YOUNG POETS REVOLUTION (YPR)

Dear readers, 2014 has begun with a BIG BANG for me! I was able to start my poetry group again. Due to unfortunate set backs, I had to put that labor of love aside for all of 2013. If you knew about my group back in 2012, we called ourselves The Henderson Poets. Now we have assumed a new name: YOUNG POETS REVOLUTION (YPR). We meet Tuesday nights at 7:30 pm at, https://www.facebook.com/thecoffeehouseonwaterstreet , the same venue that used to host us as the Henderson Poets. Our mission at YPR: To discover fresh, new voices who have not been heard before or who are struggling to be heard. YPR is open to ALL age groups!.  If you’re in our area, join  my lovely co-host, Elena Isabel Da’Silva and me, as we present  some amazingly talented local poets and musicians in Henderson,NV.ypr2

Eva Santiago, Copyright 2014

Event Location:https://www.facebook.com/thecoffeehouseonwaterstreet

Please like our Facebook page! https://www.facebook.com/TheHendersonPoets?ref=hl

Verve- a Rare Word for Talent

What’s in Your cup these days?

Is it a monster that keeps you up at night

And speeds up your heart beat

Only to slow you down, making you feel as if you’ve lead feet?

Is it a red bull that causes you to panic

and makes you feel draggy

all the while you think you’re in Pamplona

with a hundred mad bulls raging after you?

What’s in MY cup these days?!?!

I am a no-nonsense kind of girl

I like neither hype  nor  whimsical fanfare

I do like things organic in nature

My food and my drink-

My kids must adore it, or else I won’t care

My food and my drink-

Must give me great nails and wonderful hair

So what’s in my cup these days?!?!?!

Well you asked, so I must tell you

2verve

Drink one and you’ll give up the monster

Drink two and the red bull goes away

Drink three or more

And you’ll experience vitality galore

So what are you waiting for?

Verve is not available in any store

So email this poet to  find out more!

 

EVA SANTIAGO copyright 2014

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Verve-

1. great vitality, enthusiasm, and liveliness; sparkle
2. a rare word for talent
1.  vivaciousness or liveliness; animation.

2. enthusiasm or vigor, as in literary or artistic work; spirit.
3. Archaic. talent.

TINSEL YEARS

TINSEL YEARS
He gave her tinsel everything
She lived all of her glitter years
With him there, in Tinsel Town
Tinsel hair
Tinsel clothes
Tinsel smiles
Tinsel hugs
Tinsel kisses
And she always knew
His bad was her good
And she always knew
She could not love- him
And so she said good-bye to it all:
Tinsel hair
Tinsel clothes
Tinsel smiles
Tinsel Hugs
Tinsel kisses
She was done
She was ready for something far beyond his tinsel and glitter years
“Hasta Luego. Me largo de aqui!”
She missed the mid-night train
For once her tears were real
As she wept a pond full
And they amalgamated with the pounding rain
“Good-bye,” She whispered into the mid-night air.”

EVA SANTIAGO copyright 2014

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Keep ’em Kids in Line

You there, in that prison cell

You amaze me

You’re free

Freer than a free man

They put you away

Sent you to the pen

For 7 years

Thinking they could annihilate

Confine

And Destroy you

But you won’t give in to your fears

Yeah I know you shed tears

I feel them in your letters

You shed many tears

But not for yourself

You’re beyond all of that

You did what you did

You’re paying with your time

You know what’s what

The tears you shed

Are all for your children

You committed the crime

You made your bed

Those tears you shed

You hope will keep ’em kids in line.

 

EVA SANTIAGO copyright 2013

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IN MY TIME…

Too many kids today

Have straight teeth

But crooked morals

People caring too much

Almost obsessing even,

Their little Jimmy-Joe lacks the perfect smile

Little girls getting manis and pedis

When they’d rather be making mud pies and playing in the sand box

Little girls competing in beauty pageants

HOLD ON!!

Wait a damn minute!

If I were from the past

And suddenly awoke from the grave

Come back to earth for a brief spell

What would I think?

