Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal - Poetry

More Protest! poetry by Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal. Enjoy!

Pulling the Trigger

Pulling the trigger is easy

when one’s mind is wild

and the shot gets the wild

one’s thoughts off his chest.

Innocents bite the dust.

Kindness is not enough.

The minister’s words won’t

bring the widow’s man back.

He tries his best to console.


Who said owning a gun is

a right?  This weapon should

be given up.  There should

be no more bullets made.

A heart cannot repel them.


Draw your own conclusions.

This is your world and mine.

No More 

Spring into action to end

this disillusionment of

hate pumped into the veins

of this country. Who feels

the absence of common

sense? This terrible voice

that is blind to humanity

and decency wishes to

make a wall of hate.


Ladies and gentlemen,

there is only one solution.

We come to the polls in

droves because life as we

hope should be will be

no more. With this next

vote, we can end the hate.


We have all been

socked in the mouth

and in the stomach.


We have all been

kicked in the balls

and in the ass.


The world is about

to be torn apart

and upside down.


Still we need to

remain vigilant

and with open eyes.


This is not a

time to let down.

We need to rise.


Luis was born in Mexico, lives in California, and works in the mental health field in Los Angeles. He is the author of Raw Materials (Pygmy Forest Press), Make the Light Mine (Kendra Steiner Editions), Before and Well After Midnight (Deadbeat Press), The Book of Absurd Dreams (New Polish Beat), Peering Into the Sun (Poets Democracy), Songs for Oblivion (Alternating Current Press), and Everything Is Permitted (Ten Pages Press).  Here is a review for his book, Peering Into the Sun:

Protest! - Poetry by Linda M. Crate

First submission for our new theme Protest!: Poetry by Linda M. Crate. Take a read below!


human beings not property

i protest

all these chains and ribbons

every gilded cage

be damned

women are not your property

nor do we owe you

a thing for our


and i am tired of everyone acting


i am tired of men who will never

know what it is to be pregnant

making decisions

over our bodies instead of allowing us

to make choices in our own lives—

never will they know

the mother that is wrestling

with the choice of saving her life

or having the child she always


or the girl who was raped and cannot

endure the idea of having the child that was

forced upon her body,

nor the woman who needs birth control

simply to regulate her body so

her body doesn't feel as if it is killing her

in a flow of pain and blood

they'll never have to endure;

we are not who we are because of our relationships

to the men in our lives

we are someone independently

it's more than high time we're treated like

human beings instead of property.


bones and marrow

they want profits, i only want to live; i want to achieve my dreams and help the other dreamers off their knees because the nightmares we endure are so useless and meaningless—all the obstacles we've been jumping over aren't necessary, but no one cares about you when you are poor; it's always held against you like a character flaw—it's no crime to be rich, though, to be greedy; to extort your neighbor and kill your friend and that makes no sense to me—i don't want to live in a world so ugly and so evil, i was born to smash the masks of these false prophets; i refuse to accept them and their crimes against humanity—there is no greater good, one person suffering is unacceptable; i am tired of people thinking it's okay should one person suffer for the rest of us—who are you to demand a sacrificial lamb or hero? who are you to decide your life matters more? i respect no one who thinks they're superior to anyone else, we all matter, we all bleed the same, we all have hopes and dreams, and we all want to live; and damn anyone who would take the lives from our bones and marrow before our time.


more than money

you're no better than those you attempt to strip the humanity from, you are no better than the disabled and injured; you are no better than the lgbtq community you so despise, your religion makes you superior to none, and your path isn't the only path to walk; i am so tired of children in cages and immigrants being treated like animals when people wouldn't even treat their pets in such an evil way—you cannot tell me that you are for humanity when you are so cruel to other human beings, and i am so exhausted of the ugliness people spew at one another; we have the ability to lift one another up with our deeds and our words—so why are these wounded hearts being ignored and swept under the rug? why is puerto rico still struggling? why are their deaths not being taken seriously? i protest all the ugliness in this world, i protest the apathy of mankind, i protest cruelty of any kind; i will shatter these nightmares and monsters until only light can pour through and everyone can know the mark of kindness upon their souls—because so many people struggle and suffer in silence, so many people die without being remembered, we have no right to forget them; i refuse to let them go, i refuse to let them be numbers instead of faces and names and hearts—if anyone must be caged then let it be the evil men who would put a price on a human life because we are all worth much more than any sum of money could give us.


we're not insects

you cannot stop me

i will rise

no matter what


i am not

a mild, timid creature

locked in a cage


i am a wild, fierce

raven ready

for war;


not the type of woman

who you can put upon a pedestal

or house in a normal life—


you cannot stop me

with all your lies, all your delusions

you won't contain me;


not a piece of meat or your


we're not going to stop fighting


until women are seen

as people

i am not going to be talked over



because an opinion of a man

is not worth more than that of a woman—


not going to go away

just because you're tired of hearing our voices,

don't you think we're exhausted


fighting for our lives?

you would sweep us underneath the rug,

but we're not insects you'll crush.


