Category: Writing Royalty

Blind Man’s Braille Part 3

· 3 Comments ·

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

 

IMG_0878 blind man's braille 3

 

His Guitar Menagerie

· 5 Comments ·

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

guitar menagerie

 

 

Canned Anything Sucks

· 4 Comments ·

Canned prayers are like canned potato chips,canned soup or any kind of canned food. Canned food lacks vital nutrients necessary to sustaining our bodies. When we pray, God wants to hear each of our own distinct spirits; our spirit has its own unique voice. When your child asks you for something,,you hear their own unique voice. So why do religious people recite their religious prayers and incantations over and over? God doesn’t want canned voices that all sound the same  millennia  after millennia. Remember the old sit-coms ? You hear canned laughter in the back ground right? That means those voices we hear in those old TV shows are probably coming from dead people. We need fresh, un-canned expressions TODAY, not  from the past.

The disciples learned to pray from their Teacher. He didn’t tell them to recite The Lord’s prayer ; that was just a prayer manual, one they could follow and learn how to approach the King . Certainly not to say the same words over and over. Oh how religion wants everyone to be a Pringle’s Potato chip: All the same shape,same taste, all fit neatly together stacked in a metal can.. I believe heaven and its citizens crave to hear each unique voice on earth.

Unique self expression is the most powerful weapon a person can use. Your own voices unleashes things into the atmosphere and sets things in motion in the universe. Not one star is the same.Not one snow flake is the same. So why do people try so hard to be like some one else? Even our brains are wired differently. No 2 people on planet earth think exactly the same. So it’s reasonable that we’re all different voices  and each one of us must utter what is in our hearts to set things in motion. The Bible is not a here is what to say to God type of book. It goes beyond that. It’s a how to approach heaven using your own voice to unlock what is yours through the power of your own distinct expression. Heaven remains locked up when no one dares to step forward to use their own voice.

Martin Luther set the religious system upside down by nailing his own unique expression to the door of the established church. The whole universe was in an uproar when Galileo defied religion’s rules that dictated how the universe runs. Where are The Martin Luthers and Galileos of our time? Stand up and be heard if you’re one of them!!

” The Bible teaches how to get to heaven not how the heavens go.” -Galileo

EVA SANTIAGO copyright 2013

shhhhh

Your Beauty Hides Inside Your Beast

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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

Flavorless Salt

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Too many people

Think they know too many things

Fact is they only know facts

In the end we know nothing at all

What happens when we fall?

We fall from:

Grace

Our place

A tree

We fall out of:

A window

LOVE

An Airplane

Cars

Hot air balloons

We fall into:

Arms

Beds

Chairs

Water

We fall into:

Despair

When we think things aren’t fair

Then we feel sorry for ourselves

And some one should kick us in the rear

We fall into despair

When a shit we don’t give

And we think no one cares

Then we go molly grubbing

And we stay there a while

Think it’s ok

To not one single fuck give

And let’s never again smile

What we forget is:

To give is to live

Take what’s not yours

And die a little inside

Take and not give

You become full of holes

Like an old sieve

And now life sifts right through you

You’ll have to be thrown out

Like flavorless salt.

EVA SANTIAGO copyright 2013

Solitude2

PAINT!

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PAINT!

The canvas doesn’t lie

So don’t be a pesky ‘lil fly

The canvas is my friend

On it my frustrations die

 

The paints on my brush

They quiet and they hush

My ever aching soul

My ever aching heart

 

Wet paint is my balm

To smooth out all the wrinkles

To soothe and calm my soul

The paints oh how they calm!

 

My canvas can be anything I choose:

Cotton,linen,paper,rock

This is where I never lose

Rock-paper-scissors

 

The canvas is better than a lover

I can be me

I can discover

I can fly

I can swim

I can sink

I can fling paint angrily

Or I can use paint sparingly

 

The canvas is my silent partner

My accomplice

Together we conspire

It knows my long-held desire

It knows who lights my fire

It senses when conditions are dire

It directs me as when to retire

 

The canvas is my date

It never stands me up

It never arrives late

It is quite the perfect play mate

It never keeps me waiting

It never says it’ll call

And then it doesn’t

it never looks for an excuse

I’d rather paint than be out dating:

An idiot

A moron

A clown

A buffoon

Better to paint

So my heart won’t faint

 

So whether you use:

Brushes

Knives

Even your 10 fingers

Your cat’s very tail

Yeah, that’s how they got 9 lives!

 

Paint your troubles away

When you feel lonely

PAINT!

When you feel”

bad,mad,sad:

PAINT!

When you feel misunderstood:

PAINT!

When you hear,” You should…”

Don’t should on yourself:

PAINT!

When chaos is your daily bread:

PAINT!

When you feel as good as dead:

PAINT!

 

Identify your pain in the paint

Look pain in the eye

Use it to your advantage

Then lose your pain in the paint

 

Paint and grow wings

Those wings will cause your to soar

You’ll leave normal behind

You’ll not be the same for ever more

PAINT!

EVA SANTIAGO copyright 2013

 

2resolution

 

 

 

Blind Man’s Braille Pt 2

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You are blind to love

It really is a game

Of blind man’s bluff

 

You look for love here

Maybe it’s there

Maybe it’s everywhere

Maybe it’s nowhere

 

You’re blind to love

Let me tell you how it is

The blind need seeing dogs

The blind need walking sticks

The blind need Braille

 

Oh, let those who have ears to hear:

LISTEN!

