Oratorical Piece
“Food and money I give to you,
Why do you shout so mercily
When I give you your part?”
queried the rich man.
The poor man replied:
“Your question you cannot answer
For from pain and agony you are free,
But I have suffered and borne
The situation that I don’t like to be in.”
“That I couldn’t understand
Because Life for me is easy;
I take this and take that,
And life is just what I want it to be.”
consented the rich man.
“Comfort your mind, rich man,
with realities of death.
Your wealth I do not envy
For you can not buy
eternity with money.
If to live happily
is to live in hypocrisy,
Then I prefer to be silly
so I would be holy.
Life you love so much you will lose
And only then will you understand
What agony is,” the poor man shouted.
“Ha! Ha! Ha! You say so
For you desire this place of mine.
Indulgence you have clouded with reason
But I understand because of your situation.”
boastfully the rich man said.
Outraged the poor man answered:
“How pitiful the person blinded with pleasure;
No, you don’t care of our journey
That you have created through your greediness.
Come now, man of weak soul!
Your days are numbered for you to face
The Man of Love.
You may not cry now but later you will
When the chilling reality of the last judgment
Comes across your way;
Yes, then you will pity, but not for me.
Not for anybody else.
But for yourself only!
Yes, eat, drink, and be merry.
For tomorrow you shall die!
Showing posts with label monologo-english. Show all posts
Showing posts with label monologo-english. Show all posts
Saturday, November 21, 2009
"The Oak And The Reed"
Oratorical Piece
The oak one day address the reed:
“To you ungenerous indeed
Has nature been, my humble friend,
With weakness aye obliged to bend.
The smallest bird that flits in air
Is quite too much for you to bear;
The slightest wind that wreathes the lake
Your ever-trembling head does shake.
The while, my towering form
Dares with the mountain top
The solar blaze to stop,
And wrestle with the storm.
What seems to you the blast of death,
To me is but a zephyr’s breath.
Beneath my branches head you grown.
That spread for round their friendly bower,
Less suffering would your life have known,
Defended from the tempest’s power.
Unhappily you oftenest show
In open air your slender form,
Along the marches wet and low,
That fringe the kingdom of the storm.
To you, declare I must,
Dame Nature seems unjust.”
Then modesty replied the reed:
“Your pity, sir, is kind indeed,
But wholly needless for my sake.
The wildest wind that ever blew
Is safe to me compared with you
I bend, indeed, but never break.
Thus far, I own the hurricane
Has beat your sturdy back in vain,
But wait the end.”
Just as the word –
The tempest’s hollow voice was heard.
The North sent forth her fiercest child,
Dark, jagged, pitiless, and wild.
The oak, erect, endured the blow;
The reed bowed gracefully and low,
But, gathering up its strength once more
In greater fury than before,
The savage blast
Overthrew, at last,
That proud, old sky-encircled head,
Whose feet entwined the empire of the dead!
The oak one day address the reed:
“To you ungenerous indeed
Has nature been, my humble friend,
With weakness aye obliged to bend.
The smallest bird that flits in air
Is quite too much for you to bear;
The slightest wind that wreathes the lake
Your ever-trembling head does shake.
The while, my towering form
Dares with the mountain top
The solar blaze to stop,
And wrestle with the storm.
What seems to you the blast of death,
To me is but a zephyr’s breath.
Beneath my branches head you grown.
That spread for round their friendly bower,
Less suffering would your life have known,
Defended from the tempest’s power.
Unhappily you oftenest show
In open air your slender form,
Along the marches wet and low,
That fringe the kingdom of the storm.
To you, declare I must,
Dame Nature seems unjust.”
Then modesty replied the reed:
“Your pity, sir, is kind indeed,
But wholly needless for my sake.
The wildest wind that ever blew
Is safe to me compared with you
I bend, indeed, but never break.
Thus far, I own the hurricane
Has beat your sturdy back in vain,
But wait the end.”
Just as the word –
The tempest’s hollow voice was heard.
The North sent forth her fiercest child,
Dark, jagged, pitiless, and wild.
The oak, erect, endured the blow;
The reed bowed gracefully and low,
But, gathering up its strength once more
In greater fury than before,
The savage blast
Overthrew, at last,
That proud, old sky-encircled head,
Whose feet entwined the empire of the dead!
“The Face Upon the Floor”
‘Twas a balmy summer evening and a goodly crowd was there,
Which well-nigh filled Joe’s barroom, on the corner of the square;
And as songs and witty stories Came through the open door,
A vagabond crept slowly in and posed upon the floor.
"Where did it come from?" someone said. "The wind has blown it in."
"What does it want?" another cried. "Some whiskey, or rum or gin?"
"Here, Toby, sic ‘em, if your stomach’s equal to the work–
I wouldn’t touch him with a fork, he’s filthy as a Turk."
This badinage the poor wretch took with stoical good grace;
In fact, he smiled as tho’ he thought he’d struck the proper place.
"Come, boys, I know there’s kindly hearts among so good a crowd–
To be in such good company would make a deacon proud.
"Give me a drink–that’s what I want… I’m out of funds, you know,
When I had cash to treat the gang this hand was never slow.
What? You laugh as if you thought this pocket never held a sou;
I once was fixed as well, my boys, as any one of you.
"There, thanks, that’s braced me nicely, God bless you one and all;
Next time I pass this good saloon, I’ll make another call.
Give you a song? No, I can’t do that, my singing days are past;
My voice is cracked, my throat’s worn out and my lungs are going fast.
"I’ll tell you a funny story, and a fact, I promise, too.
Say! Give me another whiskey and I’ll tell you what I’ll do…
That I was ever a decent man not one of you would think;
But I was, some four or five years back. Say, give me another drink.
"Fill her up, Joe, I want to put some life into my frame–
Such little drinks to a bum like me are miserably tame;
Five fingers… there, that’s the scheme… and corking whiskey, too.
Well, here’s luck, boys and landlord… my best regards to you.
"You’ve treated me pretty kindly and I’d like to tell you true
How I came to be the dirty sot, you see before you now.
As I told you, once I was a man, with muscle, frame, and health,
And but for a blunder ought to have made, considerable wealth.
"I was a painter, not one that daubed on bricks and wood,
But an artist, and for my age, was rated pretty good.
I worked hard at my canvas and was bidding fair to rise,
For gradually I saw the star of fame before my eyes.
"I made a picture perhaps you’ve seen, ’tis called the ‘Chase of Fame’.
It brought me fifteen hundred pounds and added to my name,
And then I met a woman… now comes the funny part–
With eyes that petrified my brain and sunk into my heart.
"Why don’t you laugh? ’tis funny that the vagabond you see
Could ever love a woman and expect her love for me;
But ’twas so, and for a month or two, her smiles were freely given,
And when her loving lips touched mine, it carried me to Heaven.
"Boys, did you ever see a girl for whom your soul you’d give,
With a form like the Milo Venus, too beautiful to live;
Which well-nigh filled Joe’s barroom, on the corner of the square;
And as songs and witty stories Came through the open door,
A vagabond crept slowly in and posed upon the floor.
"Where did it come from?" someone said. "The wind has blown it in."
