I Am Santo

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

I want to dream of you
I want to wake to you
Thoughts won’t be enough
But it’s all I’ve got
A pocketful sleep
To bring me nearer
The hours blinking by
As eyes close night away
And these longing thoughts
Of your perfect breath
In my ear
The sigh of your pleasure
An echo from certain future
That cannot arrive soon enough
Like birthdays for children
Or the first trip to the beach
An expectation like thirst
In the desert.
We’ll stretch the edges
Of faith
And bend them into
Bought time,
That pocket of loose change
Spent on today
So it will race to tomorrow
And treat me now
To you
while I await

#poem #poetry #poetic #igwriters #instawriter #writersofig #poetsofig #igpoets #igpoems #mobileartistry #creativewriting #fiction #flashfiction #writing #writer #story #shortstory #microfiction #poetrycommunity #igwriters #iamwriting #sunset #dusk #clouds #skyporn #daysend #highway #newhampshire (at Dreamtime)

You have all the chance loaded
Like Vegas dice
In a casino just off the strip
Filled with desperate souls
Stained with cigarette dreams
And the faith of felt tables.
Truth is,
The death of me
Is that woman
Writhing in language,
Swimming in metaphor
And gambling
With dangerous curves,
The rounded bend
Of ass, breast, thigh
Beckoning like the dinner bell
In a Laura Ingall’s Wilder tale
When dusk played gold,
Men were men
Children were children
And women held silent reign;
Respect paid for the work done.
And yet she works,
Carving the untenable into possibility
And diving headlong into the improbable.
Maybe that is crazy;
Maybe it’s standing too close
To a fire pit in a desert.
But truth will always arrive
Like flame at the end of sparked kindling
Oxygen game.
Friction set.
Conflagration match.
So let’s roll the dice
And see how long this burns
While we dance in the heat
Of our torrid wager.
Praying the story goes timeless
Instead of dissipating
Like smoke;
Words written in ash
Without fame or memory
To hold it in time,
To move this lust into love.

#poem #poetry #poetic #igwriters #instawriter #writersofig #poetsofig #igpoets #igpoems #mobileartistry #creativewriting #fiction #flashfiction #writing #writer #story #shortstory #microfiction #poetrycommunity #igwriters #iamwriting #sunset #dusk #sunlight #flare #daysend #lake (at Chance)

If it’s said aloud enough, then maybe it’ll be true. Love you. Love you more. Love you most. The repeated assertion that you’re the sun around which orbit is necessity for being. The light of you breeds possibility, even in this world of reigning confusion, where clouds billow tall in once perfect skies and shed tears of regret to feed the bloom of wisdom; oh it’s pain. It’s the latest tattoo on thinnest skin stretched taut across bone. A foot, a rib, a shoulder blade. It’s the trial of being marked by permanent commitment. And you are the dried ink justice of these most cherished successes. Or are you? Is it you that sits at the front of each choice as is told in the countless fables before night swallows this busy mind? If that were truth, then would each day be entropic origami folded into itself? Would lust swim so deep in these choked veins, threatening to burst with yearning for more, better, different? No one is a moonlit night in the middle of summer over the still waters of a quiet lake. No one is that freedom to plummet, swim, stroke, hold, and breathe in naked surety. And maybe nightswimmer love is impossible, yet each decision played gambles the ever increasing ante of your future. It has to stop. The selflessness hinting at corners and plaintive claims require action, as this fumbling is Coptic spoken to the deaf ears of now. No one is listening but this cracking heart and your young one which looks this way and to the sun for guidance. May each guide you to new discovery safely. May each dispell the long shadows of a failing self.


#poem #poetry #writing #writer #poetic #creativewriting #igwriters #poetry_addicts #literary_imagery1 #igpoets #igpoems #mobileartistry #dusk #woods #forest #sundown #sunset #trees #plants #daysend #sun #solar #sunflare #nature #child #youth #discovery #silhouette (at Discoverer)

We shared the close breath, both in the quiet solace of release and the noisy satisfaction of killing hunger. Drinking the courage. Letting our atoms spill in every direction and flailing with wild hearts; there was little to be said in the darkness afterward. Tears glimmer and streak, surmounting Sisyphean hills of cheeks rounded by son smiles. Alone is cruelty and the prison warden is this failure to see through routine, to adhere to the course of greater things. The sun makes a promise and keeps it. The man stumbles at each word, no confidence exuded and no sense of duty maintained. No matter how much truth words appear to hold, the hollow echo of their utterance carries more weight than any alluded sentiment. They are as thick as wind, pliant as rainwater and a disease worth inoculating against; a breeze of uncontainable virus sought, dissected, blamed, fought. A bit of air puffed in the face of ardor. A bit of science slighting the horizon, like dusk in the gray. Crack open consonants and each is a yolkless egg chanceless at birthing anything but the space lying between angry neurons, a symphony of rage given tempo by a lazy conductor who waves his arms like that grizzled tree standing long in the day, shadows carrying more weight than any declaration. Fool heart, how you give. Awaiting to receive. More than seed, but in a vacuum devoid of truth’s sun or water. Wretched destinies unfold. All due to the rusted stain of what’s said and what’s meant, the delicate imbalance of candied candor made sweet with sugarcoating, yet lingeringly bitter with coy deception. So it happened. So it’s ash. Sweep up the print and tidy away memory because it fails every time with applied meaning where meaning was absent; where the clutch and fuck were only that and the rhythm behind the chest was a wind up toy’s synthetic patter, graceless and predictable, but never reliable.


