Busy Mind #24
Comes Divine Intervention
Music
Silence
Mutability
Living
The road less traveled
Took me to a beach at night
Money isn’t everything
Music
Silence
Mutability
Living
Dissatisfied genius
Like a bird in a cage
Whose song has ceased
Strange inventions
Act I- Birth
Act II-Childhood
Act III- Adulthood
Act IV- Death
Music
Silence
Mutability
Living
The awful night thunders of revenge
Going for a walk
I’m going home
Dissatisfied genius
Strange inventions
I’m not alone here
From way up above
Comes divine intervention.
EVA SANTIAGO copyright 2013
Busy Mind #23
R.E.V.O.L.U.T.I.O.N.
Encounter in Illinois
Footsteps
WATCH OUT!!
Look where you’re going
Invisible man with a monkey’s paw
In the August heat
Nobody prepares you for this stage of life
When your own blood shoots you dead
Right there, in the wilderness
It’s science fiction and fantasy
The lines are blurred
Where does fantasy begin?
Where does reality end?
It’s a fine line
Betwixt religion and hypocrisy
We’re at war
Science fiction and fantasy
The blood of the martyrs
Will once again spill into the streets
When a visit to grandma’s
May save your own soul
Where you’ll sit on the old rocking horse
And know you’re a winner
The lottery is fixed
The outcome is fixed
And the young ones will sing
The ballad of the harp-weaver
A ballad from hell-will be the antidote
To break the wicked spell.
This time next year
The raven will come
To dance with the skater of ghost lake
As the young ones sing
The ballad of the harp-weaver
This time next year
Reality will face off with fantasy
We’ll all be at war
We are the people
We are the mob
We fixed the lottery
We fixed the outcome
We are the bloodied martyrs
On whose blood covered streets
Our own blood we’re spilling
We are the people
We are the mob
Together unstoppable
Together invincible
They can’t shut us up
We sing the ballad of the harp-weaver
We broke hell’s spell
Our children arise
Arise from the ashes
Our children the stars shining brightly
Get ready people
Freedom is here
There’s nothing left to fear!
EVA SANTIAGO copyright 2013
Busy Mind #22
Midnight’s End
A small crimson velvet pouch
With jewelry from his mother
His only connection to her
He opens it slowly,carefully, apprehensively
His heart pounding inside his chest
Drops of sweat dotting his upper lip
The silent ghost now attempting to speak:
An oval, Art Deco gold locket,
An amethyst ring,
A silver key
His stubby,clumsy fingers stumbling to open the locket
The tiny door to the past flies open
Cradling a curly lock the color of midnight’s end
Holds it to his nose and closes his eyes
Trying to breathe in her spirit
Puts it back in its cradle with utmost care
So as not to disturb the ghost in the grave
Picks up the amethyst ring
Reads the inscription: “Para mi esposa preciosa”
He knows his mother’s language; not the author behind the words
A tear trickles down his left cheek; mixing with nervous sweat
The ornately carved ring-resembles his intricate life
The multifaceted stone-his many faces
Picks up the silver key-it’s not dainty
Something a man would carry
Holds on to it tightly- takes it to the locked chest
Will it open it?
What’s in the chest?
Are all the rumors true?
With knees knocking,stoops down, inserts the silver key
It slides in,finding its long lost home
He opens the cedar chest
A scent of tobacco and Chanel No. 5 escape
At the bottom of the chest, a hand written note
A woman’s dainty cursive rests on yellowed,wrinkled stationary:
A rose in pre-bloom
But that time did not wither
A Promise of love
A love that wasn’t-but that still lives on.
Her picture falls out,he flips it over
A bloody finger print stamped in back
Are the rumors true?
Did she suffer violence?
Is the finger print hers?
Or does it belong to her killer?
Too many damned clues-waiting to be solved
He puts it all back
Curiosity has vanished like a mist into the pre-dawn
Stuffs her picture-a young woman with a pained smile
in his coat pocket,next to his heart
Leaves the mystery in the chest
Reads the note-eulogizing her.
Closes the chest
Walks away
Never looking back
EVA SANTIAGO copyright 2013
Busy Mind #21
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
Altered Book: Exploring Literature/Lynn Altenbernd
Busy Mind #20
Allan Dow
At 17
Funny-looking
A sardonic smile
Captive to a hope
Found flight appealing
Cynically attempted to exploit both-flight and hope
He fought her
Not that he wanted to
But because he couldn’t leave her alone.
At 17
A students
Disfigured by A’s as if by acne
He walked with her
Suddenly she kissed him-long and arduously
Til his back ached from bowing
The 2 parted into the black night
Now Allan Dow knew
How to bury a humiliation-in the body of a woman
This puzzled him
Allan Dow tossed restlessly
Eva Santiago copyright 2013
Altered Book: Exploring Literature/Lynn Altenbernd
Eva Santiago 