The world has certainly gone mad

In my time, famous was the man whose children loved him

Now fathers and children are practically strangers

In my time,the family you built was the legacy you left to your children

Now, families aren’t built with that purpose or intent-they aren’t even built…

In my time, home was where life made up its mind

Now, people live in grand houses surrounded by every creature comfort their hard-earned money can buy

But they forget a house filled with hate,strife discord and anger is hardly a place fit to call home

Eva Santiago copyright 2013

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The Displaced

To be homeless is nothing more than to be displaced. They are no different from those of us who have a place of our own. They wake up the same as you and me. They need love and affection like you and me. What is to be displaced?

Is it a choice a person makes?

Is is a curse?

Is it random?

Does it choose you?

Do you choose it?

I’ve been close to being homeless at one time in my life. I was kicked out of somewhere to land on some one else’s door-step;only to find out  I was not welcome there either. I  literally had no place to call my own during that brief time. I was displaced because  of my family‘s lack of concern for me. Who of you are bold enough to admit   you’ve been home less at one time or another? It could have lasted an hour,a day, a week , a month or even a year. No matter the length of time,,or for whatever set of circumstances, you know what feeling homeless is like.

The United States of America is The Great Land of Pretenders. When I was displaced, I held a full-time job, I wore nice clothes, I ate everyday. I just lacked my roof. I went to work and wore the same happy face; no one knew of my plight. I pretended all was well with me and kept going because well, that is what one does in the land pf pretenders.

To be homeless mean so much more than to lack a roof over your head at night. In my view, to be displaced is to be without family. Family tossed me out;I ended up living with a bunch of strangers . I was cut off from my rightful place and role in my family. So I struck out on my own;left all those people behind because that’s when I knew I had to forge my path and find my family.

Displaced people wander about looking for acceptance and connection. I sure did. You can be a wealthy person and still merit the title of  displaced soul only because you’ve no family, no ties . No true bonds to family whether it’s your blood or family made of close friends. You can own the whole world and all its treasure but if you have no true connection to another soul, you’re a displaced soul. I have met many in that plight who  were so full of the pride of life and the total sum of their possessions. Yet they had no one who checks up on them at least once a day to see if they’re ok.

In the land of pretenders they teach children everything about the value of material things and nothing about the value of life. Generation after generation children are not shown to pursue love and to attain peace at all costs.

EVA SANTIAGO copyright 2013

Blind Man’s Braille Part 4

We are all such spoiled brats

Never content with what we have

Always wanting more and more

Seldom appreciating what’s at our fingertips

Always taking for granted what’s in the palm of our hands

We yearn for this, that and the other. If we really took in a flower’s scent in our own backyard;feel the delicate petals, velvety and rich on our fingertips

We’d certainly know we’re all royalty awaiting the great awakening

Show me

Show me

Show me heaven

Yeah, it’s all around

Look in my eyes, you’ll see a glimpse of it

The prince and the pauper

The princess and her toad

We’re all royalty awaiting the great awakening

My beauty healed your beast

Your kiss awakened me from a deep coma like slumber

Run away with me and immerse yourself in the unseen

Behold the light of my torch and you’ll no longer be blind

Run away with me and immerse yourself in my dream

Behold the light of my torch and let me blow your mind

When we first kissed I whispered ,” I wanna lose myself in you…”

Inundate yourself in my being

Indeed, we’re all royalty here!

EVA SANTIAGO copyright 2013

 

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Blind Man’s Braille Part 3

To: RB

A kiss

Is eternal

There is a whole lot more going on

Than just skin to skin touching

A kiss is:

2 souls discovering through:

Touching

Caressing

Reading each other’s secret language

As the blind read braille

 

With your fingertips read my story

Read what’s encoded upon my flesh

As you read me I come alive

As I read your braille

I learn that like me: We’ve both so much survived

Your cells all fashioned perfectly

To make an amazing man

 

I read you’re afraid

You read I am scared

I read you’re insecure

You read I am far from pure

I read that you worry if you’re good enough

You read that I accept you with all of your flaws

I read that you lack love

You read that I am gentle as a dove

I read you’re scared of the serpent

You read I am only as wise as one

I read you fear dying alone

You read, come here welcome home…..

