Tag: Arts

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 1

Hello!!! I am glad to announce that April is National Poetry Month! I will post a favorite poem, one either written by another poet or me. I look forward to your comments and I hope you’re enjoying this beautiful Spring season!

EXCERPT from SALSA! The  Taste of Life

Alhambra

Dulce, sweet, lovely Lucia

with gorgeous brunette locks,

her body made for flamenco dance,

she hailed from the province of Andalucia.

Where the bull fighting is fierce,

where the sunsets put you in a trance,

as the bull dies everyone cheers.

 

Lucia loved Alejandro;

the owner of her heart was he;

he lived in the Alhambra,

ALHAMBRA

a member of Castilian nobility.

His ancestors had built the grand palace,

christened Alhambra—Arabic for red castle.

Built first as an alcazar with high walls

to protect, defend, and keep enemies out.

Inside, a lovely medina with fragrant gardens and a mall,

where people lived and enjoyed life no doubt.


Oh how Lucia loved the Alhambra,

built by the light of flaming torches,

atop the hill of Sabica.

With numberless towers and wrap around porches,

Alhambra at night bathed in moonlight is silver.

By daylight she looks awash in gold.

The heart of Alhambra: The Generalife

Gardens of passion and seduction is where our story begins,

with its endless labyrinths of tamarisk

intoxicating the senses with orange blossoms.

The place where our two young lovers take a life-altering risk,

opposite worlds collide, breaking with tradition they did,

only to end up exiled and running for their lives.

Friends since childhood,

the two had run and played hide and seek

atop the mountains of the Sierra Nevada,

a breath taking view if the majestic peak.

 

Neither Lucia nor Alejandro were aware

that all of their childhood play

would turn from love for fun,

into two hearts beating and giving way

to the passion that would awaken in them.

Not too far away, watching all that was unfolding

was general Fernandez: Lucia’s father.

He ran his troops with great discipline

and commanded great respect.

Feared by many and heralded as a hero by others,

General Fernandez’s character was circumspect;

his enemies he held close, the rest of the world,

he held at arm’s length…

Except for his Lucia that is.

To the young señorita, her Papi was her strength,

her hero, and her all knowing sage.

All that was about to change

as the girl matured and grew with age,

and her heart’s emotions would intensify in range,

to include her beloved…Alejandro.

General Fernandez, with eyes of an eagle,

saw the changes in Lucia’s heart

even before she was aware of them.

He’d have none of it,

He’d devise a clever plan

to pull those two young hearts apart.

No one was good enough for his Lucia,

who in his eyes would always be his dulce, sweet girl;

unbeknownst to him, Lucia was about to shake his world.

The crusaders would be going back soon.

The general decided to enlist new warriors;

he’d send Alejandro with them.

He’d send him far away, even to the moon!

The two young lovers met by moonlight

in the gardens of seduction.

They’d heard the decree; they had to fight.

Something had to be done.

Generalife-Gardens of Seduction

Alejandro decided to be bold and speak to the general;

having been taught from a boy

the truth will set you free,

he would tell her father of his heart’s joy

and oppose the general’s decree.

Alejandro met with the general in Alhambra’s southern tower;

for a second they put away their macho bravado;

the general stepped down from power.

Alejandro’s heart beat fast. He had to win him over.

In the spur of the moment, the general made a proposal.

Alejandro would serve two years in the crusades;

then he would win the right to a betrothal.

Alejandro shook the general’s hand,

they shook and agreed.

Then the general resumed his command.

Two young hearts met in the gardens of seduction

the night before Alejandro’s departure.

To be apart for so long

was going to prove a great torture.

Lucia felt something was wrong,

but she trusted her father,

for both of their sake she chose to be strong.

Time marches on, an unopposed soldier.

Lucia daily wrote letters to Alejandro in the front.

To keep from going mad, she kept busy in the day,

and by moonlight, she’d sleep in the gardens,

the place where they’d pledged their love for each other.

In her dreams they made love endlessly;

for Lucia there would never be another.

Two long years passed; Alejandro was coming home!

To be apart one more minute would be a travesty.

The returning crusaders were greeted with a feast;

everyone attended, even His majesty.

