I Am Santo

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

They built cities on the sea. They dared the forces of nature to rest. It was foolhardy, but they laid bricks with confidence, bolted steel with hubris and didn’t care how the ache of tomorrow might hobble their endeavor. It was a lot like us, that boldness, that arrogance. Everywhere there were facts and figures supporting the failure of union, yet regardless these fingers brandished rings and our uttered promises fluttered over sea spray like lost butterflies mistaking waves for tall grass. We were not alone in that seaside town and a sideways glance at store windows through which helpless owners stared, worried, told us alone was near, that struggle was all around us. Yet like them we kept fever in our hearts when bigger things tugged. Nothing stops saltwater from eating away at the edges of progress, because there is no greater insistence than Nature’s. She chews through wood, concrete, metal, chemistry, intentions, and love. She has no mercy for your belief. And in time we all fall quietly back into the sea, immunity an illusion, the tall faiths we held in our hands and hearts just a little extra salt sprinkled into unfathomable depths. Yesterday was strength. Today is weakness. Tomorrow is insignificance. And we go with the tides, soft yearning crystalized and drawn away in the flood, arms bigger than any we could ever imagine encircling us, tearing us down, letting us go.

#poem #poetry #poetic #igwriters #instawriter #writersofig #poetsofig #igpoets #igpoems #mobileartistry #creativewriting #fiction #flashfiction #writing #writer #story #shortstory #microfiction #poetrycommunity #igwriters #portsmouthnh #newhampshire #newengland #nhseacoast #iwasbornhere #erosion #erasure #acceptance #loss (at Finalandia)

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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)

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The church’s bells clanged in the winter air, a flock of sleeping pidgeons roused from their afternoon sleep by the toll of the hour. Rick looked toward the silhouettes of the departing flock and for a moment forgot all about Kathy and her temper. Those birds were free, small hearts rapidly thrumming in time with their busy wings as they found a new place to rest. To be able to flee like that, to take wing and suddenly abandon where he was; what a dream. Rick watched the birds break their group, flitting in the chilly wind and then there was only one, circling, unsure of where to land. That bird, that was him. Leaping and ready to soar, but then unsure of the next place to land, circling until the din of the bells stopped and it returned home. Who lives in a place like that? A place you have to escape regularly, but that you always come back to? Rick wanted to shout at that bird, but he shivered hard instead. It was freezing outside and he didn’t have his coat on because he left quick when Kathy started up again with her rising tone, a discord more frequent and upsetting than any church bells. It was probably safe to go back for now, at least to grab his jacket and maybe he would look again at the train schedules. See where he could go for the meager amount of money he had. Anyplace would be better than with Kathy at this point, even if she was pregnant and might change back to the woman he once loved. But then there would be a daughter, another Kathy screaming more than on the hour or ever half hour; shouting, crying, and berating until his nails dug crescent moons in his palms as he clenched his hands into tight fists. Rick wanted to be a smarter bird. Somewhere there was a better place to roost.

#poem #poetry #poetic #igwriters #instawriter #writersofig #poetsofig #igpoets #igpoems #mobileartistry #creativewriting #fiction #flashfiction #writing #writer #story #shortstory #microfiction #literature #poetrycommunity #writersofinstagram #storyteller #church #portsmouthnh #moody #newengland (at Distance)

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They set sail as lovers. Returning apart, their lust drowned.

