I Am Santo

Fiction, poetry, music and mindscape pictures by creative artist Jason Santo

 
When you were a child, they taught you to love big, to stretch your arms for a wide embrace and believe in another. The mothers found the fathers, and so there were children born in days of promise, when glass seas reflected doting Godlight and clear days afforded views of comfortable tomorrows. It was simple, this lesson: love and be loved. Adversities were eggshells underfoot, and effort was a reflex, a hand rising when the periphery spies approach. And it was easy! As youth exposed naive hearts, you would look, find, kiss, move, and fall sweetly, freely as if the height were only a fence length and not the cliff it later appeared when circumstance evolved, standing upright and new hands grabbing at dangerous impracticalities. A willing heart now a sin, this instructed allegiance to hope is viewed as religious fervor, like what’s required to madly dance with asps. Still the eyes stay open, the arms of the student stretching as if wings to catch impossible flight despite the hard rain of obligation and routine obscuring the path to big love. Connection’s a spark in a vacuum, starved of the rich oxygen of faith that you could find clarity again, that the deluge of now would cease and the road ahead revealing itself as a highway bisecting a desert. Walk West and each step, whether careful or stumbling, inches you closer, your arms unyielding, eyes unflinching, heart unguarded and belief hungry for a sea’s gentle, cool caress. It’s immeasurably far away, math failing to provide measure and logic daunting due to empirical uncertainty, but what’s taught rolls over facts, crushing sense and reason. Nothing is stronger than a heart searching for home, and though tomorrow appears unlikely, the sun rises once again and you walk as instructed, step by step toward love.

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#poem #poetry #writing #writer #poetic #creativewriting #igwriters #poetry_addicts #literary_imagery1 #igpoets #igpoems #mobileartistry #window #blur #windshield #rain #obscured #rainblur #cantsee #givingup #growingup #hopeisacancer

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The dawn chorus shrilly beat back the blanket of sleep, and ruby sat waiting. Ruby sat wanting. Blades of morning sun sliced through birdsong, and ruby sat waiting. Ruby sat wanting. The humid air was queasy with vinegar woe, and ruby sat waiting. Ruby sat wanting. The rain threatened but never did come, and ruby sat waiting. Ruby sat wanting.

What a crime these dreams of tattered lust preach, their gospel echoes in a desert keep. The arid morality of a fuck and moan, the bleeding heart stopped and turned to stone. Wherever did the old faith go? But down to Hell where sex burns slow.

The shallow hours couldn’t catch full blame, and ruby sat waiting. Ruby sat wanting. The salt of her skin still stinging this tongue, and ruby sat waiting. Ruby sat wanting. Deliverance from boredom without dollars pinched out, and ruby sat waiting, Ruby sat wanting. No money changing hands in covert accounts, and ruby sat waiting. Ruby sat wanting.

Flesh kept wet in the thick night’s breath, always a wish for little tastes of death. The climbing urge to curl into one. The final act, the players now done. Sleep came quick despite the world’s turning and that convex sin that set the garden burning.

Summer guests sing high like cricket legs beating, and ruby sat waiting. Ruby sat wanting. Sipping the divine as hours blacked out time, and ruby sat waiting. Ruby sat wanting. Moonless kingdoms crumbling beneath dawn’s rage, and ruby sat waiting. Ruby sat wanting. A glass of wine and three hundreds left behind, proved ruby had waited. Ruby had wanted.

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#poem #poetry #writing #writer #poetic #creativewriting #igwriters #poetry_addicts #literary_imagery1 #igpoets #igpoems #mobileartistry #window #morning #blur #wineglass #wine #backlight #stem #redwine #redredwine #bluehues #sundaybluesedit #unfinished #sipped

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Dropped coins. Change. Cannot heal anything with their clinking, rustling in the bottom of pockets, forgotten drops from larger bills. Cast aside fractions, some pretend at value, but with copper souls easily bent. Spinning, dropped wild onto surfaces and making exact, noisy points. They’ll win no wars, profit only the low and count only when myriad. Ignored, deigned to be hoarded, it’s the wisest that collect, save, perceive truth worth. Everything counts in large amounts. #irispad #day9 #sept9 #change #withrespecttodepechemode #coins #quarter #blur #bokeh #shittyphoto #shittywords #poem #poetry #writer #writing (at Tips)

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Smooth and rounded, as if gel molded into kind forms hugging small heat and light, they rest among motes of dust as confused days spin around them. Slid into line, they await invitation to welcome with glimmering dim, warmth spreading in a flicker of slipping air swirled about hurried business. Daylight’s kiss flirts for attention, contrast reminding so that struck matches may alight, curtsying, an hour’s glow, combatting darkness as if day with gentler hues. Orange embrace awaits, a lone dancer on a dark, quiet floor searching for a partner in the night. Any stepping from the line the same as the next, all capable of shuddering splendor, minds and hands fall absent and another morning breaks. #irispad #day8 #sept8 #rounded #candles #tealights #glass #colorful #blur #bokeh #writer #writing #poem #poetry #stilladaybehind (at Willing)

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Squares watch with perfect order the chaotic play of sunlight’s shimmering end, sparkling denouement fluttering by wind that dares to throw shade before passage. Curled as one in blur, lessons play and their bond merges fondness and idealism, sanctity of quieter moments protected inside from the bluster of colorful flight. Still the distance swims around them, unnoticed but crawling through perfect lines, ninety-degree angles aligning in a world where symmetry silently attempts rule over beauty’s flooding banks. It will reach into all corners, consuming progress while abetting wonder. #irispad #day7 #sept7 #square #window #windowpane #blur #family #silhouette #backlight #trees #leaves #writer #writing #poem #poetry (at In Order)

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Unfocused sun trapped in protective grids, flares notwithstanding; disregarding. Fears blast through convex stumbling, dropped words and failings inevitable. Illuminated in the order of things is a pinch of imperfection, the delight of entropy and an embrace held too long. Passionate clutches carry bodies higher than these trapped heavens, but blood inevitably slows, heat leaving skin with cold settling into misspoken, startled bursts of confession, errant gleaming truth. Figures drift on unforgiving tides, contorting this way and that to cling to one another among distant parallel days and desires, dreaming of light’s refraction, bending all things into proximity and freeing faith. #irispad #day4 #sept4 #pinch #photoaday #screen #clawed #sun #sunlight #focus #bokeh #light #blur #poem #poetry #writer #writing #literary_imagery (at Disorder)

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