"What does it want?" another cried. "Some whiskey, or rum or gin?"
"Here, Toby, sic ‘em, if your stomach’s equal to the work–
I wouldn’t touch him with a fork, he’s filthy as a Turk."
This badinage the poor wretch took with stoical good grace;
In fact, he smiled as tho’ he thought he’d struck the proper place.
"Come, boys, I know there’s kindly hearts among so good a crowd–
To be in such good company would make a deacon proud.
"Give me a drink–that’s what I want… I’m out of funds, you know,
When I had cash to treat the gang this hand was never slow.
What? You laugh as if you thought this pocket never held a sou;
I once was fixed as well, my boys, as any one of you.
"There, thanks, that’s braced me nicely, God bless you one and all;
Next time I pass this good saloon, I’ll make another call.
Give you a song? No, I can’t do that, my singing days are past;
My voice is cracked, my throat’s worn out and my lungs are going fast.
"I’ll tell you a funny story, and a fact, I promise, too.
Say! Give me another whiskey and I’ll tell you what I’ll do…
That I was ever a decent man not one of you would think;
But I was, some four or five years back. Say, give me another drink.
"Fill her up, Joe, I want to put some life into my frame–
Such little drinks to a bum like me are miserably tame;
Five fingers… there, that’s the scheme… and corking whiskey, too.
Well, here’s luck, boys and landlord… my best regards to you.
"You’ve treated me pretty kindly and I’d like to tell you true
How I came to be the dirty sot, you see before you now.
As I told you, once I was a man, with muscle, frame, and health,
And but for a blunder ought to have made, considerable wealth.
"I was a painter, not one that daubed on bricks and wood,
But an artist, and for my age, was rated pretty good.
I worked hard at my canvas and was bidding fair to rise,
For gradually I saw the star of fame before my eyes.
"I made a picture perhaps you’ve seen, ’tis called the ‘Chase of Fame’.
It brought me fifteen hundred pounds and added to my name,
And then I met a woman… now comes the funny part–
With eyes that petrified my brain and sunk into my heart.
"Why don’t you laugh? ’tis funny that the vagabond you see
Could ever love a woman and expect her love for me;
But ’twas so, and for a month or two, her smiles were freely given,
And when her loving lips touched mine, it carried me to Heaven.
"Boys, did you ever see a girl for whom your soul you’d give,
With a form like the Milo Venus, too beautiful to live;
"The Erl-King"
Oh who rides by night through the woodland so wild?
It is the fond father embracing his child;
And close the boy nestles within his loved arm,
To hold himself fast and to keep himself warm.
“Oh Father, see yonder! See yonder!” he says;
“My boy, upon what do you fearfully gaze?”
“Oh, it is the Erl-King with his crown and his shroud.”
“No, my son, it it but a dark wreath of the cloud.”
“Oh come and go with me, you lovely child;
By many a gay sport shall your time be beguiled;
My mother keeps for you full many a fair toy,
And many a fine flower shall she pluck for my boy.”
“Oh Father, my Father, and did you not hear
The Erl-King whisper so low in my ear?”
“Be still, my heart’s darling – my child, be at ease;
It was but the wild blast as it sang through the trees.”
“Oh, will you go with me, you lovely boy?
My daughter shall tend you with care and with joy;
Shall bear you so lightly through wet and through wild,
And press you, and kiss you, and sing to my child.”
“Oh Father, my Father, and saw you not plain
The Erl-King’s pale daughter glide past thro’ the rain?”
“Oh yes, my loved treasure, I knew it full soon;
It as the gray willow that danced to the moon.”
“Oh come and go with me, no longer delay,
Or else, silly child, I will drag you away.”
“Oh Father, Oh Father! Now, now, keep your hold,
The Erl-King has seized me – his grasp is so cold.”
Sore trembled the father; he spurred thro’ the wild,
Clasping to his bosom his shuddering child;
He reached his dwelling in doubt and in dread,
But, clasped to his bosom, the infant was dead!
It is the fond father embracing his child;
And close the boy nestles within his loved arm,
To hold himself fast and to keep himself warm.
“Oh Father, see yonder! See yonder!” he says;
“My boy, upon what do you fearfully gaze?”
“Oh, it is the Erl-King with his crown and his shroud.”
“No, my son, it it but a dark wreath of the cloud.”
“Oh come and go with me, you lovely child;
By many a gay sport shall your time be beguiled;
My mother keeps for you full many a fair toy,
And many a fine flower shall she pluck for my boy.”
“Oh Father, my Father, and did you not hear
The Erl-King whisper so low in my ear?”
“Be still, my heart’s darling – my child, be at ease;
It was but the wild blast as it sang through the trees.”
“Oh, will you go with me, you lovely boy?
My daughter shall tend you with care and with joy;
Shall bear you so lightly through wet and through wild,
And press you, and kiss you, and sing to my child.”
“Oh Father, my Father, and saw you not plain
The Erl-King’s pale daughter glide past thro’ the rain?”
“Oh yes, my loved treasure, I knew it full soon;
It as the gray willow that danced to the moon.”
“Oh come and go with me, no longer delay,
Or else, silly child, I will drag you away.”
“Oh Father, Oh Father! Now, now, keep your hold,
The Erl-King has seized me – his grasp is so cold.”
Sore trembled the father; he spurred thro’ the wild,
Clasping to his bosom his shuddering child;
He reached his dwelling in doubt and in dread,
But, clasped to his bosom, the infant was dead!
"The Death Penalty"
Oratorical Piece
Elocution means “an expert manner of speaking involving control of voice and gesture”
Gentlemen of the Jury, if there is a culprit here, it is not my son, … it is myself, … it is I! I, who for these twenty-five years have opposed capital punishment, … have contented for the inviolability of human life, … have committed this crime for which my son is now arraigned. Here I denounce myself, Mr. Advocate General! I have committed it under all aggravated circumstances – deliberately, repeatedly, and tenaciously. Yes, this old and absurd “lextalionix” – this law of blood for blood – I have combated all my life – all my life, Gentlemen of the Jury! And while I have breath, I will continue to combat it, by all my efforts as a writer, by all my words and all my votes as a legislator! I declare it before the crucifix; before that victim of the penalty of death, who sees and hears us; before that gibbet, to which, two thousand years ago, for the eternal instruction of the generations the human law nailed the Divine!
In all that my son has written on the subject of capital punishment and for writing and publishing that for which he is now on trial, — in all that he has written, he has merely proclaimed the sentiments with which, from his infancy, I have inspired him.
Gentlemen, Jurors, the right to criticize a law, and to criticize it severely – especially a penal – is placed beside the duty of amelioration, like the torch beside the work under the artisan’s hand. The right of the journalist is a sacred, as necessary, as the right of the legislator.
What are the circumstances? A man, a convict, a sentenced wretch, is dragged, on a certain morning, to one of our public squares. There he finds the scaffold! He shudders. He struggles. He refuses to die. The victim clings to the scaffold, and shrieks for pardon. His clothes are torn, … his shoulders bloody… still he resists. They drag him forth, haggard, bloody, weeping, pleading… howling for life… calling upon God, calling upon his father and mother, … For like a very child had this man become in the prospect of death — they drag him forth to execution. He is hoisted on the scaffold, and his head falls!
