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
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.
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Skin Up With Shakespeare
By: Robert Kane | 24/11/2009The sonnets and plays of William Shakespeare are arguably some of the most inspirational in the world, but when the Bard needed inspiration of his own he turned to marijuana seeds.
THE GOODBYE
By: Satish Verma | 24/11/2009A marble calm under the shaky gaze was parsing the human pain. I would lift the calculated grief from folded earth.
AWARENESS
By: Satish Verma | 24/11/2009A fragile pistillum sways to conceal the sperms in pestle. Unilaterally fired salvos were increasing. After the dig, bodies in the debris were popping up daily.
ARTFUL PINCERS
By: Satish Verma | 24/11/2009A terror of alikeness looms like stricken birds, incenerated in split seconds. You smell the burning flesh in an air blitz. Nearing endgame a conceptual hate is jettisioned in sky. You start collecting the fragments of life.
A TUMULTUOUS WELCOME
By: Satish Verma | 23/11/2009Predicament of deficit bombs. Motivated artillary. It is incursion of sterling thieving, of sisyphean pain. The plaques were becoming honorable. The spoon bills landing on dry lake.
A TUMULTUOUS WELCOME
By: Satish Verma | 23/11/2009Predicament of deficit bombs. Motivated artillary. It is incursion of sterling thieving, of sisyphean pain. The plaques were becoming honorable. The spoon bills landing on dry lake.
A TUMULTUOUS WELCOME
By: Satish Verma | 23/11/2009Predicament of deficit bombs. Motivated artillary. It is incursion of sterling thieving, of sisyphean pain. The plaques were becoming honorable. The spoon bills landing on dry lake.
THE FROST
By: Satish Verma | 23/11/2009to release the hostages of unknown fears. The menacing fog was towering over statements. Everything was turning into coal and the smoke was streaming from the oasis.
Useful Tips on Writing Rhyme Incorporated Poetry
By: Ernesto Pangilinan Santiago | 05/02/2008 | PoetryA "Rhyme Incorporated" is a poetic form meaning "incorporation of poets’ names and the titles of their poems" in a new poem. Rhyme incorporated poem can be written as a short three mono-rhyming lines (a Tercet) or in multiple stanzas of mono-rhyming tercet and it is drawn from the titles of poems written by poets around the world. The rhyme scheme for this form of poetry is aaa, bbb, ccc, etc.; line 1 and 3 may or may not have same syllable counts.
How to Write a Fiboquatro Poem?
By: Ernesto Pangilinan Santiago | 03/02/2008 | PoetryThe Fiboquatro is a poetic form, consisting of two or three stanzas, a combination of Fibonacci and a stanza of 4 lines, with an abab rhyming scheme.
Listen to My Whisper
By: Ernesto Pangilinan Santiago | 02/10/2007 | PoetryListen 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
Poem
By: Ernesto Pangilinan Santiago | 02/10/2007 | PoetryPoem 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.
Forgetful Poe(t)
By: Ernesto Pangilinan Santiago | 01/10/2007 | PoetryForgetful 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!
Sweet Petals of Life
By: Ernesto Pangilinan Santiago | 01/10/2007 | PoetrySweet 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
O, Mother Earth
By: Ernesto Pangilinan Santiago | 01/10/2007 | PoetryO, 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.