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O, Mother Earth

O, Mother Earth

O, Mother Earth,
you’re so rich, with butterflies’ songs
and full of olden lullabies,

sung by mountains and valleys
while rivers keep flowing through
the ever-changing seasons of life.

You speak the language
I hardly know,
but your silver touch

sends me a tingle,
that great joy and laughter
bejewel the lake of green.

Your yellow orb scattered
sparkly gems on the blue water
of a mesmerizing sea;

as for your majestic sky,
it wraps, gently, its arm around me
whilst I gaze, at-night, at the stars.

O, Mother Earth,
take me to the fortress,
where kings and queens meet

and teach me…
the graceful dance
of the wind.

Ernesto Pangilinan Santiago

Ernesto Pangilinan Santiago is a poet/immigrant living in Athens, Greece.
He is the author of a poetry book “The Walking Man”, published by Outskirtspress.com

More info: http://www.outskirtspress.com/ernestopangilinansantiago

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By: Ernesto Pangilinan Santiago | 02/10/2007 | Poetry
Listen To My Whisper Gee, there’s a beautiful muse And it is there… in my head Sometimes, it is in my heart It is always there And, it whirlwinds Within me I let it flutter down Like a yellow butterfly, nestling On my candle-shaped finger With a silver quill It was written, now it's a poem To behold, forever I wow myself Like I used to do, when I was 7 And I am so pleased To be here, as a whisperer--- Cheerfully, whispering unto thee The beauty, my aging brain sees

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By: Ernesto Pangilinan Santiago | 02/10/2007 | Poetry
Poem Once, I was a poem--- A memory of a rose, ever-watchful Of the orb, whilst angel’s trumpet fills the air. Oh, sometimes then, I was a sweet poem--- The art of your heart; ‘Twas pure and simple, ‘cos that’s what I am. The poem and I---fourteen lines Of uncluttered life, warming the coldness of nights; Relentlessly, rhyming to the sound of your breathe. A sonnet of love, you proudly wrote Of me, but that was before… You lustily engaged yourself, with a free-verse.

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Forgetful Poe(t) If you don’t want to speak, Why did you call me!? You’re disturbing me, honey You know, I’m really busy; I’ve a poem to finish, about us. Ok, come to my place, If you want; By the time you be here, Surely, I’m done with my writings. Speak, O speak to me now, I can’t let this poem go… Fluttering to an unknown grave. So serious, you are? As if I’ve done something wrong, What’s up honey, bad mood? No, nothing, O my dear Poe(t); I just waited for you, for hours. You’ve forgotten our date!

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The Godfather I’m a man, just simply a man; Once a child---with no other distinction; I am neither your first son nor last. I cannot alter what God has planned, Nor stop sun to shine, Nor stop the rain he’s cast. So I seek a solution to the paradigm Of angst, and joy of life; Of the person I should be now. Thou, life’s full of mystery, and of misery; You were there to give me hope and dignity; No wonder I always love to be with you. But, when God decided… We couldn’t say, “No!” You left me with his everlasting glory. As time passes, I realize the greatness of Love and joy on the day of my friend’s son; I became like you---a loving godfather.

Sweet Petals of Life

By: Ernesto Pangilinan Santiago | 01/10/2007 | Poetry
Sweet Petals of Life There are times--- I fall, unwittingly and ‘cos of this, I want you to be near …for when my body trembles, give me the courage …for when my mind is confused, enlighten me …for when my memory is lost, remind me of me If ever I fall--- deeper into the abyss of darkness lift me, with laughter’s of the day And, if ever I weep again--- wash my sorrow, with hues of morn flowers and dry my tears, with its sweet petals Yes, I don’t want to live alone--- so this to you I ask, stay beside me that I may not fall into the pangs of solitude

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