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#poem #poetry #poetic #igwriters #poetry_addicts #literary_imagery1 #igpoets #igpoems #mobileartistry #window #creativewriting #microfiction #flashfiction #writing #writer #story #shortstory #streamofconsciousness #writersofinstagram #story #storyteller #atenwordstorybp #wordeconomy #ocean #harbor #portsmouthnh #neehampshire #seacoast 
(at A Death at Sea)

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My sea is the sky – the crests of waves, clouds, the currents, turbulence. I’ll scale fathoms, grip a handful of atmosphere and taste the salt of it in my palm before I ascend leagues to the depths of thickest blue, the threat of black surrounding every judgement. I could hoist those dark cares as if they were weights many times greater than any I have known. So live in the paltry excuse for forever? Are we all included? Or must we discover no gains for love. For me, that’s when I need to be drawn out to sea, adrift in the vast blue of senseless abandon! But I’m a crow without a murder, and my wire threatens our journey to the gray areas obscuring crystalline skies. #sky #clouds #tugboats #portsmouthnh #water #harbor #poem #poetry #writer #writing (at Set Free)

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Keep going, kid. The old men with their medals polished, their uniforms pressed, pride worn as prominent as the folds of age lining their faces – they all smile at you. You’re the home they fought for; you’re the dream they hoped would be realized as threats grew nightmarish in their view and they stood firm, looking toward the dawn when all that could be seen was an infinite night of fear and tremble. Their courage bought you safety, each step a gift from those still breathing and those we salute when we search the sky with our hearts and minds. Somewhere out there we replace horror and pain with the knowledge of lives better lived, loves welcomed and laughs allowed full volume. The blood of our flag, the navy of our dusks, the white of our hopes and so you walk, with purpose and buoyed by the spirits of those that want the best for you even though they’ve never met you. Say thank you by walking tall, knowing your good fortune and acknowledging the valor of strangers with brave souls. #veteransday #portsmouthnh #shipyard #child #walking #usa #love #poem #poetry #writer #writing (at Each Step)

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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)

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Bent brick, rail thin, rationalized structure in a convex eye. Sinking fast with uproarious tragedies, the kind that allow laughter as echoing ghosts down close wet alleys. Shapes here and there, fleeting in the bounced orange leak of city light rolling overhead; they’re the spirit of our best days lamenting the present with curses. Damn you! Fight or crumble! But just sitting ill-placed on the edge of a stoop, as if forgotten by time and season – left to rot. Then what? Pain? Retribution? Happenstance crucifixions at the gateways of forgiveness, arms barring any approach. Your edifice isn’t anywhere near as weak as these great walls holding up the lives of delicate strangers. No, it’s powerful, unyielding, and it will kill every last fucking child of good milked from what was; pronouncing the past a sham and dictating futures of cold reality. The wrecking ball was action, yet your silence left more rubble in its wake. #portsmouthnh #brick #pumpkin #autumn #fall #alley #city #newengland #door #doorway #poem #poetry #writer #writing #literary_imagery1 #literary_original (at On the Outside)

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The cold drove you away; the reality of winter hiding the sun’s gifts, robbing the day of sweeter scents and bare skin. Huddled for a season, for a lifetime, we’ll dream of longer days where words drifted languidly on humid air caressing our egos, our sex, our sense of right and wrong. And we’ll sip to remind our bodies of heat; a practiced game of making loss sting less than the bitter wind cracking our brittle hearts. #cafe #portsmouthnh #breaknewgrounds #fall #autumn #empty #winteriscoming #poem #poetry #writer #writing (at Hidden Chills)

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Listless skies, forgotten moments in the hymnals of ardent passion, and a pinched indulgence soaked in salt, sweat, fire and clinging need. These forests shredded, seas left barren and desert winds driving razor granules into the tender – crimson rivulets coalesce as words fail; as night mercilessly chokes. Were there only a way to suspend a sun’s torrid end. If only the day’s flesh didn’t sear so beautifully. But if there could have been two stars suspended in Heaven, dreaming of torrential joy and the gorgeous pallet eagerly sought. Life dreams, yet minutes judge harshly, and saltwater stings, filling lungs with sweet death, a fade of passions. Unmet, unwelcome, left for dead, the shell of hope washed onshore and rests anchored in the grains of belonging, but regretful of homes left behind; light drowning in a distant horizon. #sunset #portsmouthnh #poem #poetry #harbor #newengland #night #sun #light #evening #writer #writing (at Dusk)

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