storytelling – I Am Santo

Drawn up from solitude
with an addiction to promise,
wait wait sweet soul
and breath lust another day.
Fire aura exploding
with charnel decay,
wait wait darling
and crave love for today.
Moving in rhythm
sliding as one in night’s groan,
wait wait baby
and dream this away.
Hands exploring
the soft stuttering of will,
wait wait honey
and sigh in the sway.
Together in the grip of this,
a broken fuck and passionless kiss,
a hunger sated like a scratched itch,
a heart empty of extended bliss.
Feeling fine in the morning light,
loneliness having taken flight,
the weakness of now a sleepless night, dispelling darkness with caustic delight.
Done with overthinking
now bodies curl in dawn’s tide,
wait wait sugar
and shorten the stay.
Discovered in eagerness
that passion’s a play,
wait wait sexy
keep the end at bay.
Hollow chests still beating
staccato desires and yearning,
wait wait angel
now it’s time to pray.
For affections to bloom
like spring roses in the rain,
wait wait dear love
there’s nothing left to say.

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The striking @alwayschiroptera permitted me to use this shot she posted yesterday as a writing prompt, and I thank her for the gift. Our second collaboration, and decidedly different from the first even as the photo subjects are similar yet edited in vastly different ways.

#poetry #poet #writing #writer #creativewriting #literary_imagery1 #poetry_addicts #poem #story #storytelling #writersofinstagram #igwriters #dark #sensuality #rhyme #portrait #sexyportrait #dangerous (at Black Heart)

Published by Jason Santo on July 1, 2014 | Permalink

Our edges are smoothed by fierce wind. Weather beaten, the drama of our rise still a monument to inevitable passion, collision, ascension. The Earth cracked and shivered with the sky as our salvation, and clinging together, calamitous hearts steadied into one beat that set rhythm to years of striving. Our shadows cast long, we spilled bold silhouettes over lands springing to life as if this union were contagion. They looked and gasped. They sweetly applauded. And in the torrential rains of responsibility and the abusive gales of obligation our prominence never crumbled, but grew softer, the thick layer of our defenses eroding; our heights slowly diminishing. We gripped at night as lovers with hands hungry for flesh and mouths wet for the taste of each other. Day exposed our bruises and failures, the collapse of our embrace into crags and landslides crushing once mighty will. And still we stood, but overgrown by the insistance of natural law: all things come to an end. It would have been so much easier to return to the lowlands, but our heads have always been in the clouds, our view omniscient and obscured. So I’ll look West, where the marks of lovers’ meeting are still fresh. Where nothing dismisses their violent ecstasy. And you stay East, where our shadows still play like an echo in the sun of a time lovelier than today.
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#poetry #poet #writing #writer #creativewriting #literary_imagery1 #poetry_addicts #poem #story #storytelling #writersofinstagram #igwriters #nature #landscape #mountains #newhampshire #whitemountains #field #bluesky #littlepuffyclouds #perfectday (at Worn)

Published by Jason Santo on June 28, 2014 | Permalink

Going wonder. Going. Growing. Gone. Grown. Joy lifted. Elevated. Pushed Heavenward. Debuted in the summer haze. Cured by the winter chill. The crawl into age and ownership. This world. An inheritance of debt and worry. How youth colors it. How it’s forgotten. The melody lost. What a tune. Such ear candy. Not lost. Shunned. Stored away. Too close to the heart to throw away. Stuffed animal hugs. Dogeared first reads. Antiquated worn furniture. Refuse. Left. The burden of years. Compounded. Awake. Diluted. The purity days. The laughter. The uncompromising hours. The filth. Undone youth. Spiraling loss. Hold on. Just hold on. There. See it? There. Squeeze it. Never ever let go. There. It’s you. It’s youth. There. Going. Leaving. Hold on. Gone.

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#poetry #poet #writing #writer #creativewriting #literary_imagery1 #poetry_addicts #poem #story #storytelling #writersofinstagram #igwriters #child #children #childhood #play #spout #water #sprinkler #fun #joy #happy #kids #summertime (at Joy)

Published by Jason Santo on June 28, 2014 | Permalink

It’s assumed what could be done was done to create such art. That reason sits behind the infallible Nature of the clay-like sand, the tranquil lapping of crystal waters, the jutting snow-capped peaks and the white clouds blossoming in the blue field of perfect sky. And in enters man, in steps woman; their desire for love, their yearning for lust, their industry to acheive such ends. Breathing the verdent air, motive pumps blood from aching hearts into systems as intricate and miraculous as these quiet Edens. Divine hands moved each piece into place, and in view is tremulous worship, astounded fervor for the brazen breadth of his shoulders and the elegant arch of her collarbone. What decoration these slumbering Gods gifted day. What intricate fates they sewed into night. And innocence, unsullied stumbling from heights into pools of birthing hope from which each will sip and linger, drawing wisdom and killing cynicism. It’s too beautiful for alone. No matter how grand it all seems, it was designed for love and domination; no world immune to fever and progress. Dreams unify each glimpse into now, the architecture of paradise and the cold bliss of scraped skies. Build and build, and in the eyes of God both honor and destroy their aspect. Clean the Earth as you ruddy its perfection.

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#poetry #poet #writing #writer #creativewriting #literary_imagery1 #poetry_addicts #poem #fiction #story #shortstory #microfiction #storytelling #writersofinstagram #igwriters #newhampshire #nh #lake #whitemountains #mountains #tranquil #sky #clouds (at Then Was Now)

Published by Jason Santo on June 26, 2014 | Permalink

Don’t it sing? This magnificent haze of burning that brings you to him, as if the orange glow of untamed wildfire on a crooked and spoked horizon. What malignant attraction. The darkest corner of failure in your defenses, where you saw hope in the allure of those startling eyes, those inviting lips, that conflagration of passion licking at night as if a tangible aura. What a fraud. Didn’t you already know? It’s unfounded curiosity and a slip of judgement. It’s weakness. For he’s deep devil, reinging Hell on a forked tail of satisfaction with a tongue working infallible magic and hands dutifully granting blind glee, absent heart where yours overflows with the honest need of now. He’s demon, a conniving work of evil masked in comely, long-limbed form and smooth eloquence. Dexterous words and fine fingers seeking flesh and wet, and how your yearning trips you into falling, how the night screams to welcome his fiery eagerness as if he were desert rain and not more vacant heat. The failure of your judgement sickens in the early hours, the cloud of wine breaking and revealing the dark failure such sad wisdom, a thunderclap split by the blinding strike of reason. No lesson learned, his plying weeds in your garden, strangling the beauty of your blooming promise which reaches for warmth and light but lays smothered under his weight when he pushes the long length of lust inside you, filling you, emptying you. The melody of his breathing an uttered curse in the thick, humid night, it merges with the frail musings of morning wren as dawn fails, your naked limbs splayed and awaiting another bout with him as if he were addiction. The fix never fixing. The dream of a heart impossible in his nightmare.

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Published by Jason Santo on June 23, 2014 | Permalink

Bleeding ideas out of the box, actors have new names, views steal fresh angles and stories drip like crimson from split skin, lacerations leaking unique moments in old tales. Whodunit? She did. With a hammer to the back of the head, but to know her crime first and then divine motive breaks the mold; slides expectations to greater heights and bends perspectives until they clamor for resolution. And it all falls into place, neat details in a perfect square, surprising depth from emptiness.#irispad #day15 #sept15 #outofthebox #daylateandabuckshort #movie #storytelling #murder #horror #blood #bleeding #gory #dead #poem #poetry #writing #writing #yesijustwroteapoemaboutmyownmovie (at Rewind)

Published by Jason Santo on September 17, 2013 | Permalink