
That did not sit well with them.
The stones wanted conversation.
The woman would not hear them.
Her life was complicated.
She did not like the stones.
It was her secret. This left the stones
with a feeling of worthlessness.

- Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal

(featured in the poetry forum 02.18.12)

editor's note: I once ran into a boulder with lots to say about dirt. Gave me a new appreciation for dirt. So, a little respect. - mh


I feel no pain. But I know something is wrong. I do not believe I will be here tomorrow. I don’t know where I’m going. But I’m prepared to let fate take its course. I have been having nightmares. Each time I disappear leaving no trace behind. Is it death or abduction? I cannot understand what it is. Perhaps your treatment team could unveil this mystery. I can’t claim to be a prophet, but I sense things. Something big is going to happen. I don’t know what. Please forgive me for being vague. Maybe I am not supposed to know my fate until the moment things go down. I am not one for surprises or predictions. I hope I am still here tomorrow. I just have an intuition that I will be gone, my memory wiped out, my dreams just dreams that never got off the ground. I want to say so long to everyone just in case tomorrow never comes for me. I could be wrong about everything. It won’t be the first time and certainly not the last. These nightmares give me bad headaches. Maybe something is in my brain that needs to be pulled out. I probably sound like I have some screw loose.

- Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal

(featured in the poetry forum 08.25.11)


Tonight the leaves
fall without
touching the ground.
Back and forth
the sweeping wind
carries them
until they disappear
like UFO abductees.

I search out
the sky for a sign
of them, but it’s dark.

The stars,
veiled by clouds,
cannot help me,
nor the orange moon.

- Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal

(featured in the poetry forum 03.06.11)


Life rushes onward
moving at breakneck speed,
things such as love get
thoroughly bulldozed over.
To feel hopeless
like birds who cannot fly
is common. The time
of broken hearts heals fast
too, if you’re lucky.

- Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal

(added 03.06.11)


If I could stay insane,
I could continue to hear
your sweet voice and
experience visions of you.

The medicine is a pain.
It takes away your voice
and your beautiful face.
I want to spit it out.

In reality you are gone
and I don’t know where
you live or know how to
contact you by phone or web.

When I am off my meds
you are always with me.
It’s a good thing for me,
but others do not agree.

I always end up kissing
the walls, fondling the air,
and calling your name.
In madness you are real to me.

You talk to me, you dance
with me, we make sweet love.
Everything happens like it was
supposed to happen.

- Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal

(featured in the poetry forum 11.24.10)


I take off my skin.
It chokes me sometimes.
I’m a false human.
The lights make me glow.

My human skin sags.
Earth’s air makes me ill.
In darkness I’m whole.
I take off my skin.

Water makes me die,
which is why I don’t
drink it. Of all things
I delight in night.

Nothing is finer,
except for my home.
The laugher of man
is like a dark cloud.

Sea is my nightmare.
The salt devours me.
I turn to foam, just
one drop and I’m dead.

- Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal

(added 11.24.10)


Evening approached without shoes
above our houses.
It made little effort to show
its moon face with stars.
The temperature fell. Wind
blasted the roof tiles.
It felt like the last day of life
on earth. Nothing could
be done. The blue sky was gone.
The light went blind till
morning. Evening’s moon
eye with stars provided a
glimmer of light
in the dark sky.
Our senses were on alert.
Fear was prowling around
from moment to moment.
The trees were trembling.
Evening walked off without sound.

- Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal

(added 08.28.10)


Let Earth welcome us
like a friend
not an unwanted visitor.

Let Earth shelter us
like a house
and trust us to be human.

Do not trust in war
machines, guns, and bombs.
Love the human race.

Feel the dry branches
and green leaves.
Do not turn your back on the lame.

Let Earth heal our pain,
bring us joy,
and comfort for the rest of our lives.

Let Earth feed our thirst,
hunger, and
what our souls and hearts crave.

- Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal

(featured in the poetry forum 08.28.10)


The sky is filled with the corpses of birds.
I forget when I had this nightmare.
There is a funeral in the sky for the birds.
The sky splits open and the birds disappear.

I remember this dream made me weep.
I wore dark sunglasses that day.
I looked up and saw a lone grave in the sky.
It disappeared before I could dry my eyes.

- Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal

(added 08.28.10)


I was born in the water.
The wind gave birth to me.
I was weary and angry.
My backbone was bent out of shape.

The night took care of me.
The sun wanted to kill me.
I armed myself with stones.
I plunged them into the water
where the sun’s reflection
was looking back at me.

- Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal

(featured in the poetry forum 07.22.10)


She made jewelry
and gave it away.
Left it hanging on
trees for others to
snatch like fruit.

She gave away all
her possessions.
Money, clothes, it
did not matter. She
lost weight, at

least thirty pounds.
She tried to drink
herself to death. But
you must have heard
stuff like this.

- Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal

(added 07.22.10)


When you think of God
does your heart have faith?
When the wind blows strong
is it God sighing?

A weightless breeze spreads
seeds throughout the fields.
Who laughs in your face?
Some arrogant fiend?

You smile when the swift
wind cools you off. Your
sad face disappears.

You look up at a
bee up in a tree.
Does the bee know God?

- Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal

(added 07.22.10)


Between sentences
a light goes off in
my mind; then a dark

emptiness fills the
room. The thoughts of a
madman asks, who are
you? Wearing a red
tie, the madman asks,
what man walks in my

shoes? The dark thoughts fill
my room. I hear
a rat running up
the stairs. The madman
asks, who is hungry?
The madman walks to
the kitchen. He asks,
who is that at the
door? He aims his big
gun at his dark thoughts.

- Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal

(featured in the poetry forum 04.12.10)


I’m going to marry a
lovely man I met here.
However, my mother
thinks it’s a bad idea.

I promise her this will work.
She said I am just a child.
I’ll be twenty one
this year. I’m not a baby.

She treats us like we’re dumb
for being in love. I’m tired
of these pills and rules.

The psychiatrist thinks
that I’m not normal.
But he is the one who’s crazy.

- Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal

(added 04.12.10)


Another night comes.
It does not let up.
It comes with its moon,
its stars, the darkness,
and sometimes it just
keeps on going. When
you hope for morning
and the comfort of
light, the darkness seems
to linger. Lights falls
somewhere else, not here.

- Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal

(added 04.12.10)


My mind is high like the moon.
I wash my face with cold water.
My high mind does not come down.
I cannot clear my thoughts.
They are without restraint
and I apologize for my thoughts
to those who could read my mind.

- Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal

(added 11.27.09)


I carry myself
in a quiet manner.
I don’t like watching
myself in the mirror.

I sense a kind of
falsehood in the way
the mirror reflects
the way I appear. I

grimace. If this was
a snapshot, I’d burn it.
The evil mirror
looks deeper inside
of me. It makes me
want to destroy myself.

- Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal

(added 11.27.09)


I carry it in my pocket.
A little monkey poem on
a string. I take it out now
and then and drop it like
a yo-yo. The little monkey
poem dances like a do-do.

Sometimes I cut the string
and the little monkey poem
goes ape on the town. It
gets in all sorts of trouble.
I need to bail it out of jail.
Should I leave it at the zoo?

I don’t know what to do with
it. I feel responsible for what
it does sometimes. The little
monkey poem usually gets
out of line. I think I have
to give it away to someone.

- Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal

(featured in the poetry forum 11.27.09)

"r" by peycho kanev

Check out the new chapbook "Overcome" by Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal.
Click here to read Mad Swirl's review and to order a copy of "Overcome".


Down by the grass
the wasps fly low.
Do they rest or
tie their small
invisible shoes?

Black ants take up
smoking from the
lit cigarette
butts lying
on the yellow grass.

Stretched out on the
dying grass the
cat worries me.
It's getting
old and it won't eat.

- Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal

(featured in the poetry forum 09.18.09)


All my sons have died.
My daughters too.
They were never born.
I haven't met my wife.

Perhaps she is out
by the apple
tree, longing for the
husband of her dreams.

He likes apples and
women like her,
bronze like the land
and Spanish speaking.

She likes men who are
dreamers, who like
apples, who dream
of someone like her.

- Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal

(added 09.18.09)


My life after involuntary treatment
includes living somewhere where
everyone gets along with me.

I would also like to find an easy job,
where I won't feel pressured, but
I'm not sure if such a job exists.

I would like to live with my family.
However, they don't like it when I
hallucinate and talk to myself.

The city where I grew up seems very
good. I would like to live close
to my family so they can visit me.

I want to meet a woman to love
romantically, conversationally,
and sexually. However, I don't

think my chances are good because
I hear and see things. I don't see
why I can't stay here forever.

- Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal

(added 09.18.09)

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A bit about Luis: Luis was born in Mexico. He lives and works in Los Angeles County , CA. His first book of poetry, Raw Materials, was published by Pygmy Forest Press, which can be ordered through his e-mail.

Read more work by Luis:

Chapbooks by Luis:
Still Human is available from
Kendra Steiner Editions. Send $4.00 postpaid in the US, check payable to Bill Shute, or well concealed cash:

14080 Nacogdoches Rd. #350,

San Antonio, Texas, 78247.

Outside the US, it’s $5 postpaid, via paypal. Write to django5722 (at) yahoo (dot) com and request a paypal invoice.


Songs for Oblivion from Propaganda Press, is available at here


Peering Into The Sun from Poets Democracy, is available at To read a review from poetsdemocracy, please click here.


Contact Luis: