I Am Santo

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

Sea Through

Are we flawless? No, windows dirty just as skin blemishes and thoughts corrupt the way lead paint chips. Death ensures imperfection yet we rage on with wild presumption and hand to mouth eagerness, our feasts a staggering display of gluttony awarded long ago only to the clergy conscripted; the divinely ordinanced few now have to share. On these pebbled banks, marine histories awash with salted avarice, the taste of yesterdays spilling like seed from stroked cock; it’s here where lovers leap and quarrel, where intentions reef and coral. The sea claims, rejects, reclaims, our brine mirror muddied with the push pull of these throbbing, misgiven hearts. What a bore, bronzing bottoms and bobbing breasts before barbarous breakers. Play along, creaming steaming skin seething to cancer, gambling health for beauty, longevity for youth. Garish desires suckle at the tit of this paradise, mother’s milk a constant yearning culled collectively by the tight grips, the pursed lips, of progress. Build, build, build into oblivion, dance, dance, dance among Phrygian spit gilded by Midas touch and Stygian row, collapse now, breathe and bare. Sunstung, radiant, smoothed, the beholders are many, sated, soothed, eyes lovingly fed, will neither here nor then but ebbing and eddying, pooling to make deep marks on forever shifting sands. Allure is the blessing of a moment, locked into long memory by first tastes and yearned for by all this dying, the cracks in our glass marring our transparency. Looking glass why do you promise anything more than what was? Because incarcerating time for all it has stolen is an addiction.

(at Barceloneta)

Tawny loose meanings, strung along faithless waters, shorelines on the border of endless loss depths, returning feral tides that remind of need, of devotion, of uncertainty where dreams should linger.

Such waves won’t deny suffering, and the elongated strife of hope, a vestigial tail wagged whenever the crash of truth storms rocky breaks, shatters teeth and bone as if it were a rusty clawed hammer, splinter shards and dust breathed into cancerous black lungs.

Choking, dry and heaving, the gasp for air through the acrid soot of failed meaning; low is the servent that never served himself, for the end of day will drown without a drop of water to be found anywhere and, even less, any sense of meaning.

Absent are such threads of meaning, the sinew of tributaries providing fertile belief and the unconscious fevers of plowed tracts, dense with the calamity of worry that this will end in alone; that no will can provide a way and thus crop of yearning will rot all chance.

Here there is death and there, out there in the vast churning of salt and chaos, there is crucifixion and the blood of surfeit desires, of grandest need that roils like this blood for belonging, this thudding heart a moon pulling wild waves.

Give in to it and drown, ignore it and starve, for only an eclipse will save and that’s a long way off; a stretched dusty road for the broken-hearted fool to travel with thin-soul shoes and blistering feats navigating in the blue of lunar mourning.


Inspired by the talented @picobogue who I am thrilled to call a friend here on IG. Without his support, I am not sure I’d still be doing this.

#poem #poetry #poetic #igwriters #instawriter #writersofig #poetsofig #igpoets #igpoems #mobileartistry #creativewriting #fiction #flashfiction #writing #writer #story #shortstory #microfiction #poetrycommunity #igwriters #iamwriting #ocean #sea #nhseacoast #newhampshire #atlanticocean #rocky #coastline (at The Inlet of Bogue)

This faith awarded is a gift of trust so welcome, so cherished. A tire swing of joy, were childhood never ending. A belief in the sanctity of day and healing through touch, like kissed booboos for even the deepest abrasions. These lips, tongue and hands understand healing. They understand the true purpose of their creation when assigned to the task of nourishing through pleasure, not merely skin deep, because oceans aren’t simply the waves skittering across a briny epididymis, no they are of the same depth as any one of the thinking, feeling, realized adults stumbling around on dry land, each with sea fathoms of insecurities and woe churning up dust and obscuring sea bed hearts. Guidance through the murk is possible but the pressure is so severe that few will brave the journey, so the surface is merely where the start begins, an intensity of light and heat that bleeds through the darkest parts of a soul and releases willingness and beliefs in heaving, ecstatic breaths. The arrival of faith’s reward is resurrection from lost wander, the bliss of certainty coupled with the high tide of lust; each quake of a sea body is a tsunami surging, cresting, purging with breathless delight. When exhausted slumber arrives, so too shall the truth that while one heals, so too does the healer. Hands, hearts, sex merged into an endless sea reflecting stars of infinite pasts, of gorgeous futures.


#poem #poetry #poetic #igwriters #instawriter #writersofig #poetsofig #igpoets #igpoems #mobileartistry #creativewriting #fiction #flashfiction #writing #writer #story #shortstory #microfiction #poetrycommunity #igwriters #beach #berries #ocean #oceanside #seaside #sea #atlanticocean (at Oceans)

Carol and Bruce had said all they could say. The day was expiring the same way their words had; quietly, but with a kind of ferocious inevitability that spread like hungry fire across the cloud-bruised sky. Carol looked up often, noting to herself how the gray had exploded into rich orange above the sea, their sea. Bruce kept his eyes straight, registering little, his senses shuttered against whatever noise the sparse crowd of beach revelers might have made, the sky’s rage, and Carol. They’d held hands for the first part of their walk despite the failure of their understanding, as if each felt obligated to save the other from falling from a cliff, fingers lazily laced. It took only the tiniest hint of truth’s gravity to yank them apart, and they both tumbled down, into the abyss of their dying affection. Carol believed he owed her another chance, their beautiful days vastly outweighing the stormy which recently forced them into hiding from each other, for she’d become a cold front and he was a bloom of passion making the world hot and thick, his presence surrounded by temper lightning and disdain’s thunder. Bruce hated her for this crucifixion; for setting thick nails of regret into his wrists, and Achilles. She was Judas, had shared their sea with another, and now the shoreline was in ruin, hurricane stained and littered with the refuse of their failure. He knew he’d climbed on the cross first, his waning tolerance of this life perhaps a bigger betrayal than her straying intimacies, but he couldn’t forgive. So they walked, silent and unable to stop the setting sun ending their life together, words spent like sand in the wind.


This was a collaboration with the fantastic and immensely talented Ana, who guys by @mylifespix here on IG. She selected one of her photos and sent it to me, and above is the story it inspired from me. Thank you, Ana! I hope we do more of these in the future!

#creativewriting #fiction #flashfiction #writing #writer #story #shortstory #streamofconsciousness #microfiction #sunset #beach #orange #dusk #silhouette #westcoast #surf #ocean #sea #nature 

Rina sat on the edge of the high rocks and dangled her gangly legs over the crash of the sea below. It growled at her as if it were a circus lion set free on a cruel ringmaster, and so she faced the gray above and welcomed the cool mist covering everything as if the sky knew love. She would pretend when she was smaller that Earth was evil and the sky was good, so that every day basked in ceaseless adoration. And each night she would sleep with her back to the grim hold of the ground and leave herself open to the wheel of stars spinning over her. There were times when Rina felt she could leave the Earth, especially on Winter nights when Orion raised his sword and shield and protected the Heavens from the drunken screams of her mother and the John she had moaning above her in the next room. And when it was Rina’s turn to pay the rent, she hoped the ground would swallow their spilled seed while the sky would free her body from the bed. Yet neither had done their job and now she sat four months pregnant wanting to believe again in her childhood. At fourteen years old, Rina had lost faith in everything, but she had to believe just one more time. That freedom from the sick grip of men was only a breath away. And when she nudged herself over the edge, she felt joy in her brief flight. She knew the sky would hold her and her child forever next to brave Orion while the sea would wash away her sin.
This begins a long-planned ten photo-story collaboration with the profoundly talented @peregrinasola. I have written #microfiction to five of her photos and she did the same to five of mine. No schedule for these, but they’ll appear in close proximity in feeds following both of us. Ranjana is an incredible person and of you don’t follow her, you really should! #jsrvcollab

#poem #poetry #writing #writer #poetic #creativewriting #igwriters #poetry_addicts #literary_imagery1 #igpoets #igpoems #mobileartistry #creativewriting #microfiction #story #flashfiction #shortstory #cliff #seacliff #ocean #sea #edge #overthedge #flowers #rocks

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)

Trapped by the flood of circumstance and the ardor of impossibly attained lust, the net cast, the zeros and ones of outrageous fortune that cling to hearts literate in the great languages of binding, abiding, yearning, desiring. Rocky shores threaten shipwrecked delight and moonlight reveals skeletons awash in the salt of uncommon release, cracked ribcages once housing fierce throbbing cores that dared to stand against calamitous tides and Hellspun winds. Coaxed and nuzzled in gentler times, licked from end to end by tongues wet with an appetite for the original sin; the apple was devoured and rich runoff drizzled the chins of this maiden’s suitors who rose, strong-kneed from the sea, stumbled at the sandy grace of her tremble, spent seed with her name on their lips, and then disappeared again into the static of urgent life, drowning despite the binary tether holding them to their mythical lover. The ocean is too big to allow Heaven, so it gives and takes away with its lunar God laughter.


Original photo by @zeusnursemaiden with whom I adore collaborating. Thank you for sending me this shot and for allowing me to once again explore your beauty with words.

#poem #poetry #writing #writer #poetic #poetry_addicts #literary_imagery1 #creativewriting #beauty #sea #ocean #woman #lovely #doubleexposure #waves #curves #nature #sensual #sensual_women

(at Sea Maiden)

Cast from the simple joy of limitless embrace, she’s absent a lifeline to what’s come before. Their past was hunger and nervous voices, words left in the high static of satellite assistance and baud packets dropped, found, throttled and connected as drops of their torrid union sweat on the windows of neither’s home. The sea and the shell, saltwater’s organic pull and release is a tide gone low and now drawn so far back that the break of his desire is obscured by an unkind sun. She begs for her sky to crumble with a longing made of hurricane force; her yearning a cloud bloom bringing rain and a torrent of win. Yet it’s virtual, pixelated dreams of better lives spent with bare feet seaside. Next to him and joining him, yet only through displays and tiny speakers where names cried are tinny whispers in seashells. In her, the sound of his voice is greater than a cliff rock surge, loud enough to careen and echo through thousand mile adversity. To her, his volume drowns the the buzz of familarity and writes new passages in books without pages. There’s caught a view of him now and again, the white cresting rage of his ardor and the stinging blue of his eyes over rolling dunes that set the rhythm to each day’d cycle. She swoons fresh, relishing the thought of his return, the simple acknowledgement small eddies of his attention reward. “It’s grand scale beauty,” she decides and she can see his reflection in a distant sky as signs of his watching, and she is right, even as the undertow swallows others in digital capture. Just words on screens, as plentiful as grains on this beach. Just kisses and weakness. Strong winds will knock it all down. The rising tide inevitable and worth her wait.


#poem #poetry #writing #writer #literary_imagery1 #poetry_addicts #poetic #poet #words #igpoetry #seashell #sea #ocean #waves #beach #sand #nofilter #hamptonnh #newhampshire #seacoastnh (at She Waits)

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)

Don’t it impress, that feisty tenacity of the sea’s spray? The salty corrosion of her mineral kiss on land and metal, eroding concrete and steel? She loves to seduce progress, beckoning it ever closer with calm nights alight with starshine and days reflecting sky and sun in the swim of glass pools. It edges closer to her embrace, our willful expansion and trust, and then she bites, winds kicked up and gray towers billowing high in a vulgar display of righteous beauty. Bricks crumble and metal bends green, trembling under her turbulent mood. Pieces shed like youthful beliefs, and she accepts them angrily, but with the promise of returning tranquility, a lease renewed on the banks of her kindness. #irispad #day19 #sept19 #salty #portsmouthnh #portsmouth #newhampshire #sea #seaside #ocean #bridge #newengland #home #poem #poetry #writer #writing #edit #daylateandabuckshort (at Forgiveness)