When I was no bigger than a huge

When, I, was, no, bigger, than, a, huge,
Star, in, my, self, I, began, to, write,
My,
Theology,
Of, rose, and,

Tiger: till, I, burned, with, their
Pure, and, Rage. Then, was, I, Wrath-
Ful,
And, most,
Gentle: most,

Dark, and, yet, most, Lit: in, me, an,
Eye, there, grew: springing, Vision,
Its,
Gold, and,
Its, wars. Then,

I, knew, the, Lord, was, not, my, Creator!
--Not, He, the, Unbegotten—but, I, saw,
The,
Creator,
Was, I—and,

I, began, to, Die, and, I, began, to, Grow.


http://www.seasite.niu.edu/Tagalog/Literature/Poems/Others/When_I_was_A_Bigger.htm

Sa Babaeng Naghubad sa Dalampasigan Obong Rene Estella

Labis ang aking pagkagitla

sa unti-unting pagkalaglag
ng iyong patadyong
animo’y pilantik ng pasol
sa mayamang pamana
sa maputing dibdib mo.
Kay ganda ng pagkalatag
ng dalawang biyoos,
nakausli sa may umaga
sana’y makatitiyad ako sa ibabaw
ng aking balikhaw!
O anong sarap sumigaw ng mahinahon!
Habang lumilingon-lingon ka
Kung wala bang kasalo sa iyong pagpapabaya,
Naglagitgitan ang mga dahon,
Itinulak ng lunti ang mga laya
at nakisalamuha sa lupa;
pababa ng pababa ang patadyong
kumalat ang iyong kariktan,
‘kinalong ka ng mga alon
inakay ka ng batis
ng liwanag at lilim
hinangad ang mga lusay
upang gawing pana
sa kanilang malikmata
nilathala kang walang katumbas
sa mga hangari’t panaginip
ang iyong pusod karangalan ng Ladabi,
ang iyong kinding dalisay na Sugbuanon;
ibinintang ko sa langit
ang aking kasiyahan
pagkat ng umigkas ang bingwit
iniwan mo ng taga ang aking
kasingkasing.

Five Loaves and Two Fishes by Corrine May

A little boy of thirteen
was on his way to school
He heard a crowd of people laughing
and he went to take a look
Thousands were listening
to the stories of one man
He spoke with such wisdom,
even the kids could understand

The hours passed so quickly
the day turned to night
Everyone was hungry
but there was no food in sight
The boy looked in his lunchbox
at the little that he had
He wasn’t sure what good it’d do
there were thousands to be fed

But he saw the twinkling eyes of Jesus
the kindness in His smile
and the boy cried out
with the trust of a child
he said:"

Take my five loaves and two fishes
Do with it as you will surrender
Take my fears and inhibitions
All my burdens, my ambitions
You can use it all
to feed them all"

I often think about that boy
when I’m feeling small
land I worry that the work I do
means nothing at all

But every single tear I cry
is a diamond in His hands
and every door that slams in my face
I will offer up in prayer

So I’ll give you every breath that I have
Oh Lord, you can work miracles
All that you need is my "Amen"

Take my five loaves and two fishes
Do with it as you willI surrender
Take my fears and inhibitions
All my burdens, my ambitions
You can use it all
I hope it’s not too small

I trust in youI trust in you

Take my five loaves and two fishes
Do with it as you willI surrender
Take my fears and inhibitions
All my burdens, my ambitions
You can use it all
no gift is too small