And then through every conscience runs a shoulder. Never had legal murder appeared with an aspect so indecent, so abominable. All feel jointly implicated in the deed… it is at this very moment that from a young man’s breast escapes a cry, wrung from his very heart… a cry of pity and anguish… a cry of horror… a cry of humanity. And this cry would punish! And in the face of the appalling facts which I have narrated, you would say to the guillotine, “Thou art right!” and to Pity, saintly Pity, “Thou art wrong!”
Gentlemen of the Jury, it cannot be! Gentlemen, I have finished.
Elocution means “an expert manner of speaking involving control of voice and gesture”
Gentlemen of the Jury, if there is a culprit here, it is not my son, … it is myself, … it is I! I, who for these twenty-five years have opposed capital punishment, … have contented for the inviolability of human life, … have committed this crime for which my son is now arraigned. Here I denounce myself, Mr. Advocate General! I have committed it under all aggravated circumstances – deliberately, repeatedly, and tenaciously. Yes, this old and absurd “lextalionix” – this law of blood for blood – I have combated all my life – all my life, Gentlemen of the Jury! And while I have breath, I will continue to combat it, by all my efforts as a writer, by all my words and all my votes as a legislator! I declare it before the crucifix; before that victim of the penalty of death, who sees and hears us; before that gibbet, to which, two thousand years ago, for the eternal instruction of the generations the human law nailed the Divine!
In all that my son has written on the subject of capital punishment and for writing and publishing that for which he is now on trial, — in all that he has written, he has merely proclaimed the sentiments with which, from his infancy, I have inspired him.
Gentlemen, Jurors, the right to criticize a law, and to criticize it severely – especially a penal – is placed beside the duty of amelioration, like the torch beside the work under the artisan’s hand. The right of the journalist is a sacred, as necessary, as the right of the legislator.
What are the circumstances? A man, a convict, a sentenced wretch, is dragged, on a certain morning, to one of our public squares. There he finds the scaffold! He shudders. He struggles. He refuses to die. The victim clings to the scaffold, and shrieks for pardon. His clothes are torn, … his shoulders bloody… still he resists. They drag him forth, haggard, bloody, weeping, pleading… howling for life… calling upon God, calling upon his father and mother, … For like a very child had this man become in the prospect of death — they drag him forth to execution. He is hoisted on the scaffold, and his head falls!
And then through every conscience runs a shoulder. Never had legal murder appeared with an aspect so indecent, so abominable. All feel jointly implicated in the deed… it is at this very moment that from a young man’s breast escapes a cry, wrung from his very heart… a cry of pity and anguish… a cry of horror… a cry of humanity. And this cry would punish! And in the face of the appalling facts which I have narrated, you would say to the guillotine, “Thou art right!” and to Pity, saintly Pity, “Thou art wrong!”
Gentlemen of the Jury, it cannot be! Gentlemen, I have finished.
“The Collar”
Oratorical Piece
struck the board, and cried, no more.
I will abroad.
What? Shall I ever sigh and pine?
My lines and life are free; free as the road,
Loose as the wind, as large as store.
Shall I be still in suit?
Have I no harvest but a thorn
To let me blood, and not restore
What I have lost with cordial fruit?
Sure there was wine
Before my sighs did dry it: there was corn
Before my tears did drown it.
Is the year only lost to me?
Have I no bays to crown it?
No flowers, no garlands gay? All blasted?
All wasted?
Not so, my heart: but there is fruit,
And thou hast hands.
Recover all thy sigh-blown age
On double pleasures: leave thy cold dispute
Of what is fit, and not.
Forsake thy cage, thy rope of sands,
Which petty thoughts have made, and made to thee
Good cable, to enforce and draw,
And be thy law,
While thou didst wink and wouldst not see.
Away; take heed,
I will abroad.
Call in thy death’s head there: tie up thy fears.
He that forbears
To suit and serve his need,
Deserves his load.
But as I raved and grew more fierce and wild
At every word,
Me thoughts I heard one calling, child:
And I replied, my Lord.
struck the board, and cried, no more.
I will abroad.
What? Shall I ever sigh and pine?
My lines and life are free; free as the road,
Loose as the wind, as large as store.
Shall I be still in suit?
Have I no harvest but a thorn
To let me blood, and not restore
What I have lost with cordial fruit?
Sure there was wine
Before my sighs did dry it: there was corn
Before my tears did drown it.
Is the year only lost to me?
Have I no bays to crown it?
No flowers, no garlands gay? All blasted?
All wasted?
Not so, my heart: but there is fruit,
And thou hast hands.
Recover all thy sigh-blown age
On double pleasures: leave thy cold dispute
Of what is fit, and not.
Forsake thy cage, thy rope of sands,
Which petty thoughts have made, and made to thee
Good cable, to enforce and draw,
And be thy law,
While thou didst wink and wouldst not see.
Away; take heed,
I will abroad.
Call in thy death’s head there: tie up thy fears.
He that forbears
To suit and serve his need,
Deserves his load.
But as I raved and grew more fierce and wild
At every word,
Me thoughts I heard one calling, child:
And I replied, my Lord.
"The City In The Sea"
Oratorical Piece
Lo! Death has reared himself a throne
In a strange city lying alone
Far down within the dim West,
Where the good, the bad, and the worst and the best
Have gone to their eternal rest.
There shrines and palaces and towers
(Time-eaten towers that tremble not)
Resemble nothing that is ours
Around, by lifting winds forgot
Resignedly beneath the sky
The melancholy waters lie.
No rays from the holy heaven come down
On the long night-time of that town;
But light from out the lurid sea
Streams up the turrets silently
Gleams up the pinnacles far and free –
Up domes – up spires – up kingly halls –
Up fanes – up Babylon – like walls –
Up shadowy long – forgotten bowers
Of sculptured ivy and stone flowers –
Up many and many marvelous shrine
Whose wreathed friezes intertwine
The viol, the violet, and the vine
Resignedly beneath the sky
The melancholy waters lie.
So blend the turrets and shadow there
That seem pendulous in the air
While from a proud tower in the town
Death looks gigantically down.
There open fanes and gaping graves
Yawn level with the luminous waves:
But not the riches there that lie
In each idol’s diamond eye –
Not the gaily-jeweled dead
Tempt the waters from their bed:
For no ripple curl, alas!
Along the wilderness of glass –
No swellings tell that winds may be
Upon some far-off happier sea –
No heaving hints that winds have been
No seas less hideously serene.
But lo, a stir is in the air!
The wave – there is a movement there!
As if the towers had thrust aside,
In slightly sinking, the dull tide –
As if their tops had feebly given
A void within the filmy Heaven.
The waves have now a redder glow –
The hours are breathing faint and low –
And when, amid no earthly moans,
Down, down that town shall settle hence,
Hell, rising from a thousand thrones,
Shall do it reverence.
Lo! Death has reared himself a throne
In a strange city lying alone
Far down within the dim West,
Where the good, the bad, and the worst and the best
Have gone to their eternal rest.
