Friday, July 1, 2022



Unwanted Star | He Now Holds A Name


Carrying my name is my divine delight,

     that I would dare even an immortal

     to the first journey of the light.

As childish charm leaps me to hurtle,

     this child, in a full fledged chortle,

     alienated from someone’s laconic womb, not mine

     but I would mind calling him mine.


After The Fight


I had so many fights

     when I was young.

I remember one

     of them was over a school sweetheart.

The other was,

     am a bit shy to tell, but here it is,

     when a man of God told me

     I had to give him a work

     a certain number of times each week

     to see that I didn't have any trouble with faith.

Ah yes! Faith itself,

     if it does not have works,

     and/or if it does not work,

     is dead.

Isn’t the surrounding

     bible passages proclaim the lessons,

     the answers to the questions they take issues with?

If what he said is true, then what types of works

     in the Bible bring his faith alive?

He should know better.

We threw some punches,

     and after that he left

     my pink-clad

     but(t) alone in peace. 


Sanctified By The Sacrament Of Lust


O, the last leaf

     still clings to the tree

     like extended

     prayer beyond poetic

     grammar and chant

     like the soul of my thoughts

     yearning to be written,

     heard as a poem

     with a beautiful rhythm

     as red as blood

     of a sanctified Christ.

I feel no peace inside

     a hypocrite church, I think;

     even red canna lillies

     breathe out wild

     lust the sight of all,

     the dream of a man keeping

     time with his thirst

     shimmering like summer


     between my thighs.



I Still Hug Birch Trees


This isn't the home

     I remember.

I knew well who I was.

I knew that I could not bend

     the river nor cure a dying earth.

I am following the lead

     of my elders, born of field and stream,

     true dendrophiles who possess

     true knowledge of self will

     never cut trees.

I respect everyone but I live with dignity.

I tell the story of my words

     in harmony with a caged bird

     that sings as much as I know

     a free bird in the birch tree.

Don't forget to know

     who you are as an icon of your strength.

I love you, O Mother Earth!

And I want you to be free

     with your dignity.

You are not a wasted thing.

Υou are living with a crumpled will

     like the one I have

     in my flesh, my freedom just perfect

     for another purpose.




ERNESTO P. SANTIAGO spends all his free time between here and there, trying to learn something. He is too small for his ego. He is enough for himself. Poetry has brought him such joy and many friends, and poetry awards too - including most recently the Astroscale Prize from the EU-Japan NewSpace2060 International Illustrated Haiku Competition 2019 and the Naji Naaman Literary Prize 2021. Born in the Philippines, he lives in Athens, Greece, and is inspired daily by the myth of his poetic senses. He authored six books of poetry.


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