The world is an apple

Narrator: Mario enters. sits down and buries his head in his hands. Gloria crosses to him and lay a hand on his shoulder.
Gloria: I know something is wrong. Mario, I can feel it. Tell me what it is
Mario: Gloria, I've lost my job
Gloria: Oh, no! How did you lose it? Mario! Have your sinful fingers brought you trouble again?
Mario: Now, now, Gloria Don't try to accuse me as they did. An apple! Yes, and they kicked me out for it for taking one single apple
Gloria: So that's what you get. . .
Mario: Could I guessed they would do that for one apple? When there were millions of them? We were hauling them to the warehouse. I saw one roll out of a broken crate. It was that big. Suddenly, I found myself putting it in my lunch bag. Do you remember that day I took our little girl out for a walk? On our way home we passed a grocery store that sold "delicious" apples at seventy centavos each. She wanted me to buy one for her but I did not have seventy centavos. She cried. So, when I saw this apple roll out of crate, I thought that Tita would love to have it.
Gloria: We're not rich. We can live without apples.
Mario: Why? Did God create apple trees to bear fruit for the rich alone? Didn't He create the whole world for everyone?
Gloria: So, for a measly apple, you lose a job! Filching an apple that's too small a reason to kick a poor man out a work. You should ask them to give you a second chance, Mario.
Mario: They won't do that. Can't you see they had waiting for me to make a slip like that? They've wanted to throw me out for any reason, so that they may bring their men in.
Gloria: You should complain. . .
If I did, they would dig up my police record. They will do anything to keep me out. But, don't worry, I have found a good job.
Gloria: I know God wouldn't let us down. Mother was wrong. You know, before we get married, she used to tell me "Gloria, you'll commit the greatest mistake of your life if you marry a good - for - nothing loafer!." Oh, you've changed!
Pablo: Hmmmm. How romantic.
Mario: Pablo!
Gloria: What are you doing here? What do you want?
Pablo: Your daughter. . . how is she? Here, I'll loan you a few pesos. It may help your daughter to get well.
Gloria: No. Thank you. Mario has stopped depending on you, since the day I took him away from your clutches! I have no regrets. Mario has none, either.
Pablo: How you can be sure? When he and I were pals we could go to first -class air- conditioned movie houses every other day. I'll bet all the money I have here now that he has not been to one for four years!
Gloria: One cannot expect too much from honest money - we don't
Pablo: What is honest money? Does it buy more? Staying in this dungeon you call a house, is that what you so beautifully call "honesty"?.
Mario: Pablo!
Gloria: I know you have come to lead him back to your dishonest ways, but you can't.
Pablo: You call this living? This Gloria,, is what you call dying - dying slowly minute by minute.
Mario: Pablo, stop it!.
Pablo: Tell her that you no longer believe in the way she wanted you to live.
Gloria: Oh! Mario, . . you promised me you were through with him.
Mario: Gloria. . . you . . . must understand . . . I tried long and hard . . . but could not lift us out of this kind of life. . .
Gloria: You are not going with him, You take good care of yourself and our child.
(Mario walks away with Pablo, Gloria stares dumbly at then.)
Gloria: Mariooooo! ( she cover her face with her dress and cries into it.)

Read more: http://wiki.answers.com/Q/What_is_the_whole_script_of_The_world_is_an_apple_by_Alberto_Florentino#ixzz1FhiDZFPC

Maynila 1898

Labanan sa Look ng Maynila (1898)
Ang Labanan sa Look ng Maynila ay pagsiklab ng digmaan sa pagitan ng Estados Unidos at Espanya ay nag-udyok sa Estados Unidos na sakupin ang Pilipinas. Ipinakita ng mga Amerikano ang kapangyarihang militar nito nang lusubin ng kanilang hukbong pandagat ang hukbo ng mga Español sa Look ng Maynila noong Mayo 1, 1898. Walang nagawa ang mga Espanyol kundi isuko ang Pilipinas sa mga Amerikano. Upang hindi malagay sa kahihiyan ang Spain, nakipagkasundo ang Estados Unidos na magkaroon ng kunwa-kunwariang labanan sa Maynila. Isinagawa ito noong Agosto 13, 1898. Inakala ng hukbo ni Aguinaldo na magkakaroon ng tunay na paglusob ang mga Amerikano laban sa mga Español kaya nag-alok siya ng tulong militar ngunit hindi ito tinanggap ng mga Amerikano. Sa pamamagitan ng kunwa-kunwariang labanang ito, ipinakita ng mga Espanyol na lumaban ang mga hukbo nito sa abot ng kanilang makakaya at hanggang sa huling sandali.

Valediction sa hill crest by Rolando Tinio

Valediction sa hill crest

Pagkacollect ng Railway Express sa aking things
(Deretso na iyon sa barko while I take the plane.)
Inakyat kong muli ang N-311, at dahil dead of winter,
Nakatopcoat at galoshes akong
Nagright-turn sa N wing ng mahabang dilim
(Tunnel yatang aabot hanggang Tundo.)
Kinapa ko ang switch sa hall.
Sa isang pitik, nagshrink ang imaginary tunnel,
Nagparang ataol.