EVA SANTIAGO copyright 2013

 

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His Guitar Menagerie

He picked her up

He ran his sinewy hands on her curvy body

He touched all of her contours deliberately

Every finger he placed on her neck was calculated

Her long neck he studied inch by inch

His rough hands traveled further south

Until he reached her opening

He had been looking for a certain sound

He’d been at this search of his for quite some time now

He knew the price of a good instrument

Searched high and low for The One

A trained musician was he

Willing to pay top dollar for her

And one day he found me….

 

He saw me and knew what he’d found

He ran his  rough hands on my curvy body

He touched all of my contours deliberately

Every finger he placed on my neck was calculated

My long neck he studied inch by inch

His hands traveled further south

Until he reached my opening

I was that sound he’d been looking for

And since he claimed to be an expert musician,I let him in

Only to find out soon enough, I’d be treated like he treated his prized guitars

 

I thought with me he’d be different

I was after all, his highest commodity

His most valued of all his possessions

I could not have been more wrong

For you see, he was deaf all along

And he’d never planned on hearing my song

 

From day one he’d said

“My guitar is my other woman.”

I should have known with him

I’d be good as dead

With him I’d grow old

And become one of his old unsung hymns

But I thought I’d give him a try

C’mon someone had to break and get in right?

It damn near cost me my sanity

It damn near cost me my life

It damn near cost me my sight

He treated me like one of his fucking guitars

 

Year in and year out

On my heart

He placed a dark mark

Pretty soon he put me in a corner

Right next to his cherry red Strat

Right next to his rosewood Gibson

Below was his onyx colored Fender

Above me, the queen of us all: His 12 string

We all were there collecting dust

Over the years he’d grow dissatisfied and he’d trade one of us in

To him this trade-off was no big thing

 

Living with an insane guitarist

I became the outsider

Looking in on his guitar museum

Like a lone drifter, like a wandering tourist

And that’s how it came to be

He treated me like one of his fucking guitars

All of his moves although as smooth as can be

Were lacking of passion: Cold,rehearsed and calculated

And day by day

I felt as if I was going insane

And night by night

I gave up and I never again sang

 

Until the day came

When I found my dignity

And I decided to vacate the premises

Of his mad guitar museum

I said good-bye to his Strat

I told her to stop being a spoiled brat

I kissed Gibson on the cheek

And told her to stop being so weak

He’s been done with you-last time he touched you was more than a week

Then I saluted the queen-the 12 string

And she looked at me

With a little envy

She knew like all the rest

I was leaving for good

 

He soon found out I was done

And he was suddenly alarmed

Even asked me with his voice trembling,

” Why do you seek to bring me harm?”

I told him, ” I’m not yours. I never was. I can never compete with your other woman

That’s right, stay with your precious guitars

I am not made of wood

I am not made of metal

You never planned to make me your number one

You never cared. You never could

I refuse to be part of your guitar menagerie

You’ve brought me great misery

I have been in great agony

Why I stayed for so long

Is truly a grave mystery

It has even killed my song

I have to go find it again

Take care. So Long!

 

And I walked out the front door

And suddenly I heard a crashing noise

Behind me there, on the red tile floor

He’d smashed his queen-the 12 string

She lay there in bits

By then it was too late

I was out of there…I had found my wings

EVA SANTIAGO copyright 2013

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Your Beauty Hides Inside Your Beast

You hurl insults

Like a monkey hurls feces

Like a hippo in a battle

Like a stampede of angry cattle

You hurl insults so fast

In the presence of your temper

You,your shadow cast

You’re bitter about everything

You there, the girl with the short past

No one is safe

From your bitter distemper

You’re the heroin

In your own self-made dramas

Oh please,please,please,child

Save the drama from everyone

Keep it far,far from your Mama

So STOP!!

Stop acting like such a beast

A beast of prey

You’re the beauty

In your own self-created beast

Only you have the answers inside

To appease your own beast

Cease and desist

You’re on the wrong road

Cease and desist

Go find your prince to kiss

He is there,on that lowly toad

Get up off that low road

You’ve traveled on it for so long

Life really isn’t such a terrible load

C’mon, come up higher

Humble yourself and dwell in your humble abode

You’re the beauty inside your own beast

Let her come out to play

Let her be herself every once in a while

Stop being fake;put off that costume today

BE YOURSELF!

Have your own style

Empower yourself

The time to change is NOW

Please,no further delay

BE YOUR OWN HERO…

Eva Santiago copyright 2013