Perhaps it's the war with the death of a son with the sacrifice of a father Perhaps it's the year of query of beautiful story without a reader of skillfully written, but -- Perhaps it's months of illness and having little to control and having less to try This creative desert only deepens my thirst drives my next step ©2022 Sue Santiago all rights reserved
In the shade of the Rotem I catch my breath rest, relief, recover just enough to move forward, journey on trust the story, remember hurt, healing, hope then offer shade to another on this rugged route to give just enough care, comfort, encouragement to carry on (c) 2022 Sue Santiago all rights reserved
steady now the birds collect twigs the trees bud with promise the grass stands vibrant the wind arrives gentle and new hang tight ©2022 Sue Santiago all rights reserved
when i'm stuck lost in my world wandering along twisting spaghetti brain lanes i get caught in a loop need You to straighten my thinking, keeping me moving forward, teaching me to roll through a stumble to deliver some truth ©2022 Sue Santiago all rights reserved
we writers sometimes poets players of words collectors of ideas pluck from the muck pull pearls string bracelets to seduce the muse ©2022 Sue Santiago all rights reserved
She's every bit the confident woman Her clothes are pressed hair styled, shoulders back, chin up She has her purpose mission-minded, laser-focused, prepared She's every bit the confident woman Across the table sits her mirror image in younger form They sip their coffee, click keyboards, shuffle papers, tackle to-dos She's every bit the confident woman She instructs her daughter in ways of life, of work, of world Maybe a little jealous her daughter's insight, strength, sense-of-self Becoming every bit the confident woman her mother only feigns (C)2022 Sue Santiago all rights reserved
These twelve words written on my heart constant companions my hope and breath my anchor and wind Remember, I am with you Always Until the very end of age (c) 2022 Sue Santiago all rights reserved
a stream of consciousness connects trouble to trouble to trouble gun violence domestic violence no solutions nonsense health declining, covid rising civil unrest pivots like a windsock Ukraine. Oh, Ukraine. my heart weeps my anger boils but my hands feel confined in this spectator's straight jacket Take a breath, oh my soul Sprinkle random acts of kindness Into my space in this world Let them catch a zephyr Let them spread like dandelion seeds (c) 2022 Sue Santiago all rights reserved
This bossy story pricks and pesters. It's such a brat. Doesn't care I'm uncertain. Inspiration pokes and prods 'til I pay it some attention, like my pup with her ball incessant 'til I play with her What if I ignore it? Ha! The muse will ruin my dreams to wake me, to make me write (c) 2022 Sue Santiago all rights reserved
There's a pair of older hands Clacking away on my keyboard Crinkles and creases, mercilessly dry Where did their prowess go? Thicker now, age spots on the horizon Beyond the power they once yielded They've realized their true strength Being lent to another in love, regardless of like ©2022 Sue Santiago all rights reserved
Beneath my desk Content to rest at my feet My faithful pup Inspires the writer in me ©2022 Sue Santiago all rights reserved
It sounds like I am on hold. Or the ring of a dying phone. The cell in my hand is silent. My laptop before me behaves. Beyond the window a blue bird, a new-to-me type, plays statue in the budding young maple. It hops and warbles a song unfamiliar. Perhaps it's eaten a robotic worm. Maybe I'm swallowed by technology. It's been too long since spring last. Time to fine tune these ears of mine. ©2022 Sue Santiago all rights reserved
Careless poets intimidate,
Torturing meaning beyond comprehension
(c) 2022 Sue Santiago all rights reserved
Palms? Sweating Knees? Wobbling Stomach? Squeezing Tongue? Thickening Cheeks? Reddening Mind? Racing Words? Fleeing All systems are a-go Speech Time ©2022 Sue Santiago all rights reserved
While world players position their pawns for battle, I write poetry. While a desperate mother steals her children to safer borders, I write poetry. While young women are bartered their dignity for dollars, I write poetry. While I pray for peace and purpose, mine out the voice I've been given, I write poetry. To shine light into dark places, distill hope in the hurt, I write poetry. ©2022 Sue Santiago all rights reserved
A teenage boy retelling his day to his dad. Siblings besting each other, sounds of disgust, responded with laughter. Someone else doing the dishes. This is joy to me. A walk through the woods with four-legged companions. Exploring roads to somewhere, anticipating what the next bend holds. A breath-taking skyscape. That familiar voice after far too long. This is joy to me. When my world shrinks as molehills grow into mountains surrounding me, I remember the Light. How it shined brightest in darkest times. Praise raises, righting my perspective. This is joy to me. That I could wax on about this 'til my candle burned out, This is a joy to me, too. ©2022 Sue Santiago all rights reserved
joy mined in the moment
crumbles the hardness of the day
©2022 Sue Santiago all rights reserved
They start in the corner between the couch and the wall. The little one pins herself into small spaces as though it might give her the advantage. They don’t know how to play quietly. Gurgling at each other more than growling.
What is that word?
My reprimand for quiet only encourages them to come closer — to play beneath the table where I sit, bumping into my chair, jostling my thoughts. I can smell their spit and saliva as they gnarl and nip at each other.
Their noises, that smell, fracture my thinking as I chase a word that won’t come. It isn’t montage or combination. Hodgepodge is a fun word, but not right. I’m sure it starts with a W.
Their smell raises a little nausea; it climbs up my esophagus, or perhaps it is my frustration with this stuck word. The thesaurus is no use. Their gnarling gives way to piercing yips.
OH I YELL! Ah! You’re breaking my brain! I cannot think!
Now I’m snarling and harumphing. This darn word! What is this forsaken WORD!? The thesaurus can’t even find it! Google is no help.
How have I completely lost this word? This cluttered art form that I don’t like, but can be useful when brainstorming. What is this W-Word??????
The dogs have vacated from beneath the table. My screams made them scurry. One to lay on the carpet, the other to ring the bell to go out.
WHAT IS THIS WORD???
I let big dog out. The wind blows a cool kiss.
My phone stares up at me — displaying montage and many words about it. Somewhere in the middle of all of it all are the seven letters I’ve been chasing — that tricky little word that hid under some synapse in my mind — COLLAGE.
What a relief! Stinkin’ collage.
Do not be deceived. This place of loneliness, shame, despair is not darkness, merely a shadow. Beyond the shadow's edge the light waits. Get up. Stagnate no more. Seek it out. Crawl if need be. The light is never too far. ©2022 Sue Santiago all rights reserved
©2022 Sue Santiago all rights reserved
photo credit Terri Perdue
Is there ever a day where at the end of it it can be said, that went exactly to plan? What a shame. Seems more the story of the villain than the hero. ©2021 Sue Santiago all rights reserved