Or catacomb.
Strangely absolute ang impression
Ng hilera ng mga pintong nagpuprusisyon:
Individual identification, parang mummy cases,
De-nameplate, de-numero, de-hometown address.
Antiseptic ang atmosphere, streamlined yet.
Kung hindi catacomb, at least
E filing cabinet.

Filing, hindi naman deaths, ha.
Remembrances, oo. Yung medyo malapot
Dahil alam mo na, I’m quitting the place
After two and a half years.
After two and a half years,
Di man nagkatiyempong mag-ugat, ika nga,
Siyempre’y nagging attached, parang morning glory’ng
Mahirap mapaknit sa alambreng trellis.

At pagkabukas ko sa kuwarto,
Hubo’t hubad na ang mattresses,
Wala nang kutson sa easy chair,
Mga drawer ng bureau’y nakanganga,
Sabay-sabay nag-ooration,
Nagkahiyaan, nabara.

Of course, tuloy ang radiator sa paggaralgal:
Nasa New York na si Bob and the two Allans,
Yung mga quarterbacks across the hall
Pihadong panay ang display sa Des Moines.
Don ang Cosntance aren’t coming back at all.
Gusto ko nang magpaalam–
to whom?
The drapes? The washbowl? Sa double-decker
Na pinaikot-ikot naming ni Kandaswamy
To create space, hopeless, talagang impossible.
Of course, tuloy ang radiator sa paglagutok.
(And the stone silence,
nakakaiyak kung sumagot.)

Bueno, let’s get it over with.
It’s a long walk to the depot.
Tama na ang sophistication-sophistication.

Sa steep incline, pababa sa highway
Where all things level, sabi nga,
There’s a flurry, ang gentle-gentle.
Pagwhoosh-whoosh ng paa ko,
The snow melts right under:

Nagtutubig parang asukal,
Humuhulas,
nagsesentimental.

-Rolando Tinio


http://isaganicruz.wordpress.com/2009/03/07/rolando-tinios-valediction-sa-hillcrest/

