I Am Santo

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


Chin high, shoulders up
Wishes clarion in eyes
Carrying allure
Like beaded water that traces
Those fertile curves
And exacts the dendrite push,
The endocrine longing
Of instinct’s furious boil.
The sting of new day
Is the lament of yesterday,
Opportunities not taken
As her gaze lowers
And lioness confidence
Envelopes four-walled solitude
Of this starved prairie.
The claim of naïveté
Loosely buttoned-up willpower
Of fear, nervous wonder, awe.
And the wavering now
Thinly reaches between two
As the draw to become one
Gnashes a seductive grin
On the last chance to beg
For fallow hope.
One snap
And the complexion of fresh haste
Flushes with torrid crimson,
A tide swallowed by the moon
Of fierce attraction
And her irrefutable, lithe hunger
That turns this belly skyward
As if there never were opportunity
To escape unscathed.

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I believe in the faith
Of a thousand turtles
Guided by belief
Driven by instinct.
It’s like this affection.
Natural and willing
The culmination of
Desire and need,
Greed and lust,
These eggs we bury
On the shoreline
Of togetherness.
It’s a beautiful hunger.
Awaking with hard yearning,
The blush of heated skin
Awaiting lips and tongue,
Eager hands and thoughts
That burn like the veins
Of crisp fallen leaves
In this longest autumn;
Camouflage immolation,
We uncover our common ground
And clear away our obscuring fear.
Oh how beautiful
This fire that we welcome.
How reveaking with its
Licks and purge,
A climax of untold intensity
Tearing though body and mind,
Tensing muscle and stealing breath,
A serum of joy and pain
Administered to those bold enough
With open hearts
Cleared of the debris of yesterday
That littered the stumbling,
Broken and misguided
Attempts at adoration
That felt as natural as sunrise
But were always dusks
Making it impossible to see
So now these eyes snap open
As the air grows cold
And this body feels starved
Of moaning bliss.
But Spring’s promise
Is in the hearth of loneliness
And I warm myself,
My sandy-limbed
And salt-sweat beliefs
Exactly where they are
Suppose to be;
Dreaming of you.
Buried in the season
Of us.


#poem #poetry #poetic #igwriters #instawriter #writersofig #poetsofig #igpoets #igpoems #mobileartistry #creativewriting #fiction #flashfiction #writing #writer #story #shortstory #microfiction #poetrycommunity #igwriters #ocean #sunrise #dawn #morning #beach #sand #hope #shore (at Instinct)

It’s all owed to you. The carry and sacrifice and the frightening tear of nature that untethers life from your own, like planets spun from suns. You, that sun, that center around which we orbit, sing and dance. How you are loved. Don’t you know? Regardless of the way we drift, as if comets loosed from your tenacity, the return is inevitable. Forever connected, your pull rivals gravity and denies physics. Say “I love you” and the heart blossoms in a way no lover can nurture, no friend can prop up, no journey to the sea can impress. Whatever seed this all sprouted from, there’s your gracious illumination and limitless patience feeding the breach of soil and embrace of life. How you perform miracles! How you foster and enchant, your care the template for affection to be followed closer than any book’s law. Your allowance builds magnificent arrogance in the face of nature. Your permission grants progress and endeavor. Your practice is divinity governing over the success and failure of every day’s cycle of breath. Celebrated and ignored, loathed and awarded, embraced and forgotten, time cannot refute connection even if biology plays no part in this great theater. Sire nothing from your own womb – be a man if that’s fate’s gambit – but mother, for the root feeds our splayed fingers grasping for fistfuls of tomorrow. We are born starving and fed hope, a debt never expected to be repaid, but instead are imprinted to teach through our own informed hearts. We love because you did, our stars proving there’s light in the dark of forever.


Sincerest respect and love to every mom of every type out there. If you nurture, this one is for you. But especially you, @ssblueseyes. Not just today, but every day.

#poem #poetry #writing #writer #poetic #creativewriting #igwriters #poetry_addicts #literary_imagery1 #igpoets #igpoems #mobileartistry #mothersday #mother #ocean #sea #beach #shore #dawn #sunrise #child #winter #snow #latergram (at Origin)

We couldn’t nail the symmetry, not exactly anyone, but close enough to win at horseshoes, and the whole thing feels like a hand grenade gone off. My limbs remain intact, but the hole blown through my chest is evidence I didn’t survive the blast. It was close enough to kill me still, this decade’s march from glory and promise to the empty hope of this future apart. Haunted by dreams of accusations that had no basis, I awoke believing their cinematic truths, heartbroken when I saw the tear-stained cheeks of you. I should have known then the whole thing was an illusion, my own heart – now a phantom living inside me – playing a reflection of you flavored by my sentiments and care. Not yours, those alien ways of you which asserted action over thoughtfulness and silence as enough. Hell, the dreams were stated, the meals cooked, the jobs worked, the sex had in the early mornings – hurriedly to start the day – and maybe it was all a struggle. Maybe we were never what we believed. Of course, it doesn’t matter now. Five years on one side, five on another. We birthed a future that reaches past our belief in ourselves and now we sleep as victims in a war, the origin of which neither of us understands. Breathe well. Sleep happy. I don’t want to haunt you as you do me. Because it’s a cruel trick of night that the sum of my days without you equals my mourning us.  #poetry #poet #poem #writing #newbeginnings #morning #dawn #sun #sea #ocean #mourning #tides #nature #sunlight #sunriee #daybreak #writer #failure (at Final Day)