They had won the war, they had slain the beast!

 Returning Crusaders

Alejandro’s heart was no longer a flame;

two years away, it had become a great bonfire.

He wanted no gold, riches, or fame;

he only wanted Lucia… his heart’s desire.

General Fernandez saw the young man’s intensified passion;

his heart grew colder still.

Another devious plan he would fashion.

He would bend his young Lucia’s will.

This time he summoned Alejandro in secret, late one night.

The general proposed to send Alejandro away five years more.

Alejandro now exercised the power of his might,

told the general no, and he marched out by the back door.

To deny the general and his orders meant a sure banishment,

so Alejandro took the bride he’d been promised,

and they left Alhambra to escape further humiliation and punishment.

Soon after, General Fernandez knew he’d been played,

now he was heart broken,

his worst fears had not been allayed.

Ever since Lucia left, they had not spoken.

Now he was completely alone and growing older.

He’d has his way all right…

Winds from the Sierras blew in, making him colder.

Meanwhile, Lucia was alive and very much in love,

yet at times her heart felt torn.

She fit Alejandro as a glove—

still, she felt forlorn.

Alejandro loved her—always gentle as a dove.

Her love he wore with pride;

the two, a match made in heaven.

Lucia made for a striking bride.

On the seventh month, on day seven,

Alejandro and Lucia walked down the red carpet,

the young bride in a beautiful gown of Chantilly lace,

with miles upon miles of train,

and an opaque veil to hide her sad face,

lamenting the fact that her Papi was nowhere to be found.

Suddenly, the music stopped and the doors to the chapel flew open.

There stood General Fernandez in full decorum;

Lucia and Alejandro were astounded,

and both of them trembled a little inside.

The general walked to his daughter and smiled;

her heart at once no longer confounded.

He told Alejandro to step aside;

He would walk Lucia down the aisle,

and hand her to Alejandro who stood up at the alter beaming with pride.

With tears streaming down his weathered face,

Cold, icy-blue pools that once were his eyes,

now melted as he lifted Lucia’s lace,

asking her for a heart-felt pardon.

Father and daughter tightly embraced;

she knew she was the richest woman in all of Alhambra.

The two men she loved most

would be with her forever, and that makes this tale done!

EVA SANTIAGO copyright 2012

Salsa high res cover

Pasión…

She reached out and no one was there
Her hand stretches out
And all around is a void
She retrieves it
The emptiness kills
Her hope wavers
Like a flickering flame
Passion is trapped
Deep
Way
Down

It hurts
It stews
It brews

Adeepache
From whose clutches
Youcannotescape

P

A

S

S

I

O

N

Is a no man’s land
A place of no return
The few who survive it
Leave their heart’s ashes in an urn

The rest of us live in her clutches

A child is born from the passion of two
The artist’s canvas is covered
In many a hue
The artist’s passion seldom understood but by a few

Then there is the passion of the widower
He buried her a spell ago
In a cold charcoal coffin
Next to his childhood love
Who grew wings and flew to the heavens above

The passion of unrequited love is the cruelest of all:
To love only to see none of it returned
By one who knows of that love
By one so trapped by fear
His love grew wings and flew to the heavens above
Where he thought it would be safe
Where he thought no one would go
Then one day he saw-
Her-
Standing there right where he left her
And he grew much afraid
Leaving her behind was his biggest mistake
And now all these years later
High mileage in his soul
His fears drowned her
Deep

Way

Down

Deepinsidehim

That sort of passion
Is one you never recover from
Just like a strange fashion
You try to own it and wear it
And it never suits you
Aaahhhh but if only you’d listen to your heart
That sort of passion
Is where your life should end and not start

EVA SANTIAGO copyright 2013

THAT PLACE

There is a place where no one knows if it’s day or night because it’s always light.

There is a place where no one cries because there is no more fight.

There is a place where no one dies
Because no one speaks any more lies
There is a place
There is a place
Where there is no fear
Because heaven is near
There is a place
Oh there is a place
Where the fires of passion burn
Where your longings churn
And nothing gets held back
And no one is slack

There is a place
Where lovers stop time
Give in to the chase
Where lovers stop time
See eye to eye-face to face
Lips on lips
Hand in hand
THIS is that place!

