rain – I Am Santo

Triumphant as rivulets,
They’re only so good as one.
Beautiful? Sure.
But progress isn’t easy
On the slow side that’s alone.
The dragged down.
The fallen.
The desperate stretch for another
To collapse into,
Connect,
Pool together
And conjur the merciful wet
Reminding the numb
Of alive,
Of breathing.
Merge and curl,
Supple flesh heaving,
Muscle tensing,
Mouths joined
in an ecstasy of together.
Sex hot, awake
Yearning in bared teeth,
Fingers flexed,
Nails drawn and pulling
Across the back,
The sweet faith,
The hope
Sung in the clipped breath
Of climax,
Of salty release
And convulsive satisfaction.
Sweet smiles
Beading together,
Running down skin
Like the runoff of effort,
Like the wander of drops
When they discover together.

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#poem #poetry #poetic #igwriters #instawriter #writersofig #poetsofig #igpoets #igpoems #mobileartistry #creativewriting #fiction #flashfiction #writing #writer #story #shortstory #microfiction #poetrycommunity #igwriters #sensuality #droplets #raindrops #rain #beads #waterdrops #water #macro (at Beads)

Published by Jason Santo on March 28, 2015 | Permalink

Look there, out on the road
A cataract view of love
Corroded and collapsing
with uttered disdain
For each gesture made;
What a low fool.
He stoops, knees bent and worn
reducing himself
to pinch-measure ego,
Self-worth summed in the thin space
Between thumb and index.
What a pressed fuck.
What spineless affability,
Tiptoeing on eggshells
and listening to their
Crack, crack, crack underfoot anyhow.
Such craned careful caresses
So as not to upset,
And beg for the crucifix.
The torn wrists and achilles,
Run through
with the raw condescending need
To reign in matters of the heart.
To spatter and feel alive
under the spicket of truth,
Petals opening
Letting in righteous and indignation
In such balanced measure
that the stem bends,
Never breaks
But the blossom stagnates.
Killing love is easy
For the rose.
Her thorns hunger for blood.
And on that slick roadside
The victims lie one by one
In view of the next
Whose heart longs to be
Prick, prick, pricked
By the long bowed neck
Of a hate masquerade.

#poem #poetry #poetic #igwriters #instawriter #writersofig #poetsofig #igpoets #igpoems #mobileartistry #creativewriting #fiction #flashfiction #writing #writer #story #shortstory #microfiction #poetrycommunity #igwriters #wet #droplets #rain #rose #flower #bent #low (at Rubberneck)

Published by Jason Santo on December 17, 2014 | Permalink

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

Published by Jason Santo on June 14, 2014 | Permalink

Come on. The cold relents. The biting frost disappears. The wounds of winter heal. Live. You’ve done it before. The roads threatened with their access to an end, the tuck and dive and screech and crush avoided by simple hopes. That next great meal. That next wonderful kiss. The next joke and beautiful day where the warmth of the sun falls and teases skin to freedom. Everything dies, including sorrow. Rage isn’t an endless spring. Loneliness is a state of transition. From once frozen ground, rendered lifeless by the caustic season of discontent arises a bud of hope. In even the most sterile terrain, life wins. It wins because the seed won’t be broken until it’s ready for the reach. Nature designed the shell crack in safety, and broken hearts mend, arms like shoots looking for complete. Embrace the light, taste the wet. Believe. Everything grows again. Even you.

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#poem #poetry #writing #writer #poetic #creativewriting #igwriters #poetry_addicts #literary_imagery1 #igpoets #igpoems #spring #flowers #garden #love #nature #renewal #hope #fuckwinter #seasons #rebirth #vernal #bloom #rain (at Rise)

Published by Jason Santo on May 2, 2014 | Permalink

Come on. The cold relents. The biting frost disappears. The wounds of winter heal. Live. You’ve done it before. The roads threatened with their access to an end, the tuck and dive and screech and crush avoided by shingle hopes. That next great meal. That next wonderful kiss. The next joke and beautiful day where the warmth of the sun falls and teases skin to freedom. Everything dies, including sorrow. Rage isn’t an endless spring. Loneliness is a state of transition. From once frozen ground, rendered lifeless by the caustic season of discontent arises a bud of hope. In even the most sterile terrain, life wins. It wins because the seed won’t be broken until it’s ready for the reach. Nature designed the shell crack in safety, and broken hearts mend, arms like shoots looking for complete. Embrace the light, taste the wet. Believe. Everything grows again. Even you.

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Published by Jason Santo on May 2, 2014 | Permalink

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.

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

Published by Jason Santo on April 13, 2014 | Permalink

Shimmering and sun soaked, she jumped puddles like they were acid-filled, stinging hurt awaiting her errant footfalls. Umbrella tight in hand, the rain dribbled around her edges, staining pools of spent tears with ripples of impact. Light stung at the corners of her eyes, but she moved fast to avoid it all, undistracted by the reflected beauty of the wet brick surrounding her, the history gleaming brilliantly for her pause. Too many unchecked items on the list. Too many hairs pulled out of place by the damp air. Too many faces to catch her stopping, umbrella laid as a bowl, chin tilted up in welcome to the sunkissed wet as if she were the reward at the end of the rainbow. #irispad #day13 #sept13 #jump #rain #puddles #sun #sunshower #portsmouthnh #filmnoir #wetstreets #backlight #ally #poem #poetry #writer #writing (at Hurry)

Published by Jason Santo on September 14, 2013 | Permalink