There shrines and palaces and towers
(Time-eaten towers that tremble not)
Resemble nothing that is ours
Around, by lifting winds forgot
Resignedly beneath the sky
The melancholy waters lie.
No rays from the holy heaven come down
On the long night-time of that town;
But light from out the lurid sea
Streams up the turrets silently
Gleams up the pinnacles far and free –
Up domes – up spires – up kingly halls –
Up fanes – up Babylon – like walls –
Up shadowy long – forgotten bowers
Of sculptured ivy and stone flowers –
Up many and many marvelous shrine
Whose wreathed friezes intertwine
The viol, the violet, and the vine
Resignedly beneath the sky
The melancholy waters lie.
So blend the turrets and shadow there
That seem pendulous in the air
While from a proud tower in the town
Death looks gigantically down.
There open fanes and gaping graves
Yawn level with the luminous waves:
But not the riches there that lie
In each idol’s diamond eye –
Not the gaily-jeweled dead
Tempt the waters from their bed:
For no ripple curl, alas!
Along the wilderness of glass –
No swellings tell that winds may be
Upon some far-off happier sea –
No heaving hints that winds have been
No seas less hideously serene.
But lo, a stir is in the air!
The wave – there is a movement there!
As if the towers had thrust aside,
In slightly sinking, the dull tide –
As if their tops had feebly given
A void within the filmy Heaven.
The waves have now a redder glow –
The hours are breathing faint and low –
And when, amid no earthly moans,
Down, down that town shall settle hence,
Hell, rising from a thousand thrones,
Shall do it reverence.
"The Charcoal-Burner’s Son"
Oratorical Piece
Best Piece for Elocution Contest!
My father he’s at the kiln away.
My mother sits at her spinning;
But wait, I’ll too be a man someday,
And a sweetheart I’ll be winning.
So dark it is far off in the forest.
At dawn I am up and off with the sun –
Hurrah! When the sun’s a-shimmer,
To father then with his food with me,
And long mountain shadows are thrown there.
So dark it is far off in the forest.
Tralala! As glad as a bird in flight
I’ll sing as the path I follow.
But harsh the reply from the mountain high,
And the woods are heavy and hollow.
So dark it is far off in the forest.
The shadows come down so thick, so thick,
As if curtains were drawn together,
There’s rustle and rattle of stone and stick,
And trolls are walking the heather,
So dark it is far off in the forest.
There’s one! There are two! In their net they’ll take
Me, alas! – how the fires are waving!
They beckon, O God, do not forsake me!
By flight my life I’d be saving,
So dark it is far off in the forest.
The hours went by, the daylight was gone,
The way it grew ever more wild now,
There’s whispering and rustling over stick and over stone
As over the heath runs the child now.
So dark it is far off in the forest.
With rosy-red cheeks and heart beating fast,
To his father’s kiln swiftly fleeing, he fell.
“My dear son, oh, welcome at last!”
Tis trolls, aye, and worse I’ve been seeing.
So dark it is far off in the forest.”
“My son, it is long here I’ve had to dwell,
But my God has preserved me from evil.
Whoever knows his Our Father well
Fears neither for troll nor for devil,
Though dark it is far off in the forest.”
Best Piece for Elocution Contest!
My father he’s at the kiln away.
My mother sits at her spinning;
But wait, I’ll too be a man someday,
And a sweetheart I’ll be winning.
So dark it is far off in the forest.
At dawn I am up and off with the sun –
Hurrah! When the sun’s a-shimmer,
To father then with his food with me,
And long mountain shadows are thrown there.
So dark it is far off in the forest.
Tralala! As glad as a bird in flight
I’ll sing as the path I follow.
But harsh the reply from the mountain high,
And the woods are heavy and hollow.
So dark it is far off in the forest.
The shadows come down so thick, so thick,
As if curtains were drawn together,
There’s rustle and rattle of stone and stick,
And trolls are walking the heather,
So dark it is far off in the forest.
There’s one! There are two! In their net they’ll take
Me, alas! – how the fires are waving!
They beckon, O God, do not forsake me!
By flight my life I’d be saving,
So dark it is far off in the forest.
The hours went by, the daylight was gone,
The way it grew ever more wild now,
There’s whispering and rustling over stick and over stone
As over the heath runs the child now.
So dark it is far off in the forest.
With rosy-red cheeks and heart beating fast,
To his father’s kiln swiftly fleeing, he fell.
“My dear son, oh, welcome at last!”
Tis trolls, aye, and worse I’ve been seeing.
So dark it is far off in the forest.”
“My son, it is long here I’ve had to dwell,
But my God has preserved me from evil.
Whoever knows his Our Father well
Fears neither for troll nor for devil,
Though dark it is far off in the forest.”
“The Champion”
Oratorical Piece
In the vast expanse of a timeless place
Where Silence ruled the outer space
Ominously towering it stood
The symbol of a spirit war
Between the one named Lucifer, and the Morningstar, the ultimate of good.
Enveloped by a trillion planets
Clean as lightning, and hard as granite
A cosmic coliseum would host the end,
Of the war between the lord of sin and death
And the omnipotent creator of man’s first breath
Who will decide, who forever will be…..
The audience for the fight of the ages was assembled and in place.
The angels came in splendor from a star.
The saints that had gone before were there, Jeremiah, Enoch, Job.
They were singing the song of Zion on David’s harp.
The demons arived, offensive and vile, cursing and blaspheming God
Followed by their trophies dead and gone.
Hitler, Napoleon, Pharoh, Capone, tormented, vexed, and grieved
And waiting for their judgment from the throne.
Then a chill swept through the mammoth crowd
And the demons squealed with glee
As a sorid, vulgar, repulsive essence was felt.
Arrogantly prancing, hands held high, draped in a sparkling shroud,
Trolled by demons, Satan ascended from Hell.
Then Satan cringed, the sinners groaned, the demons reeled in pain
As as swell of power like silent thunder rolled.
With a surge of light beyond intense illuminating the universe,
In resplendent glory appeared the Son of God.
Then a persona, yes, extraordinaire appeared in center ring.
God the Father will oversee the duel.
Opening the Book of Life, each grand stand hushed in awe
As majestically he said, “Now, here’s the rules:
He’ll be wounded for their transgressions, bruised for iniquities.”
When he said, “By His stripes they’re healed,” the devil shook.
He said, “Sickness is my specialty – I hate that healing junk.”
God said, “You shut your face – I wrote the book.”
Then the Father looked at His only son and said,
“You know the rules. Your blood will cleanse their sin and calm their fears.”
Then he pointed His finger at Satan and said,
“And I know you know the rules,
You’ve been twisting them to deceive my people for years.”
Satan cried, “I’ll kill you Christ! You will never win this fight.”
The demons wheezed, “That’s right, there ain’t no way.”
Satan jeered, “You’re dead meat Jesus, I’m gonna bust you up tonight.”
Jesus said, “Go ahead, make my day!”
The bell, the crowd, the fight was on, and the Devil leaped in fury.
With all his evil tricks he came undone.
He threw his jabs of hate and lust, a stab of pride and envy,
But the hands that knew no sin blocked every one.
Forty days and nights they fought and Satan couldn’t touch Him.
