Category: Talk From the Clotheline

ALL ONE

Alone VS Lonely

Alone tells me that I am all by myself;with the sum of all my thoughts accompanying me.

Alone tells me that I am A ok.

Lonely eats away at the core of my soul.

It blares at me that no one wants me.

Alone is  a companion-I’m taking care of me when I am alone.

I am ALL ONE: Not giving away pieces of my heart.

Lonely is a screaming,shrieking night owl telling me,no one gives a God damn about me.

Alone says,”Know thyself.” It is my truth telling best friend.

Alone is that mirror to my soul into which I glimpse,helping me  keep it all real.

Lonely gets me to a point of feeling desperate where I’ll just be with people I don’t even like who don’t even celebrate  me;instead they barely tolerate.

Lonely compels me to settle for far less than what I deserve..

Alone leads me besides still waters

Alone makes me to lie down in green pastures

Alone,my soul is restored.

Lonely demands I join in the drama-be part of the chaos.

Lose myself in the voices of others so that no one will hear my unique voice. So my self expression will be buried before it even had the chance to be seen or heard from.

Alone- All One- It is the voice of unity. For when I get alone I hear clearly the voice of The Trinity. That triune sound that can only be heard when I’m quiet and all alone.

Lonely is the party goer.

Lonely is the star in the spot light.

Lonely is the drunk hobo.

Lonely is the tough lawyer in the Armani biz suit.

People don’t go mad when they’re alone.

Loneliness drives people to insanity and beyond.

Loneliness drives people to do the unthinkable.

People can be their best by day: A put together doctor who tends to her patients with care.

A pastor tending to his flock.

Parents parenting their children

But when the sun sets and loneliness creeps in ever so slowly and stealthily; those in the day good doers turn to  our secret vices. To drown out  that loneliness screaming like a mad black panther inside our heads. We drown that dark voice in liquor, drugs,sex,whatever it takes to keep that killer beast at bay.

Alone vs lonely…the two aren’t sisters,not even cousins. One is a choice,the other chooses you. The best stories ever told are about loneliness because we’re all suckers for tear jerkers and tales that break our hearts so that we can feel human once more. Alone vs lonely: Alone is chosen…loneliness chooses you. No one ever says,” I want to be lonely.” We crave being alone.

Eva Santiago copyright 2013

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Busy Mind #21

Previous Condition

I woke up shaking

Alone in my room

The gray sheet-a twisted rope

Breathing as if from running

Motionless-for the longest while

Laying on my back-spread-eagle

Staring up at the spackled ceiling

With ear in tune to other sounds from the house:

A teapot whistling

A smoker’s sputum  filled, hacking cough

A long drawn out yawn

My dog barking at the approaching mail man

Ma’s bacon sizzling on the cast iron griddle

In the shower, a girly voice singing Taylor Swift‘s “Mean”

The  soft hum of the 5 blade fan over my bed

 

I had been dreaming

I woke up trembling-not sure why

The dream’s detail’s eluded me

I was certain I was running

This was recurrent

A previous condition

For a prolonged time; no dreams would come

Then with out notice, they’d return

A whole flood of them- a torrent even

I’d put off going to bed ’til I’d succumb to my restlessness

R.E.M. would kick in-to suck me into the vortex

I’d fall asleep frightened-to awaken terrified

I’d calm myself by listening to Ludwig’s “Moonlight Sonata”

Watching the smoke from a neglected pipe rise to my spackle ceiling.

 

I’d run away all of my life

At 16 I ran from my ma

Left her a note in chicken scratch

Told her not to worry

When I was 22, she died

Then the runaway returned

To her still, cold body waiting for me in a pine box

The old place-resembled a macabre masterpiece by Goya

The house stood naked, paint pealing-like a harlot in need of a manicure

An old rain coat stuffed in the front bay window

Bright yellow police taped blared at me:

“STAY THE HELL OUT VAGRANTS AND RUNAWAYS!”

That’s what my eyes read

My eyes red-from stinging tears

Once again,returned all of my fears

I stared at my reflection

In the old cracked oval gold leaf mirror

Left outside on the porch

Why did I run?

Where did I go?

Did nothing change?

I was still the same man…

That guy with a previous condition.

EVA SANTIAGO copyright 2013

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Altered Book: Exploring Literature/Lynn Altenbernd

BUSY MIND #5

Roam if you want to.
Go where you want to.
Feel what you want, or don’t.
See what you want or, don’t.
Say what you want,or don’t.
Laugh only if it’s funny to you.
Cry only if it moves you.
Own yourself and be proud of yourself.
Hug if you want to or don’t.
Kiss if you feel like it or don’t.
Dance in the rain or don’t.

Walk when you feel like walking and don’t let anyone make you run if you don’t want to.

Share only if you want to because sometimes there are things that only belong to you.

Say no when you want to.
Say yes only when you want to.
Say, “ I love you.” Only when you want to and not because it was expected of you.

Be shy when you want to and when you want to be bold do it.
Be true only to you and own your truth.
Dance with someone or alone-but do it anyway.
Go where there are people or stay in alone.
Look at the sunset or don’t.
Write a love letter and keep it forever or not.
Write a love story and share or take it to your grave.
Compose a love song and sing it or not.
Whatever you do, do it for you!

EVA SANTIAGO copyright 2013

April is National Poetry Month: Day 30

Well friends, April draws to a close and so does National Poetry Month. I went to a poetry event last Friday where I participated as a judge in a poetry contest for seniors at the Heritage Senior Park, here in Henderson. As a guest poet, I had the opportunity to read excerpts from my new book, Salsa! The Taste of Life. Other guest poets in attendance were, Jo Wilkins, Andres Fragoso Jr, and Toni Pacini. We picked the following poem as the winner .  Lorraine Anderson is 85 years old, she has been writing poetry all of her life and this was her first time sharing her work with a group. Congratulations Lorraine!!!

