I Am Santo

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

Season’s passed. Seasons past. Left in the vague memory of warmth and calm, a love light flickering weakly in the dark like starfire lost in the firmament of broken hopes. It’s death, this morning of mourning come into afternoon like the inevitable forgetfulness accompanying kindness and care, the taken for granted, the hand left, palm open and fingers extended for another’s to knot, to not be alone. Abandoned illumination and promise, a filament so slowly whispering into the inky cloak of night that it escapes notice until it’s gone, an empty bulb sat in a chain of similar failure that once gleamed vibrant tidings of good faith and now sings with no voice the dirge of low worth, of goodbye. Every ending can be predicted, like the spill of rain from approaching gray, but never the deluge, never the torrential drown that chokes, suffocates, tears limbs from heart and shreds the flesh fabric of organs with an unknown, immeasurable velocity of hurt and then stitches them together into a shroud for every single dream shared; a funeral for the thumping heart of belief. What mighty collapses wandered into, desolate, crestfallen structures of faith fallen like thatched huts in hurricanes, the reeds and fronds of then now the refuse littering fabled paradise. And always there, haunting, is that flawless beach of yesterday, that gorgeous stellar wish that burned so bright it left scars on these eyes forever; a vision marred by the reminder of what was and what can never be again.

#poem #poetry #poetic #igwriters #instawriter #writersofig #poetsofig #igpoets #igpoems #mobileartistry #creativewriting #fiction #flashfiction #writing #writer #story #shortstory #microfiction #poetrycommunity #igwriters #portsmouthnh #newengland #portsmouthharbor #christmaslight #holidaysend #lightsout #seasonsend #gray #rainy #depressing (at Over)

Each one of these days pounds ego and heart into puddles spilled roadside and forgotten once the air dries. Sun beaten, any sign of pain erases. No splash made, these are the despised hours where an ocean’s weight drowns past promise. The gray was summoned! Greed and desire cracked each dam and then there’s surprise when the floods tore apart every structure in place? Arrogant, this mourning. Lying prostrate waiting for the executioner’s bullet when the gun was always in hand. Light holds no truth, and darkness brings quiet longing for that which was laid to waste. Something will grow from this splintered soil; no ground is so inhospitable that time, light and showers can’t challenge. So this killshot awaits, the bullet case cracking as a seed and birthing the next great whimsy. Silver-lined, it’ll seek open audience with the sun and clouds, but bloodstains don’t wash clean, instead threaded into the fiber of each crooked hope. It’ll never be reclaimed. Past efforts lie dead in cemeteries of crumbling headstones, memories only seen in small reflections littering uneven ground on rainy afternoons. May the world go to desert, for while nothing will grow, maybe then too nothing will remind.


#poem #poetry #writing #writer #literary_imagery1 #poetry_addicts #poetic #poet #words #igpoetry #tree #rain #gray #sky #branches #droplets #nature (at Homeless)

There’s a home in that sky,
Blessed and cotton dream-like
Where ribs aren’t broken
And poking from the deep cuts made
By their gilded edges.
They try to trap these secrets
These small madnesses that lay silent
As dormant volcanoes,
Apparent but ignored.
Small cities of hope spring from within
Looking up with reverence
To an unfurling Heaven,
And futures as improbable
As the permanence of these lands.
Pristine clean white bone
Like the snow and fallen ash
Freeze and choke ideals, hope, love;
It can’t be allows.
Find the strength in the firm grasp,
The taut muscle shaped by each coming year
And battle the break, the snap, the failure
Of these gray cloud minds
That echo the sky only when
Day mutes shadow
And eye unshielded stare straight into tomorrow
Viewing rusting bridges,
Cracked roads,
Fallen buildings
Laid to ruin by unleashed nature.
We are born weeds.
We will continue on.
Thriving in our reach for an elusive sun
That rises forever tomorrow
Yet steals today of joy.
Please fight.
Rest, mend, heal.
Listen, be vigilant and on guard.
Hold sticks as swords
And perry ghost thoughts
Haunting each crooked threat
That eyes and mind allow.
Stay calm and your Vesuvian fate
Can starve while your heart grows
In the enriched soil of knowing
Love, self, good fortune.
And from behind the scarred cage
It will beat stronger
Staring at skies of daring blue,
The color of youthful eyes
Shaded with faith.


#poem #poetry #writing #writer #literary_imagery1 #poetry_addicts #poetic #poet #words #igpoetry #forest #woods #winter #son #boy #child #kid #innocent #wonder #hope #love #snow #ice #gray (at Fight)

The dream of the sky vanished. A coin toss lost, it’s unwise to look back as the fog obscures the straight lines of our history into a confused monochrome tangle of deadwood. Dried and brittle, cracked and coated with the sins of Winter, it’s enough. The eyes have seen enough and search ahead because there’s a world in death losing to relentless gray behind. Soon even the totems will dissolve as if shipwrecks joining seabed. The overnight stay ten years to the day, the New Year’s of unexpiring lust, the sands of the empty beach caught in toes, the ribbon-cutting, the falling snow of last rites, the call of action, the busy sterility of his arrival. The joy and union. The look and laugh. The caress and curl. All the whispers of affection now without echo. Lost to the nature of a merciless season. Faded photographs, we wilt, lose definition and flake under the winds of new life, scattered to places far afield from where we’d taken root, strove together for the sky, and failed.


#poem #poetry #writing #writer #literary_imagery1 #poetry_addicts #poetic #poet #words #igpoetry #forest #woods #branches #winter #gray #death #sadness #trees #sky #clouds #fog (at The Rot)

Crisp, grey November. Flatter senses with the death of seasons, seducing with the tightened chill of truncated days. We bundle warm intentions, shoulders bunched and necks made stiff behind scarves of red, orange, brown and black. Candy love promises and chocolate prayers blessed under pumpkin candlelight, absent in the fattening of our need for comfort. This thirty can kill you, each one a frozen knife twist deeper through each layer, you’ll bleed beauty into the monochrome swallow. Each sunset carrying icicle hurt, stinging against the valance of indifferent facades, stabbing until it melts through a heart unchanged by time’s lack of forgiveness. A thousand more leaves fallen, each a regret choking gutters of hope, covering over every promise with the sloppy decay of inevitability. So she’ll march through. So she’ll murder every single moment in the deceptive still. #november #fall #autumn #newmarketnh #leaves #foliage #gray #sky #pond #poem #poetry #writer #writing #literary_imagery1 #literary_original (at Fallen)

Small things, lost in the deep blur of land and sea’s mourning. The haze of undying, burning off the gray of uncertain paths, revealing color and contrast where before there was only wandering without a hand to hold. Cold tears and solemn reflection clinging to icy shores as small hopes soar almost unseen in the diaphanous gown of early. Push on. Await the next impatient bleed, the laceration of frail daily context from which scars of repetition will mold soft skin into hardened versions of ourselves. #gray #fog #morning #greatbay #dovernh #seagulls #sky #sea #foggy #grey #landscape #sailboats #poem #poetry #writer #writing #igsomniac (at In the Gray)