Now the final blow saved for the final round.
Prophetically Christ’s hands came down and Satan struck in vengeance.
The blow of death fell Jesus to the ground.
The devils roared in victory, the saints shocked and perplexed
As wounds appeared upon His hands and feet.
The Satan kicked Him in His side and blood and water flowed
And they waited for the ten count of defeat.
God the Father turned His head. His tears announcing Christ was dead.
The ten count would proclaim the battle’s end.
The Satan trembled through his sweat in unexpected horror yet,
As God started the count by saying, “…10…”
Hey wait a minute God,
“…9…”
Stop, you’re counting wrong,
“…8…”
His eyes are moving…
“…7…”
His fingers are twitching…
“…6…”
Where’s all this light coming from…
“…5…”
He’s alive
“…4…”
Oh no…
“…3…2…”
Oh yes
He has won!
He has won!
He’s alive forevermore, He is risen, He is Lord.
He has won!
He has won!
He’s alive forevermore, He has risen, He is Lord.
Proclaim the news in every tongue, through endless ages and beyond.
Let it be voiced from mountains loud and strong,
Captivity has been set free, salvation bought for you and me,
Cause Satan is defeated and Jesus is THE CHAMPION!
In the vast expanse of a timeless place
Where Silence ruled the outer space
Ominously towering it stood
The symbol of a spirit war
Between the one named Lucifer, and the Morningstar, the ultimate of good.
Enveloped by a trillion planets
Clean as lightning, and hard as granite
A cosmic coliseum would host the end,
Of the war between the lord of sin and death
And the omnipotent creator of man’s first breath
Who will decide, who forever will be…..
The audience for the fight of the ages was assembled and in place.
The angels came in splendor from a star.
The saints that had gone before were there, Jeremiah, Enoch, Job.
They were singing the song of Zion on David’s harp.
The demons arived, offensive and vile, cursing and blaspheming God
Followed by their trophies dead and gone.
Hitler, Napoleon, Pharoh, Capone, tormented, vexed, and grieved
And waiting for their judgment from the throne.
Then a chill swept through the mammoth crowd
And the demons squealed with glee
As a sorid, vulgar, repulsive essence was felt.
Arrogantly prancing, hands held high, draped in a sparkling shroud,
Trolled by demons, Satan ascended from Hell.
Then Satan cringed, the sinners groaned, the demons reeled in pain
As as swell of power like silent thunder rolled.
With a surge of light beyond intense illuminating the universe,
In resplendent glory appeared the Son of God.
Then a persona, yes, extraordinaire appeared in center ring.
God the Father will oversee the duel.
Opening the Book of Life, each grand stand hushed in awe
As majestically he said, “Now, here’s the rules:
He’ll be wounded for their transgressions, bruised for iniquities.”
When he said, “By His stripes they’re healed,” the devil shook.
He said, “Sickness is my specialty – I hate that healing junk.”
God said, “You shut your face – I wrote the book.”
Then the Father looked at His only son and said,
“You know the rules. Your blood will cleanse their sin and calm their fears.”
Then he pointed His finger at Satan and said,
“And I know you know the rules,
You’ve been twisting them to deceive my people for years.”
Satan cried, “I’ll kill you Christ! You will never win this fight.”
The demons wheezed, “That’s right, there ain’t no way.”
Satan jeered, “You’re dead meat Jesus, I’m gonna bust you up tonight.”
Jesus said, “Go ahead, make my day!”
The bell, the crowd, the fight was on, and the Devil leaped in fury.
With all his evil tricks he came undone.
He threw his jabs of hate and lust, a stab of pride and envy,
But the hands that knew no sin blocked every one.
Forty days and nights they fought and Satan couldn’t touch Him.
Now the final blow saved for the final round.
Prophetically Christ’s hands came down and Satan struck in vengeance.
The blow of death fell Jesus to the ground.
The devils roared in victory, the saints shocked and perplexed
As wounds appeared upon His hands and feet.
The Satan kicked Him in His side and blood and water flowed
And they waited for the ten count of defeat.
God the Father turned His head. His tears announcing Christ was dead.
The ten count would proclaim the battle’s end.
The Satan trembled through his sweat in unexpected horror yet,
As God started the count by saying, “…10…”
Hey wait a minute God,
“…9…”
Stop, you’re counting wrong,
“…8…”
His eyes are moving…
“…7…”
His fingers are twitching…
“…6…”
Where’s all this light coming from…
“…5…”
He’s alive
“…4…”
Oh no…
“…3…2…”
Oh yes
He has won!
He has won!
He’s alive forevermore, He is risen, He is Lord.
He has won!
He has won!
He’s alive forevermore, He has risen, He is Lord.
Proclaim the news in every tongue, through endless ages and beyond.
Let it be voiced from mountains loud and strong,
Captivity has been set free, salvation bought for you and me,
Cause Satan is defeated and Jesus is THE CHAMPION!
“Taken For Granted”
Oratorical Piece
“Christians? Christians?”
Have you heard that call? They’re looking for me. That’s definitely me. You’re in doubt and Why? You want me to give you proofs? Oh! That’s very easy.
Who told you to doubt that I am a Christian?
I am a Christian! How?
I went to church. I pray. I have my religion. I read the Bible. I love kids and I am giving them what they want. I sing gospel songs. Now you’re telling me that you are in doubt?
How dare you to question me?
Can’t you see? Or Are you blind? I am the true definition of a Christian. You’re so pathetic; you don’t have the right to question me that way.
What?! You want to ask me more?!… I’ll think about it for a second. Hmhm… Ok! I’m sure I’ll be able to answer all your questions fluently. Go… Ask me….
You’re asking me if I go to church every Sunday?! I told you… I GO TO CHURCH… ahmm b-bu-but not every Sunday. Every other Sunday I guess that’s fine with the Lord.
Why?! I-I-I have a project every other Sunday. Yes r-r-right, I have a project. The Lord understands that.
Liar?! I’m not a liar. I’m telling you the truth in fact I went to church last three Sundays straight and Oh my Gosh Cris is in the stage he’s starting to play the guitar.
Ooops I slip!
Ok fine. I went to church three times straight without absent b-because of Cris. He’s cute, he’s talented. And I’m still there for the Lord.
Liar? I’m not a liar. I am still a Christian. It so happen that I don’t have any projects that Sunday.
Ahhh! Fake?! I’m not a fake Christian; at least I go to church.
Don’t shout! Ahhh! I said I’m not a fake Christian, I-I-I pray… every other day. At least I pray.
No! I said I am a true Christian I read the Bible. I open it… Every time the Pastor is telling me to do so.
Ok stop. Why do we need to argue? I guess I really don’t know what Christianity is?
Ok! I go to church not because of Christ but because of Chris! I’m sleeping every time there is a sermon because I only love the music. I don’t read my Bible because I guess that’s boring. I sing… “Jesus, I surrender I draw nearer, I fall down” but the truth I’m not sincere with that. But I guess my works will be credited in his name. I share my blessings to the poor, i give gifts every Sunday and I have a religion I guess that works…I don’t know.