Oh, let those who have eyes to see:

LOOK!

 

For the blind can feel love

From a mile in the air

The blind can feel love

From a mile below the deepest ocean

 

The blind can see love

And you who can see, miss it…

Let me be your blind man’s Braille

On my flesh is the code

Run your fingers upon me

Feel how I tremble when you do

Caress my soft flesh

As I set you free with my code

 

Walk your fingers on my skin

Read me slowly

Read me fast

Read me backwards

Read me forward

And you will learn one thing:

I am your blind man’s Braille

My love for you will never fail

 

I am your blind man’s Braille

Read me

And set yourself free

I am your blind man’s Braille

Read me

And feel yourself set sail

I am you blind man’s Braille

When you feel old

When you feel stale

Read me and live

Read me and forgive

I am your blind man’s Braille

Read me

And learn of The ONE who took for you that nail

I am your blind man’s Braille

When you’re in fear

Read me…

And know for certain true love is here….

EVA SANTIAGO Copyright 2013

 

 

What if We Are the Same?

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This is a tribute I wrote to my mother who passed when I was an infant. When I share it in public, I still tear up after all these years…

 

“Oh, she died so young!”

Really?!

Who are we to tell?

Not one of us knows

Our day

Our time

Or even our very last hour

So isn’t that declaration a bit pompous?

What if it was her time?

I used to be sad

I used to lament

Oh si mi madre paso..

She was way, way too young!

 

What if perhaps she DID sing all of her songs

And didn’t leave any unsung?

What if she did complete her assignment by giving me life?

What if she made her exit

So I would have a grand entrance?

What if she walked off the stage

So I could be a strong voice for this age?

What if she did her last painting

So I could fulfill my purpose and destiny without fainting?

What if she held me close once

So I could hold others forever?

What if my cheek she one time caressed

So I could with my hands touch the oppressed and depressed?

What if she and I are one and the same?

She went before me

So I can forever her love proclaim….

EVA SANTIAGO copyright 2013-2014

 

 

Mami

 

 

 

I Crashed a Funeral

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Funerals are odd

They stir deep things

Things we seldom want to ponder

Some think on the Good Lawd

Others silently wonder, Am I ready to meet Him?

Some wish it were their time

Others record it like some kind of bizarre film

Some regret

Others lament

Some wish revenge

Others weep with fists tightly clenched

Some cry silently

Others loudly,openly beating their breast

Some look on in fear

Because death reminds us

She is always ever so near

Some reminisce

Others look on in shame

Some are quick to dismiss

Anything dark they might be feeling

Instead of embracing and accepting

Some are in shock

Being eaten alive by the sudden trauma

Refusing to play their own role in the unfolding drama

At funerals every single person plays a role

It is the most alive time some people will ever dare be

The starring role usually goes to

The grieving,closest relatives of the dearly departed

That is where all the attention is focused

While the rest of us grieve with the broken hearted.

The minister’s role is perplexing

I’d not want to be in his shoes,pants or suit

He’s given the charge:

Bring in the peace

Say words to keep everyone calm

Speak as if you knew the newly dearly departed

Help out the family who is terribly broken hearted

The minister plays several roles:

He’s a play write-makes sure his words are good and tight

No room for loose,sloppy writing

Or wandering,meandering words

That will make others feel unsure

No ambiguity, otherwise people will feel insecure

On him rests a heavy burden

AT death’s hour

No one likes feeling uncertain

So he’d better deliver by golly

Or people will feel he’s a fake

One slip of his pen

And they may burn him at the stake

In a funeral,even a stranger

has a role to play

People crash weddings all the time

Ever crashed a funeral?

That stranger sure did

That stranger was me

I was not personally known to the newly dearly departed

Certainly not a stranger to death,though.

Death is my old friend

She’s hung out with me through out my whole life

She first came and took mi mama

I was a tiny wee lil babe

Then she came for mi papi

I was just 2

She used to scare me for a very long time

Then one day I grew up

And learned she was no foe of mine

I’ve been to more funerals

Than I’ve been to weddings.

Weddings: Such fun,joyous,happy affairs

Funerals: Just completely the opposite

As they ought to be so

But we get selfish at funerals

Let’s face it folks:

We turn inward and think of ourselves

We think on our lives

We certainly hope our children will out live us

And not the other way around

At funerals: “What about me”

Is always clearly visible

On everyone’s face

Funerals remind us how short our time really is

Funerals remind us of our place

So if you’re feeling glum about life

Go to a funeral

By the wayside falls everything trivial

That’s where you know what’s real.

Eva Santiago copyright 2013

Death is B-Rated

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Death is barely tolerated

Death is seldom celebrated

People cheat death everyday

No one ever claims they cheated life

Death is berated

Much akin to those poorly scripted b-rated films

Death is diminished

When it comes unexpectedly

Because some one’s life ended unfinished

An unfinished life:

Now, that’s such a truly sad tragedy

Unfinished

Unfulfilled

Unfilmed

Un…forevemore…

Un dreamed

Un done

Under lived

Under established

For all these reasons

And for probably a hell of a lot more

Death is barely tolerated

Death is seldom celebrated.

EVA SANTIAGO copyright 2013