MORNING IN NAGREBCAN

It was sunrise at Nagrebcan. The fine, bluish mist, low over the tobacco fields, was lifting and thinning moment by moment. A ragged strip of mist, pulled away by the morning breeze, had caught on the clumps of bamboo along the banks of the stream that flowed to one side of the barrio. Before long the sun would top the Katayaghan hills, but as yet no people were around. In the grey shadow of the hills, the barrio was gradually awaking. Roosters crowed and strutted on the ground while hens hesitated on theri perches among the branches of the camanchile trees. Stray goats nibbled the weeds on the sides of the road, and the bull carabaos tugged restively against their stakes.
In the early mornig the puppies lay curled up together between their mother’s paws under the ladder of the house. Four puupies were all white like the mother. They had pink noses and pink eyelids and pink mouths. The skin between their toes and on the inside of their large, limp ears was pink. They had short sleek hair, for the mother licked them often. The fifth puppy lay across the mother’s neck. On the puppy’s back was a big black spot like a saddle. The tips of its ears were black and so was a pitch of hair on its chest.
The opening of the sawali door, its uneven bottom dragging noisily against the bamboo flooring, aroused the mother dog and she got up and stretched and shook herself, scattering dust and loose white hair. A rank doggy smell rose in the cool morning air. She took a quick leap forward, clearing the puppies which had begun to whine about her, wanting to suckle. She trotted away and disappeared beyond the house of a neighbor.
The puppies sat back on their rumps, whining. After a little while they lay down and went back to sleep, the black-spotted puppy on top.
Baldo stood at the treshold and rubbed his sleep-heavy eyes with his fists. He must have been about ten yeras old, small for his age, but compactly built, and he stood straight on his bony legs. He wore one of his father’s discarded cotton undershirts.
The boy descended the ladder, leaning heavily on the single bamboo railing that served as a banister. He sat on the lowest step of the ladder, yawning and rubbing his eyes one after the other. Bending down, he reached between his legs for the blak-spotted puppy. He held it to him, stroking its soft, warm body. He blew on its nose. The puppy stuck out a small red tongue,lapping the air. It whined eagerly. Baldo laughed—a low gurgle.
He rubbed his face against that of the dog. He said softly. “My puppy. My puppy.” He said it many times. The puppy licked his ears, his cheeks. When it licked his mouth. Baldo straightened up, raised the puppy on a level with his eyes. “You are a foolish puppy” he said, laughing. “Foolish, foolish, foolish,” he said, rolling the puppy on his lap so that it howled.
The four other puppies awoke and came scrambling about Baldo’s legs. He put down the black-spotted puppy and ran to the narrow foot bridge of women split-bamboo spanning the roadside ditch. When it rained, water from the roadway flowed under the makeshift bridge, but it had not rained for a long time and the ground was dry and sandy. Baldo sat on the bridge, digging his bare feet into the sand, feeling the cool particles escaping between his toes. He whistled, a toneless whistle with a curious trilling to it produced by placing the tongue against the lower teeth and then curving it up and down. The whistle excited the puppies, they ran to the boy as fast theri unsteady legs could carry them, barking choppy little barks.
It was sunrise at Nagrebcan. The fine, bluish mist, low over the tobacco fields, was lifting and thinning moment by moment. A ragged strip of mist, pulled away by the morning breeze, had caught on the clumps of bamboo along the banks of the stream that flowed to one side of the barrio. Before long the sun would top the Katayaghan hills, but as yet no people were around. In the grey shadow of the hills, the barrio was gradually awaking. Roosters crowed and strutted on the ground while hens hesitated on theri perches among the branches of the camanchile trees. Stray goats nibbled the weeds on the sides of the road, and the bull carabaos tugged restively against their stakes.
In the early mornig the puppies lay curled up together between their mother’s paws under the ladder of the house. Four puupies were all white like the mother. They had pink noses and pink eyelids and pink mouths. The skin between their toes and on the inside of their large, limp ears was pink. They had short sleek hair, for the mother licked them often. The fifth puppy lay across the mother’s neck. On the puppy’s back was a big black spot like a saddle. The tips of its ears were black and so was a pitch of hair on its chest.
The opening of the sawali door, its uneven bottom dragging noisily against the bamboo flooring, aroused the mother dog and she got up and stretched and shook herself, scattering dust and loose white hair. A rank doggy smell rose in the cool morning air. She took a quick leap forward, clearing the puppies which had begun to whine about her, wanting to suckle. She trotted away and disappeared beyond the house of a neighbor.
The puppies sat back on their rumps, whining. After a little while they lay down and went back to sleep, the black-spotted puppy on top.
Baldo stood at the treshold and rubbed his sleep-heavy eyes with his fists. He must have been about ten yeras old, small for his age, but compactly built, and he stood straight on his bony legs. He wore one of his father’s discarded cotton undershirts.
The boy descended the ladder, leaning heavily on the single bamboo railing that served as a banister. He sat on the lowest step of the ladder, yawning and rubbing his eyes one after the other. Bending down, he reached between his legs for the blak-spotted puppy. He held it to him, stroking its soft, warm body. He blew on its nose. The puppy stuck out a small red tongue,lapping the air. It whined eagerly. Baldo laughed—a low gurgle.
He rubbed his face against that of the dog. He said softly. “My puppy. My puppy.” He said it many times. The puppy licked his ears, his cheeks. When it licked his mouth. Baldo straightened up, raised the puppy on a level with his eyes. “You are a foolish puppy” he said, laughing. “Foolish, foolish, foolish,” he said, rolling the puppy on his lap so that it howled.
The four other puppies awoke and came scrambling about Baldo’s legs. He put down the black-spotted puppy and ran to the narrow foot bridge of women split-bamboo spanning the roadside ditch. When it rained, water from the roadway flowed under the makeshift bridge, but it had not rained for a long time and the ground was dry and sandy. Baldo sat on the bridge, digging his bare feet into the sand, feeling the cool particles escaping between his toes. He whistled, a toneless whistle with a curious trilling to it produced by placing the tongue against the lower teeth and then curving it up and down. The whistle excited the puppies, they ran to the boy as fast theri unsteady legs could carry them, barking choppy little barks.

http://www.scribd.com/doc/34536551/Morning-in-Nagrebcan-Manuel-E-Arguilla