Right, Ephesians 2: 8-9 was right. It is not by works that I will be saved because Jesus is the only way. And I am so wrong I don’t even mind his sacrifices on the cross. I am supposed to be there because those are my sins. I forgot my purpose here on earth; you know what, he’s been good to me. But I always take him for granted. I’m doing things not for his glory but for my own. I should live for him because he died for me. I’m so ashamed now. But Lord you still forgave me. You’re so good. And you brought me to my knees.
Now I’m talking and standing in front of you and I don’t care if you are going to laugh at me. I care to tell you things that I believe I must tell you. He won everything in me and he’s been waiting for you too… If you believe you have him, you may now shout what Carman once wrote “Jesus is the Champion”.
“Christians? Christians?”
Have you heard that call? They’re looking for me. That’s definitely me. You’re in doubt and Why? You want me to give you proofs? Oh! That’s very easy.
Who told you to doubt that I am a Christian?
I am a Christian! How?
I went to church. I pray. I have my religion. I read the Bible. I love kids and I am giving them what they want. I sing gospel songs. Now you’re telling me that you are in doubt?
How dare you to question me?
Can’t you see? Or Are you blind? I am the true definition of a Christian. You’re so pathetic; you don’t have the right to question me that way.
What?! You want to ask me more?!… I’ll think about it for a second. Hmhm… Ok! I’m sure I’ll be able to answer all your questions fluently. Go… Ask me….
You’re asking me if I go to church every Sunday?! I told you… I GO TO CHURCH… ahmm b-bu-but not every Sunday. Every other Sunday I guess that’s fine with the Lord.
Why?! I-I-I have a project every other Sunday. Yes r-r-right, I have a project. The Lord understands that.
Liar?! I’m not a liar. I’m telling you the truth in fact I went to church last three Sundays straight and Oh my Gosh Cris is in the stage he’s starting to play the guitar.
Ooops I slip!
Ok fine. I went to church three times straight without absent b-because of Cris. He’s cute, he’s talented. And I’m still there for the Lord.
Liar? I’m not a liar. I am still a Christian. It so happen that I don’t have any projects that Sunday.
Ahhh! Fake?! I’m not a fake Christian; at least I go to church.
Don’t shout! Ahhh! I said I’m not a fake Christian, I-I-I pray… every other day. At least I pray.
No! I said I am a true Christian I read the Bible. I open it… Every time the Pastor is telling me to do so.
Ok stop. Why do we need to argue? I guess I really don’t know what Christianity is?
Ok! I go to church not because of Christ but because of Chris! I’m sleeping every time there is a sermon because I only love the music. I don’t read my Bible because I guess that’s boring. I sing… “Jesus, I surrender I draw nearer, I fall down” but the truth I’m not sincere with that. But I guess my works will be credited in his name. I share my blessings to the poor, i give gifts every Sunday and I have a religion I guess that works…I don’t know.
Right, Ephesians 2: 8-9 was right. It is not by works that I will be saved because Jesus is the only way. And I am so wrong I don’t even mind his sacrifices on the cross. I am supposed to be there because those are my sins. I forgot my purpose here on earth; you know what, he’s been good to me. But I always take him for granted. I’m doing things not for his glory but for my own. I should live for him because he died for me. I’m so ashamed now. But Lord you still forgave me. You’re so good. And you brought me to my knees.
Now I’m talking and standing in front of you and I don’t care if you are going to laugh at me. I care to tell you things that I believe I must tell you. He won everything in me and he’s been waiting for you too… If you believe you have him, you may now shout what Carman once wrote “Jesus is the Champion”.
"Poor Boy"
Oratorical Piece
By Mary Ann Villanueva Oppus
Look at me!!! I am part of the masses... the facet of society many so often push around... Why can't they ever stop to think... that, I am human too... that I, too, feel like them... Why can't you answer me??? You must have something in mind... Why can't you answer me??? I know you must have something in mind... Where is their sense of morality??? They trampled upon me as if I was trash... I never did them any wrong!!! Was it a sin I committed when I came to this world as a poor boy??? A poor boy... yes that's what I am... A state of being I didn't even choose at the first place. Was it a sin I committed, to be born like this?? Now tell me!!! Did you ever have the right to choose your status in life when you were born??? Think!!! Before you condemn me... Do I ever have a choice?
I am deprived of all the chances in life... I am looked down upon by people as someone who is too dirty... too smelly... too poor... but I have a heart... Yes!!! I have a golden heart... For every coin I get out of begging helps my younger siblings to survive. The money I earn goes a long way to feed my family... How about you??? How do you feed your family??? Are you 100% sure you work decent enough to earn more??? Are you sure that the money you earned didn't come from a dirty strategy other corrupt politicians used to do to gain power? Can you honestly look at your child straight in the eye true to your heart's core and with a clear conscience?? Have you ever been aware that the money you use to feed your family is an outcome of your hard labor and decent job you can always be proud of??? WHY DID YOU SUDDENLY BECOME QUIET??? WHAT IS IN YOUR MIND NOW?? Tell me!!! Come on, tell me!!!
Huh!!! You have good clothes, you never experienced sleeping without a roof, you eat good food, you enjoy the comforts of life... But, somewhere deep in your mind, your conscience haunts you... Yes... you will never sleep good... Within your subconscious mind, your guilty conscience still haunts you, constantly reminding you about your evil ways... Wow... And you still think you are clean???
Outside, you smell fresh and clean, but deep within your soul... I know you stink... Oh... I believe that kind of smell goes through your body... Yes your soul is bound to burn in hell!!! And look at me! I am just a poor boy... honestly begging for mercy from people like you, to feed my brothers and sisters... to survive, but I never stepped down on anyone. I never stole from anyone nor did I ever use anyone to improve our lives... I can sleep good... Can you??? With a kind conscience like that, well, I don't think so. You will never sleep well... you don't have any right to sleep with a sound mind and a light heart...
By Mary Ann Villanueva Oppus
Look at me!!! I am part of the masses... the facet of society many so often push around... Why can't they ever stop to think... that, I am human too... that I, too, feel like them... Why can't you answer me??? You must have something in mind... Why can't you answer me??? I know you must have something in mind... Where is their sense of morality??? They trampled upon me as if I was trash... I never did them any wrong!!! Was it a sin I committed when I came to this world as a poor boy??? A poor boy... yes that's what I am... A state of being I didn't even choose at the first place. Was it a sin I committed, to be born like this?? Now tell me!!! Did you ever have the right to choose your status in life when you were born??? Think!!! Before you condemn me... Do I ever have a choice?
I am deprived of all the chances in life... I am looked down upon by people as someone who is too dirty... too smelly... too poor... but I have a heart... Yes!!! I have a golden heart... For every coin I get out of begging helps my younger siblings to survive. The money I earn goes a long way to feed my family... How about you??? How do you feed your family??? Are you 100% sure you work decent enough to earn more??? Are you sure that the money you earned didn't come from a dirty strategy other corrupt politicians used to do to gain power? Can you honestly look at your child straight in the eye true to your heart's core and with a clear conscience?? Have you ever been aware that the money you use to feed your family is an outcome of your hard labor and decent job you can always be proud of??? WHY DID YOU SUDDENLY BECOME QUIET??? WHAT IS IN YOUR MIND NOW?? Tell me!!! Come on, tell me!!!
