Mas es Amar..To Love is More

Mas es amar

To love is more

Is it better to hide love

To keep it to yourself

Instead of giving it all away?

But for what good is love

If you hide it

Who will benefit

From hidden love

Love makes you suffer

Love makes you bleed

Love makes you ache

If it doesn’t

Count on it: It’s all fake

Mas es amar

To love is more

More than a sunset

More than much-needed summer rain

More than a kiss

More than an embrace

Mas es amar

To love is more

Way more than we could ever comprehend

We label it

We try to define it

Trying to define love

Is like trying to nail jello to the wall

For you see, love is a vast universe




Love songs fail at describing it

Yet they do help us feel it a little more

Music pulls love from the intangible

And makes it a little more tangible

No one language can convey its entire meaning





The Romance tongues all help us understand it with all of our flowery words

But never forget

Mas es amar

To love is more when it costs you your all.

EVA SANTIAGO copyright 2013


The Kindnesses of the Cruel

The worst thing in this existence is to not have been seen by the man who claimed to have loved me

You, loved me??

Seriously,do you know what love is?

Love is beyond a feeling

Love is a force

Love gives life

Love is beyond lust

Now do you get it?

True love reciprocates

True love intermingles

True love never hates

I deserve to know

Why you claimed to have loved me

When all I could ever feel was your hate

You bought me things

In attempts to satisfy my larger than life soul

You fool!

You never knew ME!!!

The worst thing in my existence is when you claimed your love for me when you haven’t a clue as to what love is

I asked you for one thing

It wasn’t material

You knew you wouldn’t give it

So you played me

‘Til the day I woke the hell up!

You’re a careless soul

Cruising through life

You drop people and shatter them into a billion bits

You trample them as on a trampoline

People for you are mere objects

The kindnesses of the cruel are oh so cruel

Your kind deeds are always from the dark side

Rendering them null and void in heaven’s bank account

And my whole world didn’t stop because you caused me to stumble

Stumble I did, and for you, I didn’t fall

For I knew who you were from day one

I’d seen you before in all the old, haunted places of my broken past

I chose you because all I knew was broken

And I figured you couldn’t break what was already shattered

I am strong…me you couldn’t scatter

So the worst thing in my existence is having chosen to live with the ghosts from my past;

All of which you so well embodied

EVA SANTIAGO copyright 2013



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 22


I love dance because I truly believe it is poetry in motion. I’ve always had a special place in my heart for dancers. Please watch this powerful video where dancers bring to life a very real threat to our safety every time we get in a car. These young dancers put to motion what words do to warn us. Keep in mind that texting and driving are as deadly as being drunk or high while trying to drive. BE SAFE!

April is National Poetry Month:Day 6

The Saddest Poem

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.

Write, for instance: “The night is full of stars,
and the stars, blue, shiver in the distance.”

The night wind whirls in the sky and sings.

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

On nights like this, I held her in my arms.
I kissed her so many times under the infinite sky.

She loved me, sometimes I loved her.
How could I not have loved her large, still eyes?

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
To think I don’t have her. To feel that I’ve lost her.

To hear the immense night, more immense without her.
And the poem falls to the soul as dew to grass.

What does it matter that my love couldn’t keep her.
The night is full of stars and she is not with me.

That’s all. Far away, someone sings. Far away.
My soul is lost without her.

As if to bring her near, my eyes search for her.
My heart searches for her and she is not with me.

The same night that whitens the same trees.
We, we who were, we are the same no longer.

I no longer love her, true, but how much I loved her.
My voice searched the wind to touch her ear.

Someone else’s. She will be someone else’s. As she once
belonged to my kisses.
Her voice, her light body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, true, but perhaps I love her.
Love is so short and oblivion so long.

Because on nights like this I held her in my arms,
my soul is lost without her.

Although this may be the last pain she causes me,
and this may be the last poem I write for her.

April is National Poetry Month: Day 4

Today’s poem comes from my 12 year old daughter. She has taken an interest in song writing . This is a song she performed at a local coffee house recently. She also submitted this piece at a local teen poetry contest and she came in as a finalist.

You’re Not Alone

She paints a pretty picture
But this story has a twist-
Her paintbrush is razor,
And the canvas is her wrist.

Her mother died a year ago,
Depressed and alone.
She wants to die
Bitter and cold.

She dances in the moonlight,
She’s the black swan of the night-
She leaps, prances, twirls, and dances
But she cannot stop the fight.

Your skin isn’t paper, so don’t cut it,
Life isn’t a movie so don’t end it.
Your face is so pretty, why do you hide it?
You have a beautiful soul, but you want to kill it.

Just know you’re not alone.
Stay strong
You are living one big lie
But in the end you will be alright.

by Raquel Brincat copyright 2012

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


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,


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


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

It hurts
It stews
It brews

From whose clutches








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-
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




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


Embrace the pre-dawn for there is always beauty in the darkest hour before sunup.Look at the black hour of your life as a sign that pain ends as soon as the sun peaks over the horizon. Fathom the pitchy dark. Feel it’s intensity. Know it’ll soon be daylight when the sun dazzles and washes all your fears with a staggering brilliance. Don’t run when it’s dismal. Sit still and allow yourself to feel what you feel without any fear. Don’t numb yourself during your bleakest hour; explore your thoughts and give them a voice. Just because it’s black as ink doesn’t mean you’re dead. Remember plants and all living things grow in unlit times. No  illumination doesn’t mean you’re lost. Just be still and wait for the dawn of your most radiant days; knowing they lay up ahead just within your reach. Use hope and trust as your guiding stars. Set your compass pointing it towards love. Because love never fails you in the dark. Love is your North Star pointing you towards a resplendent future.

EVA SANTIAGO copyright 2013


Do you ever feel small and that what you do seems insignificant? I sure do from time to time. I started The Henderson Poets, a group that meets on Tuesday evenings at The Coffee House close to my home. We are small in number but that does not matter one iota to me. People from all walks of life show up. Some times 15 or more people show up, other times it’s less. But I keep plugging on and do you know why? Because I believe what I’m doing matters! We live in a society where everyone is always number crunching. We measure success by the number of books we sold or the numbers in our bank account and even our number of friends on Facebook. Did you ever stop to consider that small is the new big? What if me showing up at the Coffee House every Tuesday night is just to touch one other soul?

A few weeks ago I invited a very nice man to join us. He said he writes poetry but he had never shared before.  Last night he came and shared poems he wrote  during what seems to have been a traumatic divorce. He moved all of us because as he read, he wept openly. Dear readers, that is why I LOVE what I do. I believe poetry is meant to be performed live. A dear friend of mine said to me upon our first meeting,” Our words are our life.” How true that is! How amazing it is and an honor to have the chance to give other poets a platform from which they can come and bare their souls to us. We all benefit when a soul reaches out to touch us with their light. 

So next time you think what you do is not important consider that  maybe your presence in some one’s life might be the one thing that is keeping that person alive. The work you do no matter how menial in your eyes, maybe some one else’s miracle and moment of joy. Take your eyes off the numbers and value what you do because really, you’re the only one capable of doing what you do. What you do and who you are is irreplaceable..think on that!

-EVA SANTIAGO copyright 2012