#poem #poetry #writing #writer #poetic #creativewriting #igwriters #poetry_addicts #literary_imagery1 #igpoets #igpoems #mobileartistry #dusk #woods #forest #sundown #sunset #trees #branches #daysend #sky #dark #amber #sun #solar #sunflare #nature

(at Wound)

The sun gives warning before it brings night, the ugly dark preceded by firelight bathing the last minutes of day in Hellstorm hues that mirror the flush of this rage. And so this black descends. How fucking tired, your type. How gracious that you’ve been offered comparison to fleeting moments of day. Even if nature’s palette spills this same masterpiece so often that specifics are easily forgotten, much the way you will be, you earned at least a line of dialogue in this motion picture; a walk-on role that’s far more than an anonymous ill-educated hack should be awarded. Maybe the whole film is a farce, and you’re the voice of an audience that’s suffered enough, a tiny ember of the fire that burned brighter than your paltry intellect seemed it could before succumbing to a cold end; stumbling onto a larger truth and barely coherent enough to fuel notice. It’s richly undeserved, your fleeting spark. And if you stand with others, may the mob incinerate quickly in the crematorium of your adolescent jealousy. And may your ashes be cast to the sea, you all forgotten but still the gesture of your dismissal a fleeting muscle memory, a waste of temper and words that leaves scars far deeper than any pathetic attempt at cutting your frail mind could muster. Such big words you use, little boy! How the heavy shackles of your own wretched decisions look so perfect on a monarch that cares nothing for your plight, but will admonish your disrespect with stern warning before lopping off your head. May this be a lesson to your common dimness; this dark will bury you alive. Don’t waste what little air you’ve left shouting blame. The sun isn’t returning for you.

#poetry #poet #writing #writer #creativewriting #literary_imagery1 #poetry_addicts #poem #sun #sunset #dusk #sky #clouds #storm #cloudporn #rage #anger #daysend #trees (at Ember)

On approach, it’s all beauty. It’s that cheek ripening smile and uncaring laugh, so remarkable in volume and engulfing passion that the nervous air splits as it does moments before lightning strikes. Yet the receiving waters of guilt flood each corner and such moments of fine forgiveness, laid out as spotless cutlery before a grand meal, adorn chalky hors d’oeuvres, entrees of turned meat and bitter desserts that sting tongues. Wading in the dark waters, famished but surrounded by feigned kindness, those flashes of joyful iris abloom in squinted ovals shaped by laughter are a lifeline. And shaking hands struggle to hold on because truth’s thunder is a constant roar of demand that it’s right to starve; that it is better to drown. “Save me?” It’s a question asked as the pains of hunger distend this coward heart. But words are refuse on strong gales, tattered like cocktail napkins in the fierce hurricane of undone promises. And actions had long ago lost all bouyancy and drowned in the frigid seas of reflected loathing. Regardless of the book, salvation lies waiting for lost souls. Too bad life’s not made from pages, rather than the other way around. Starvation and drowning – the denial of sustenance and mercy embraced by the search for finest meals and perfect waters – weren’t endings read. They were written in the hand of a fool marked with a blank epitaph, a lonely plot for the ages.


#poem #poetry #writing #writer #poetic #poetry_addicts #literary_imagery1 #igpoets #igpoems #sunset #dusk #storm #sky #clouds #sundown #nature #scary #sun #daysend (at Forgive)

She dips low, beauty ducking from view with flare and golden offerings, and the world sinks into the cold waters of shadow. All things fade from her light. Though she gifts everything life, it all recedes from her as rot and wilt. Were it only possible to keep her shine on failing skin and mind. Were it only possible for land to prosper under constant glow and not suffer through her absence. To occupy a realm dispelled of shadowy figures crowding shorelines, throttling fields and conquering mountains in their lonely dark; it’s the dream of constant affection, a fiction where deserts thrive with life and her blessings rain down without the need for balance. To appreciate her is to allow her release, to lie waiting for her return in the frost of her desertion and be thankful for memories of how she flooded days with warmth, care and nurturing light. She’ll return again, leave, surprise, burn, soothe and spin away, yet always back to chase away fears of her flight until the one day she arrives, fresh and bright, and shadows stick like oil in feathers, limbs unmoving, flight stolen, air still. She smiles in her dawn regardless for she always smiles. And her lovers reach for her, fragile death at the edges of her kindness. #irispad #day18 #sept18 #shadowy #shadows #dusk #reeds #pond #sunset #orange #gold #day #daysend #poetry #poem #sunlight #sun #writer #writing (at Don’t Go)