The cataract bleed of morning streamed into the blur of crooked life. It’s the viscious haven for a thief that long ago replaced lock picks with words, dexterity with eloquence. What’s of value is the soft kiss, the moan, the candlelight flicker on the anguished face of ecstasy. Her dream under his plying effort, the wet answer to his stumbling logic, fallible will and toxic grin. “Let her love me,” he prays to the night and the stars laugh, light failing over their million year flight to the changing face of her beneath him. The moon hid, sang the thin song of distant cicada, and she disappeared in a tangle of hair and sweat, hot breath and the expired wick. A pinch of smoke swirled and she was gone. Empty paragraphs lined the walls of the sun’s triumph, palms exposed, heart vacant any hold despite trust, kindness, and fierce tumble. Awake but thoroughly in slumber, a dawn’s brilliance stutters at the door of this longing. Winning time and again robs the lottery of its worth, and shows the whole affair a rigged set where success isn’t earned, but is stolen with flatline veracity. Belief is the waft of her perfume hanging in the morning air. And it is just as transient.

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There’s something to this. Lost moments reconstructed in artifice. The too hard attempts at bringing beauty to shared moments. Nature is throttled into presence as behaviors are betrayed. No sunrise worshipped, but cathode bleed instead. Crop, edge, burn and tweak the edges of reality until they approximate the simulacrum of fantasy. Greeting card piss, life offers more beauty in every passing moment than this canny triumph. Yet it’s pushed into the festooned business of others inundated view with near-stillborn hopes that an art has been coaxed from cliche; that the hope justifies fabrication. #heavyedit #phoneart #poem #poetry #sky #dawn #child #clouds #writer #writing #literary_imagery1 #literary_original #cheesyashell #cliche (at Fakery)

Flush with beauty. Sun-kissed, body thriving. Dreams of Heaven’s corridors, so close. So close. Falling. Sought and found. Careening bliss. Hunger exposed, appetite sated. Sweat and breath. Longing. Sleeplessness, worry stones heavy in stomach. Plummeting. Always gorgeous, but failing. In light. In desire. In hope. Failing and upended, dropped into the sky. Passing misty beliefs. Grasping, clawing for the retreating Earth. Losing sight of home. Broken. Yearning. Stuck in orbit, spying through glass the familiar, the absent. Eyes cry rain, the world curdling with each drop. #sky #dawn #clouds #sunrise #daybreak #poem #poetry #writer #writing #literary_original #literary_imagery1 (at Ruin)

The clouds in the puddle. The sky if your mind. I’d give you everything, have given so much, but it’s not enough. I tripped, fell flat on my face and saw the blood of my mistake spray across the finest dreams, tearing them from Heaven like discarded mobile toys; uncared for – under appreciated. And so it wasn’t enough, my supposed best. The hard work was fragile crystal haphazardly stacked during a time of hurricanes. Now the water’s still, a mirror of the infinity stretching overhead and ahead, and I’m building again. Each smile seeking true joy, each hurt hurtling to the core of my breath. My best is now better and promises aren’t glass, but the steel of our bond. I owe you that. I owe you everything. #love #son #dawn #portsmouthnh #sun #sunlight #wet #street #silhouette #child #cute #morning #puddle #clouds #poem #poetry #writer #writing #literary_imagery1 #literary_original (at Rebuilding)

These are the first footfalls. Grand designs await in lingering dawns where your hands will shake with nerves and sweat will bead at your hairline, expectation and fear in equal measure feeding your freight-train pulse; rich emotion seizing your every resource. I hope the small victories prepare you, that when your heart swells or breaks, I’m still waiting for you at the base of the steps you work down, arms open and smiling, my words in your ears, “I love you. You are so good, so strong. I love you.” No sun knows the brilliance of you, and your life will illuminate countless others with the rays of your humor, creativity, and curiosity. Each day’s beginning awaits your spirit to give a sunrise beauty; each sunset awaits your tired resign to be pronounced final. And in between there’s so much courtesy, mindfulness, brash flight, stubborn desire, upside-down thrills and the pour of your generous way. #steps #stairs #sunrise #dawn #play #son #child #boy #cute #love #writer #writing #poetry #poem (at Small Victories)

On the other side of your gray, I’m bathed in orange nectar; touching that thin membrane holding us here, gliding fingers across cold winds as if learning your skin, piercing souls gathered below in lazy congress. Featureless haze blankets your sun while mine lies open, bare, a reminder of forgotten goals placed further than my reach. It’s a beautiful treachery, this reminder, a soft tugging at the ache of resignation masquerading as indifference. Swaddling in the cotton of misgivings aborts temptation, hiding the bright nurture of candid desires that gather at dawn, and again at dusk, playing at the corners of your complacency. You turn away as I stare directly into the light, blinded. #poem #poetry #sky #clouds #airplane #sunrise #dawn #writer #writing #aisleseatsmakeforcrapphotos (at Glimpse)