Huh!!! You have good clothes, you never experienced sleeping without a roof, you eat good food, you enjoy the comforts of life... But, somewhere deep in your mind, your conscience haunts you... Yes... you will never sleep good... Within your subconscious mind, your guilty conscience still haunts you, constantly reminding you about your evil ways... Wow... And you still think you are clean???
Outside, you smell fresh and clean, but deep within your soul... I know you stink... Oh... I believe that kind of smell goes through your body... Yes your soul is bound to burn in hell!!! And look at me! I am just a poor boy... honestly begging for mercy from people like you, to feed my brothers and sisters... to survive, but I never stepped down on anyone. I never stole from anyone nor did I ever use anyone to improve our lives... I can sleep good... Can you??? With a kind conscience like that, well, I don't think so. You will never sleep well... you don't have any right to sleep with a sound mind and a light heart...
“Oh Captain My Captain”
Oratorical Piece
Oh Captain my Captain! our fearful trip is done,
The ship has weathered every rack, the prize we sought is won,
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;
But Oh heart! heart! heart!
Oh the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
Oh Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up–for you the flag is flung for you the bugle trills,
For you bouquets and ribboned wreaths for you the shores a-crowding,
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head!
It is some dream that on the deck,
You’ve fallen cold and dead.
My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchored safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;
Exult Oh shores, and ring Oh bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
Oh Captain my Captain! our fearful trip is done,
The ship has weathered every rack, the prize we sought is won,
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;
But Oh heart! heart! heart!
Oh the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
Oh Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up–for you the flag is flung for you the bugle trills,
For you bouquets and ribboned wreaths for you the shores a-crowding,
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head!
It is some dream that on the deck,
You’ve fallen cold and dead.
My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchored safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;
Exult Oh shores, and ring Oh bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
"My Get Up And Go Has Got Up And Went"
Oratorical Piece
How do I know that my youth’s all spent?
Well, my get up and go has got up and went.
But in spite of it all, I am able to grin
When I recall where my get up has been.
Old age is golden, so I’ve heard it said,
But sometimes I wonder, when I get into bed…
My ears in a drawer and teeth in a cup,
My eyes on the table until I wake up.
The sleep dims my eyes, I say to myself –
“Is there anything else I should lay on the shelf?”
And I am happy to say as I close my door,
My friends are the same, perhaps even more.
When I was young, my slippers were red,
I could kick up my heels right over my head,
When I grew older my slippers were blue,
But still I could dance the whole night through.
Now I am old, my slippers are black.
I walk to the store and puff my way back;
The reason I know my youth is all spent,
My get up and go has got up and went.
But I really don’t mind, when I think with a grin.
Of all the grand places my get up has been.
Since I have retired from life’s competition,
I busy myself with complete repetition.
I get up each morning, dust off my wits,
Pick up my paper, and read the “Orbits”.
If my name is missing, I know I’m not dead.
So I eat a good breakfast, and go back to bed.
How do I know that my youth’s all spent?
Well, my get up and go has got up and went.
But in spite of it all, I am able to grin
When I recall where my get up has been.
Old age is golden, so I’ve heard it said,
But sometimes I wonder, when I get into bed…
My ears in a drawer and teeth in a cup,
My eyes on the table until I wake up.
The sleep dims my eyes, I say to myself –
“Is there anything else I should lay on the shelf?”
And I am happy to say as I close my door,
My friends are the same, perhaps even more.
When I was young, my slippers were red,
I could kick up my heels right over my head,
When I grew older my slippers were blue,
But still I could dance the whole night through.
Now I am old, my slippers are black.
I walk to the store and puff my way back;
The reason I know my youth is all spent,
My get up and go has got up and went.
But I really don’t mind, when I think with a grin.
Of all the grand places my get up has been.
Since I have retired from life’s competition,
I busy myself with complete repetition.
I get up each morning, dust off my wits,
Pick up my paper, and read the “Orbits”.
If my name is missing, I know I’m not dead.
So I eat a good breakfast, and go back to bed.
“Murderess”
Oratorical Piece
It’s already twelve o’clock. Oh, God, I’m hungry! I’ve been running and hiding for almost three days. I’m dead tired. I need some rest. But no, they are looking for me! And if they find me, I will be put to jail. But, where can I hide? Leo’s father is so influential, so powerful. He is the governor of our great province and I happened to kill his son!
No, don’t accuse me like that! I’m not a murderess! Hear me, I’m begging you, I tell you I’m not a murderess.
Audience, let me explain, please.
Okay, okay, okay! It all happened in school one day. I went to the library to find a book. Then I found it. I got so engrossed to what I was reading that I almost didn’t notice the time. It was gone past six and, oh my! I think I was the only student left in the library. To my dismay, Leo was waiting for me outside. I wanted to hide but it was too late. He was already in front of me.
“Hi, Brenda! Can I drive you home?”
I shook my head irritatingly. My God, how I hate him! He often sends me scented love letters in pink stationery which I sent back all unopened. He sends me roses and chocolates, too. They are my favorites. I wanted so much to eat the chocolates, but I hate the person who gave them. So I throw them into the trash. How could I ever get away from this guy?
“Hey, Leo, wait a minute! If you want to drive me home, thanks, but no thanks! I’m old enough to go home on my own, okay? So, please stop following me like a dog! And besides, I’m too young for love and I don’t accept any suitors, understand?”
“But, Brenda, I love you! Can’t you understand? I can give you anything you want. Say it and you’ll have it. And, Brenda, remember, I can get everything I want by hook or crook. So you’d better be good to me or else. Ha… ha… ha…!”
And he started laughing like a monster. I got so scared. I know how powerful his family was, but I still insisted, “Leo, how can you be such a jerk? I don’t like you and I don’t love you. In fact, I hate you! Now, will you leave me alone?”
But instead of leaving, do you know what he did? He pushed me so hard against the wall and started kissing me. I was shouting for help, but no, no one was there!
“Somebody, help me, please! Please, please! Help! Help!”
Then he gave me a big, big punch on my stomach. Oh my God! It was painful!
But even before he reached for me again, I spotted a rusty knife and grabbed it.
“Now, Mr. Leo Monteverde, try to kiss me again, attempt to rape me again, and I will never ever forgive you! Go to hell! Um… um… ummm!”
I didn’t know how many times I pushed the rusty knife in his body. Then I noticed something. Blood, blood… there’s a blood on my hands!
Leo, Leo…! Oh, God! I killed Leo! No, I’m not a murderess! He was going to rape me and I just defended myself. I didn’t mean to do it, I’m not a murderess! I’m not a murderess! But I killed Leo…! I killed him! I’m a murderess! Ha! Ha! I’m a murderess! Ha! Ha! Ha!
It’s already twelve o’clock. Oh, God, I’m hungry! I’ve been running and hiding for almost three days. I’m dead tired. I need some rest. But no, they are looking for me! And if they find me, I will be put to jail. But, where can I hide? Leo’s father is so influential, so powerful. He is the governor of our great province and I happened to kill his son!