"good men"

i protest

hearing you're

a good man


they don't know

you tried to

rape me


when i was a girl

because i blamed myself

sometimes i still do,


but i know

it wasn't my fault;

told you no


yet somehow my voice

didn't matter—

is that because women


don't matter to you?

pick that up from a movie

or tv show or book?


i am more than my sexuality,

and my body;

i have a heart, soul, and dreams


my dreams won't be

crushed because

of good men.


Linda M. Crate is a Pennsylvanian native born in Pittsburgh yet raised in the rural town of Conneautville. Her poetry, short stories, articles, and reviews have been published in a myriad of magazines both online and in print. She has four published chapbooks A Mermaid Crashing Into Dawn (Fowlpox Press - June 2013), Less Than A Man (The Camel Saloon - January 2014), If Tomorrow Never Comes (Scars Publications, August 2016), and My Wings Were Made to Fly (Flutter Press, September 2017). Her fantasy novel Blood & Magic was published in March 2015. The second novel of this series Dragons & Magic was published in October 2015. The third of the seven book series Centaurs & Magic was published November 2016. Her novel Corvids & Magic was published March 2017.

Check her out on TwitterInstagram, and Facebook !

"Brave" - Derek Koehler

LateHw today: a poem "Brave" by Derek Koehler.

"I wrote this as an homage to one of the most touching films I've ever seen, 'A Monster Calls'. I find that we are a great deal stronger, braver, and more resilient than we give ourselves credit for," -DK


Check out more of Derek's work on Twitter and Insta!

"Interlude in Northern New Zealand"

LateHW today: a poem by Kayla Tostevin.

"I wrote this on vacation almost two years ago. The (non)relationship didn’t ultimately work out the way I wanted it to, so it sounds a little foolish in some ways  now, knowing what would actually happen when I returned from New Zealand. But this poem captured my feelings well at the time, so it’s got that kind of photographic importance to it" -KT




"Interlude in Northern New Zealand"


I lost the bottom of my stomach

somewhere on the familiar side

of the Pacific—somewhere

in yesterday, since this island exists

eighteen hours ahead of you and the us

you left up in the air again. So I filled

the extra space with lantern festival

lights from paper dragons furious

and fragile, with the untranslated

stamping roar of the Maori war dance

haka, with the rumbling ocean toss

of great surfacing whales, and with

an unseasonable wind that screamed

all through tomorrow night.


Hours after your sunset, I accepted

a cup of something sweet and hot

and orange enough to be sunrise

in the black Waitomo caves, icy water

pouring through a hole in my boot,

tiny worm-made stars pricking the dark,

everything smelling like old rock

and isolation, and this drink

was the only part of the tour the guide

did not tell us the name for, but

I recognized it settling in my gut.


All my souvenirs except that one

spilled out and shattered

on some Auckland sidewalk,

and cicadas crawled in, buzzing

their shrill, surging electricity.

They carried the uncertain kind

of certainty that washed over me

when I jumped off a bridge tied

to my ankles. On my way back

to winter covered in sunburns,

on my way home to yesterday,

time-shaken, I found the lost

bottom of my stomach and pressed

it into place, trapping the insistent

insects and the drinkable sun, saving

them for the next time we talk about us.




You can follow Kayla Tostevin on Instagram.


Linda M. Crate

Late HW today: Poetry by Linda M. Crate!


you can have who i was

you left me

feeling so naked and bare

exposed to the elements,

and ever questioning



no one ever minds

their own business

especially when you tell them to

i could see them trying to pry

apart the secret of me


i clung to you

thinking you'd give me safety

instead you threw me to

the wolves

i was slaying my own dragons like always—


maybe i should have listened

to my instincts that told me to run

instead of my heart which insisted that you

were good when you were clearly

a rotten apple with an angel's face


i was your cinderella left in the wood

you were a prince charming unfair and untrue

so i peel away all that i was and give her to you

because i am a new woman now

i don't need all the vulnerability i once was.


i reassured myself

one day you'll be exposed

for the fraud you are

won't take my revenge

because that's beneath me


i know heaven has sweeter karma

than i could ever hit you with

so i will watch as everything embracing

you in its warmth becomes coldness


i don't want you knocking on my door

asking for my summer's heat

when you were always winter's son

trying to splinter me with nightmares to destroy


my dreams and my hopes,

and it nearly worked

took me so long to recover myself;

had to weave myself a new tapestry


reminded myself that i was a warrior of love and light

that my magic and my beauty were all my own

i was worth more than you could ever possess and that's

why you discredited me for everything i was.


Linda M. Crate is a Pennsylvanian native born in Pittsburgh yet raised in the rural town of Conneautville. Her poetry, short stories, articles, and reviews have been published in a myriad of magazines both online and in print. She has four published chapbooks A Mermaid Crashing Into Dawn (Fowlpox Press - June 2013), Less Than A Man (The Camel Saloon - January 2014), If Tomorrow Never Comes (Scars Publications, August 2016), and My Wings Were Made to Fly (Flutter Press, September 2017). Her fantasy novel Blood & Magic was published in March 2015. The second novel of this series Dragons & Magic was published in October 2015. The third of the seven book series Centaurs & Magic was published November 2016. Her novel Corvids & Magic was published March 2017.

Check her out on Twitter, Instagram, and Facebook !