The Changing Times

 

I think of days that have gone by when mother baked her bread.

Back in those days one didn’t buy, but made such things instead.

I could smell the rich aroma from the oven that was hot.

And I’ll not forget the homemade bread that Dad and I once got.

There was something in its flavor, in its added bit of zest.

That made you feel, beyond a doubt that homemade bread was best.

 

But times have changed, the women folk no longer seem to bake.

They buy from the stores that stock the things commercial bakers make.

The cakes and pies and other things no longer have the touch.

Of homemade things that man once said he liked so much.

Those good old days when homemade bread was wholesome, fresh and plain,

Will forever outlive those things today all wrapped in cellophane.

 

Yes, times have changed and in a way I think that it is best.

The woman who once baked her bread has now more time to rest.

She need not watch an oven with an ever watchful eye.

All this has passed and now belongs to days that have gone by.

But I, for one, remember and more than often said,

The better days were back in the days when men had homemade bread!

-Lorraine Anderson copyright 2013

 

 

 

 

 

I am including this poem, that came in the top 3 picks; I enjoyed it so much when I first read it because of its universal theme of  how we evolve in our lives.

 

And The Mountain Moved

I am the little child full of love and laughter and family

And the mountain was huge and scary and far away

I am the teenager scared and scarred

And the mountain is still huge and far away

I am the young adult with stars in my eyes, love in my life,marriage and children.

And the mountain seems remote and far away from my life.

I am the middle aged woman who worked all of her married life, her children are gone,  and it’s time to find out who she is.

And the mountain appears closer.

I am the wise old woman who knows who she is and where she belongs and what her legacy is.

And the mountain is within me.

-Helene Moore copyright 2013

April is National Poetry Month: Day 12

Salad Anniversary -A book about Haiku

Your left hand,

exploring my fingers one by one-

maybe this is love

 

Secretly I try on your jacket,

drinking in your smell,

and strike a pose like James Dean

 

Remembering your joke,

I giggle out loud

In the middles of a crowd

 

Ring after ring tell me you’re out-

I listen fondly,

Grateful for any clue

 

Admonished to stop writing of romance-

What’s poetry, then?

Just another way to get a man?

-Machi Tawara copyright 1989

April is National Poetry Month: Day 7

A Competition Asked for a 2 line Rhyme with the most romantic first line but least romantic second line:

 Funniest Poem Ever

This is the winning poem. 

My darling,my lover,my beautiful wife
Marrying you screwed up my life.

I see your face when I am dreaming
That’s why I always wake up screaming

Kind,intelligent,loving and hot
This describes everything you are not.

I thought that I could love no other—
That Is until I met your brother.

Roses are red,violets are blue,sugar is sweet and so are you
But those roses are wiliting,the violets are dead, the sugar bowl’s empty and so is your head.

I want to feel your sweet embrace
But don’t take that paper bag off your face.

I love your smile, your face and your eyes—
Damn, I’m good at telling lies!

My love,you take my breath away.
What have you stepped in to smell this way?

My feelings for you no words can tell,
Except maybe,”Go to hell”

What inspired this amorous rhyme?
Two parts tequila, one part lime

 

http://www.indiabroadband.net/jokes-humor/19660-funniest-poem-ever.html

 

 

April is National Poetry Month:Day 6

The Saddest Poem

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.

Write, for instance: “The night is full of stars,
and the stars, blue, shiver in the distance.”

The night wind whirls in the sky and sings.

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

On nights like this, I held her in my arms.
I kissed her so many times under the infinite sky.

She loved me, sometimes I loved her.
How could I not have loved her large, still eyes?

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
To think I don’t have her. To feel that I’ve lost her.

To hear the immense night, more immense without her.
And the poem falls to the soul as dew to grass.

What does it matter that my love couldn’t keep her.
The night is full of stars and she is not with me.

That’s all. Far away, someone sings. Far away.
My soul is lost without her.

As if to bring her near, my eyes search for her.
My heart searches for her and she is not with me.

The same night that whitens the same trees.
We, we who were, we are the same no longer.

I no longer love her, true, but how much I loved her.
My voice searched the wind to touch her ear.

Someone else’s. She will be someone else’s. As she once
belonged to my kisses.
Her voice, her light body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, true, but perhaps I love her.
Love is so short and oblivion so long.

Because on nights like this I held her in my arms,
my soul is lost without her.

Although this may be the last pain she causes me,
and this may be the last poem I write for her.

Wild Things

Wild things
They grow in the dark
They grow in the mud
They grow and multiply
Everyone has wild things
That they willingly deny
Wild things
They make our hearts race
They make us feel alive
They set the pace
Make you wanna fly to outer space

Wild things
We fear them
For they go against the norm
Of what we were taught
We never feared wild things
That was until the day
We learned to perform
And to not resist the norm

Wild things:
People
Places
Things
Wild things give us wings

And we retreat when they appear
Because the voices of should, shall and shant
Have instilled in us all a fear
Fear the wild things
They cry beg plead and implore,
“Don’t go there!” They scream,
“Don’t ever your world explore!”

Aahhh but explore we must!
For wild things beckon us to come out and play
Try this food
Play this game
It might be good
If you don’t try something new
You’ll always  stay the same

Wild things
View them as a babe
Who was just born
Slaves kills what’s wild
They’ve lost their sight
They fear what’s wild
Whipped into submission
By the rod of a misguided child

Wild things:
Embrace them is to live
You die when you choke them.

Eva Santiago copyright 2013