juilett14

©2010-2012 Santiagodeco All Rights Reserved

[hiddenshores]

We lived in these summer fields, blackberry stained hands and sweat running down our backs until tomorrow was a sheer blue morning, never thinking yesterday was the pause between our promises

[juilett14]

Happy New Year Anna

[hiddenshores]

Sunday evening soft as wing. Words that were with me are yours now. I don’t need them. I wish for time to change us into something that I don’t yet recognise. Light and shadows are weaved into sky. Let me stay a little longer in this half-wake moment. So much I want to say. I put my head on your shoulder instead.

[juilett14]

Anna, beautiful.

[growing-orbits-blog]

by Elger Esser

[juilett14]

that still flies in secret

It seems to me that the wind,  however missing upon the wide plains is all the more vacant in me -

Footprints -huellas- so lightly imprinted in the snow, the hare   was it there at all? 

We go searching for lost and hidden things   the beauty that we've unraveled for safekeeping, later escaped from view.

Like the flowers I once painted for you   wild colors that nary a sea would suffice

to contain their wishes for your well-   being and flying! What is life without the wild fringe?

Your dress lifted, you are   floating carelessly in an ocean horizon your arms free, waving

at the rooted things   in a sea of summer grasses a light and tender happiness You, a butterfly   teeming with a full arc of dreams the mortal colors about you

their quiet whispers,   These hidden, solemn things whose songs are buried under stone

and too many hearts  contain exquisite meaning   that still flies in secret

-Santiago

[bennets-blog1]

[somethingdifferentfromthis]

juilett14:

There are times when i forget my name,  where i am more the way the wind touches me. - Santiago

[growing-orbits-blog]

Winter trees by robert

[growing-orbits-blog]

Visit Original Link

An Ending, a Beginning by Dustin O’Halloran (from Transcendentalism, 2012)

[awewakemysoul]

that other christmas without a tree.

[juilett14]

I see you're covered in scales, too the sun hurts; it's brilliance relentless and I stand opaque in the few choices left to me. She wore just a smile and clutched a pearl. It was far away hopes. 

Children skipped along the dike violet flowers had since some time  dried and voices withered in winds carried to sea; all the while, we swam after dreams

there is so much tide our windows crystallized, we learned tears don't always find their way back to nourishing wells some water nothing

dreams get away.

I come looking for you by the shore how the sea is long and vigorous  so many broken shells so few intact so many broken and washing under 

we give ourselves scales when every buried dream is swallowed  and in the sea we cry all their brilliance -the hopeful and sweet words flounder, churn in the salty sprays gasp in half light then sink a little further down it's nothing you said; everything that couldn't be seen everything that could have been

-Santiago

[juilett14]

various secrets that might fit in a spoon

I'd like very much to split myself in two  or three. To send myself far and also, keep myself near  to you, and wouldn't I like to throw myself into the body politic?  To better tend the garden by the wisteria and stock and keep up an east carp pond. Know the words to a few more favorite songs. And lay flowers on my mother's step, along with a hand-written note: Don't I remember the swallowtails of summer,  your endless patience and comfort?  I'd like to ride the rails to the desolate  tundra, and there, drink coffee with strangers. Later paint murals on brick walls in old towns  and downtowns; photograph you by the old grain mill, now dilapidated in the art's quarter; That I could also pour through London's tomes, swallow words whole and get them right - the gritty diet of the dead in ghettos whom ink has not shed enough for; and draw you stretched out in the shadows, light pouring through your hair; we'd swim  in Spanish seas, and Grecian, with the water  rushing along us, salty and silky, washing us down to simple truths. And hold you with my breath, our hearts tangled in a crystal moon, or just on a wooden bench in central park with a single plastic spoon, but together.  No matter, if there were one or more of me,  I'd always search for you. 

-Santiago 

[juilett14]

Vaults of Blue Windows

Please, don't make yourself lost  to me, the winter is coming, I've 

already shed petals and I've saved wine for your coming, as

your voice just echoes in these vaults  of blue windows

- your voice a witty serendipity  and the way you lay

fingers low upon your collar- bone, a little above and light upon your chest

light within your chest that lift the sorrows within my own.

-Santiago

[justjulespictures]

[juilett14]

lynnlangmade:

Nothing left to say but this is exquisite.

justjulespictures:

blue window 

[juilett14]

Sea of Wounds

Inspired and derived from Elysskama's Poem of Remembering

I pinned an old papyrus to the bottom of a desk, so that when I laid on the floor I could read the symbols looking up. 

While the wind gusted through windows and the evening’s light stirred the silent figures like vibrations from a violin’s core - a language I used to speak,

But I have forgotten, because I have not believed lately in anything at all. A steady deterioration into goblins, mischief – and crooked doors not meant to be opened at all.

I have seen that this forgetting is corrosive - Without home, I deteriorate from inside; and believe the only way to save myself is to remember my home, her arches and tomes; drifting  silently amid a sea of old wounds. 

A swan upon a salten sea - hieroglyphs that trace the scars that have long since been buried in me; yet never cured at the root.  It’s time I’ve read them looking up. 

-Santiago

[juilett14]

Tangles

The roses on the rubber-wood table, the yellow stars exploding by the golden glass bowl with the rings like a tree's, and the ceramic petal bowl with all the fallen wings

So many soft, fetal hearts like folded confetti, half-gay, but with color fading, yet still shouting their tender notes and imbued with secret words left unseen

if they could be known each a memory of yellow things a summer scarf, a dried maple wound, a praying mantis, a few hopes; breakfast porch with geraniums and folded palms and the way you smiled together two hands slipped together naked in the world  two vines wrapping together  in a concrete world, crying

can't you remember?

The wild and rapturous? and the quiet grotto where you spoke words lightly and they counted most and someone could feel how you lived in all those ancient and precious tangles.

She stuffs petals into the folded up frayed hem of her dress, like so many hearts that had been stuffed into odd spaces and hidden,

oh, that you could see how delightful they are! (you are, I am). 

-Santiago

[rekztirp]

[juilett14]

After Baudelaire

Beauty. My paradise, my anguish, my Circe your kisses a philtre

Your skirt makes me a reckless creature your wild perfume

Carries me to the mad round burning from a quiet island to an unknown infinite 

Come, let us bless this torch! 

-Santiago - a summary-response to a "Hymn to Beauty."