-Eva Santiago copyright 2013

 

 

 

This is THAT place!

 

 

 

A KNOWING…

Wish I could stop by
To look in your eyes
To tell you I tried
And all time does is fly by

Wish I could stop by
To tell you
A long time ago
Without you I thought I would die

It’s a beautiful thing
When I look inside me
And I can breathe
Knowing I’m free-

Free from you
Free from our past
Free from doubt and worry
Oh how I used to think we’d always last

And now it doesn’t matter
Spent so many hours
Wringing my hands
Pacing to and fro
And now I am as fluid as water
‘cause nothing from the past matters.

-Eva Santiago copyright 2013

 

 

 

SALSA! REVIEW

Book review: Salsa! The Taste of Life

by Michelle Cutler

February 27, 2013

Local author Eva Santiago’s stories are inspired by world travel and multi-cultural background.

“There are times when a person is called to starve those things that need to die and to feed those things that need to grow,” she writes in Salsa! The Taste of Life. Her second book, a collection of poetry and fictitious short stories set in locations from Bogota to Bavaria,represents the experiences that flavor Santiago’s life.

Salsa! will have a special appeal for young adults and people who are familiar with Colombian literature. Many of the short stories and narrative poetry pieces, including ‘A Burro Named Churro’, incorporate traditional Colombian humor which may go undetected by non-Colombians.Yet, the stories are simple and written to entertain a universal audience. Parents of young teenagers in any culture will identify with her first story, ‘Capers or Sandals?’

The book is also seasoned with lyrical poetry. ‘Smooth’, one of the shortest poems, sharply depicts a deceived lover and packs a powerful punch as Salsa!’s habanero  pepper. ‘Mi Familia‘ was written as a tribute to Santiago’s siblings, who were separated in youth after her parents died. It is a tender, personal piece that Santiago said represents heaven.

While it’s an easy and overall light read, Salsa!boldly critiques a number of social issues including religion, abortion, and racism. ‘The Race Card‘ is a candid commentary that stems from Santiago’s experience of taking on her mixed-race heritage. Recalling a time when her own family members rejected her because of her mixed race, she wrote:

… that’s when I packed up my bags;

I threw out the board game,

And burned all of their cards.

I learned to travel light,

And I love all people, and treat ’em the same.

I learned to pray, and that’s how I fight.

Parenthood is a prevailing theme throughout the book. Several stories depict imperfect men who try to be good fathers. Santiago also makes an interesting statement, portraying both nurturing and selfish mothers and prompts female readers to evaluate where they personally rest on the spectrum.

Many of the stories are warm and reminiscent of a mother telling a bedtime story. Santiago’s writings are much like the anecdotal conversations mothers often use to share their memories, wisdom,convictions, and warnings with their children. If you are nostalgic for those mother-child moments, or never experienced them and would like to give them a try, you might consider keeping this book handy and reading it periodically. Indeed, it could be like keeping a mom in your pocket.

Perhaps Salsa!’s most surprising ingredients are a few pieces written by Santiago’s daughter, Esther Starr. Readers will be surprised to learn that Starr was only 13 when she wrote ‘Nightmare in Jerusalem‘ and ‘Don’t Go’, as her writing reveals talent and insight beyond her years.

Eva Santiago and Salsa! The Taste of Life will be featured at a book signing event at Book Boutique, 19 W. Pacific Ave.on Saturday, Feb. 23 from noon to 2 p.m.For more information visit evasantiago.wordpress.com.

http://www.hendersonpress.com/Articles-c-2013-02-27-82800.113122-Book-review-Salsa-The-Taste-of-Life.html

Salsa high res cover

 

Good-Byes Suck!

Good-byes are awful

No need to say ’em

Say good-bye when love is done

say good-bye when someone’s dying

Otherwise, leave things be

Good-bye is way too final

See ya!

Ciao!

Adios!

Adieu!

Arrivederci!

All sound so much hopeful

All sound like

Catch ya later

Up ahead, down the lone winding road.

Good-bye means just that

No chance of ever meeting up

Good-bye means we closed the door.

-Eva Santiago copyright 2013