What’s that thing you hold in your hand?
That’s the key
The key to your dreams
You use it everyday and take it for granted
Because you never fully embraced it
You see it as a nuisance
When every nuance speaks the opposite
What’s that thing you hold in your hand?
That’s the key
The key to your dreams
You use it everyday and take it for granted
Because you never fully embraced it
You see it as a nuisance
When every nuance speaks the opposite
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
Pretty Mouth and Green Eyes
Pretty mouth and green eyes
Why sit and stew?
The greatest living underdeveloped,
Undiscovered actress,
Novelist, psychoanalyst,
Unappreciated-celebrity,
Genius-takes a course in TV appreciation
Men are all “terribly attractive” to her
We’re just mismatched as hell
I’m too damn weak for her
She doesn’t respect me
She doesn’t even love me
I don’t love her anymore-
That’s the last analysis
I wrote her a poem
When we first met
Pretty mouth and green eyes…
She doesn’t have green eyes-they’re more like seashells
What’s the use?
I’m losing my mind
She has some nice traits
She’s a helluva nice girl
I’m too weak for her-I have to keep trying.
EVA SANTIAGO copyright 2013
Altered Book: Nine Stories/J.D. Salinger
Ramona
Empty glasses in her hands
Some old monogrammed ice pick
It’s icy out
She comes forward with more drinks
With each downed drink-she gets hard as nails
Pauses to drink-raises her glass to think
She slides off her couch
And onto her knees
Looking under the table for her keys
Front door suddenly flies open
Wake up! Wake up!
“Ramona?”
“Mama?”
Ramona is awake!
“I was a nice girl,” she pleads,” Wasn’t I?”
EVA SANTIAGO copyright 2013
Altered Book: Nine Stories/J.D.Salinger
Banana Fish
Sex is fun-or hell
A ringing phone
Hello?
Why hasn’t he called her?
They want four hundred dollars
Miss Spiritual Tramp of 1948
Those German poems
Penned by the only poet of the century
Word of honor
In The ocean Room
His wife was horrible
A raving maniac
He needs the sun
Sea glass Beach is his retreat
“Not in my face Baby,” He said.
“Come a little closer,” She said.
He is Capricorn
She is Pisces
“Wanna catch a banana fish?” He asked.
He disrobes down to his swim trunks
The 2 walk down to the ocean
A perfect day for banana fish
Here comes a wave.
Don’t be a God damned sneak!
EVA SANTIAGO copyright 2013
Altered Book: Nine Stories/J.D.Salinger
SHADY VALLEY
She checked her map again
Excitement coursed through her
Where is Shady Valley-the place of the shadow of death?
Maybe this wasn’t the right way
Discouragement fatigued her
She took one wrong turn
She was glimpsing a new world
The vision faded
She took a deep breath
She kicked at a rock
Fighting to keep her balance
Tomorrow would tell
If she lived or died
Her soul too strong
To die in her fragile flesh.
EVA SANTIAGO copyright 2013
Altered Book: Family Secrets/Cheryl Zach
I came upon this great site to help stimulate my muse. I will share the poems I come up with. This is fun to do and gets my creative juices flowing. Happy hunting, poetry really IS everywhere, you just have to pay attention ![]()
Older Anguish
All these thoughts rushed together
To make make a thorough search
No storm ensued
They joined
They questioned
No doubt that she suffered
Perhaps they hoped
Perhaps they thought
She remembered that night
Pain renewed an older anguish
Sadness that years later she was still reluctant to talk about.
EVA SANTIAGO copyright 2013
Altered Book: ELENA by Judith Egan
Cut the bindings off books found at a used book store. Find poems in the pages by the process of obliteration. Put pages in the mail and send them all around the world. Lather, rinse, repeat.
http://www.stumbleupon.com/su/2uRi6r/www.logolalia.com/alteredbooks/