No, don’t accuse me like that! I’m not a murderess! Hear me, I’m begging you, I tell you I’m not a murderess.
Audience, let me explain, please.
Okay, okay, okay! It all happened in school one day. I went to the library to find a book. Then I found it. I got so engrossed to what I was reading that I almost didn’t notice the time. It was gone past six and, oh my! I think I was the only student left in the library. To my dismay, Leo was waiting for me outside. I wanted to hide but it was too late. He was already in front of me.
“Hi, Brenda! Can I drive you home?”
I shook my head irritatingly. My God, how I hate him! He often sends me scented love letters in pink stationery which I sent back all unopened. He sends me roses and chocolates, too. They are my favorites. I wanted so much to eat the chocolates, but I hate the person who gave them. So I throw them into the trash. How could I ever get away from this guy?
“Hey, Leo, wait a minute! If you want to drive me home, thanks, but no thanks! I’m old enough to go home on my own, okay? So, please stop following me like a dog! And besides, I’m too young for love and I don’t accept any suitors, understand?”
“But, Brenda, I love you! Can’t you understand? I can give you anything you want. Say it and you’ll have it. And, Brenda, remember, I can get everything I want by hook or crook. So you’d better be good to me or else. Ha… ha… ha…!”
And he started laughing like a monster. I got so scared. I know how powerful his family was, but I still insisted, “Leo, how can you be such a jerk? I don’t like you and I don’t love you. In fact, I hate you! Now, will you leave me alone?”
But instead of leaving, do you know what he did? He pushed me so hard against the wall and started kissing me. I was shouting for help, but no, no one was there!
“Somebody, help me, please! Please, please! Help! Help!”
Then he gave me a big, big punch on my stomach. Oh my God! It was painful!
But even before he reached for me again, I spotted a rusty knife and grabbed it.
“Now, Mr. Leo Monteverde, try to kiss me again, attempt to rape me again, and I will never ever forgive you! Go to hell! Um… um… ummm!”
I didn’t know how many times I pushed the rusty knife in his body. Then I noticed something. Blood, blood… there’s a blood on my hands!
Leo, Leo…! Oh, God! I killed Leo! No, I’m not a murderess! He was going to rape me and I just defended myself. I didn’t mean to do it, I’m not a murderess! I’m not a murderess! But I killed Leo…! I killed him! I’m a murderess! Ha! Ha! I’m a murderess! Ha! Ha! Ha!
"Man Upon The Cross"
Oratorical Piece
Upon the cross against the hills of the night
They nailed the man, and while
they speared his breast they made him drink the bile.
He bore the pains alone, alone
But in the hallowed darkness saw
Sweet Mary’s face upturned in grief below.
Tears filmed her eyes, but love
chastened the tragic beauty of her face
which neither death nor sorrow could erase.
He saw and feebly in the silence strove
to speak a few remembered words:
but now the whispers left his lips
like tender birds.
His arms were cold and death
was in his eyes; the streams
of blood were dry upon the whiteness of his limbs.
His breath was like a wounded bird
wanting to stay, to stay, bereft
now Mary rose and treasuring
his sorrow, left.
Upon the cross against the hills of the night
They nailed the man, and while
they speared his breast they made him drink the bile.
He bore the pains alone, alone
But in the hallowed darkness saw
Sweet Mary’s face upturned in grief below.
Tears filmed her eyes, but love
chastened the tragic beauty of her face
which neither death nor sorrow could erase.
He saw and feebly in the silence strove
to speak a few remembered words:
but now the whispers left his lips
like tender birds.
His arms were cold and death
was in his eyes; the streams
of blood were dry upon the whiteness of his limbs.
His breath was like a wounded bird
wanting to stay, to stay, bereft
now Mary rose and treasuring
his sorrow, left.
“Lord, Make A Regular Man Out Of Me”
Oratorical Piece
This I would like to be – braver and bolder,
Just a bit wiser because I am older,
Just a bit kinder to those I may meet,
Just a bit manlier taking defeat;
This for the New Year my wish and my pleas
Lord, make a regular man out of me.
This I would like to be – just a bit finer,
More of a smiler and less of a whiner,
Just a bit quicker to stretch out my hand
Helping another who’s struggling to stand,
This is my prayer for the New Year to be,
Lord, make a regular man out of me.
This I would like to be – just a bit fairer,
Just a bit better, and just a bit squarer,
Not quite so ready to censure and lame,
Quicker to help everyman in the game,
Not quite so eager men’s failing to see,
Lord, make a regular man out of me.
This I would like to be – just a bit truer,
Less of the wisher and more of the doer,
Broader and bigger, more willing to give,
Living and helping my neighbor to live!
This is for the New Year my prayer and my plea
Lord, make a regular man out of me.
This I would like to be – braver and bolder,
Just a bit wiser because I am older,
Just a bit kinder to those I may meet,
Just a bit manlier taking defeat;
This for the New Year my wish and my pleas
Lord, make a regular man out of me.
This I would like to be – just a bit finer,
More of a smiler and less of a whiner,
Just a bit quicker to stretch out my hand
Helping another who’s struggling to stand,
This is my prayer for the New Year to be,
Lord, make a regular man out of me.
This I would like to be – just a bit fairer,
Just a bit better, and just a bit squarer,
Not quite so ready to censure and lame,
Quicker to help everyman in the game,
Not quite so eager men’s failing to see,
Lord, make a regular man out of me.
This I would like to be – just a bit truer,
Less of the wisher and more of the doer,
Broader and bigger, more willing to give,
Living and helping my neighbor to live!
This is for the New Year my prayer and my plea
Lord, make a regular man out of me.
"Juvenile Delinquent"
Oratorical Piece
Am I a juvenile delinquent? I'm a teenager, I'm young, young at heart in mind. In this position, I'm carefree, I enjoy doing nothing but to drink the wine of pleasure. I seldom go to school, nobody cares!. But instead you can see me roaming around. Standing at the nearby canto (street). Or else standing beside a jukebox stand playing the nerve tickling bugaloo.Those are the reasons, why people, you branded me delinquent, a juvenile delinquent.
My parents ignored me, my teachers sneered at me and my friends, they neglected me. One night I asked my mother to teach me how to appreciate the values in life. Would you care what she told me? "Stop bothering me! Can't you see? I had to dress up for my mahjong session, some other time my child". I turned to my father to console me, but, what a wonderful thing he told me. "Child, here's 500 bucks, get it and enjoy yourself, go and ask your teachers that question".
And in school, I heard nothing but the echoes of the voices of my teachers torturing me with these words. "Why waste your time in studying, you can't even divide 100 by 5! Go home and plant sweet potatoes".
I may have the looks of Audrey Hepburn, the calmly voice of Nathalie Cole. But that's not what you can see in me. Here's a young girl who needs counsel to enlighten her way and guidance to strenghten her life into contentment.
Honorable judge, friends and teachers...is this the girl whom you commented a juvenile delinquent?.
Am I a juvenile delinquent? I'm a teenager, I'm young, young at heart in mind. In this position, I'm carefree, I enjoy doing nothing but to drink the wine of pleasure. I seldom go to school, nobody cares!. But instead you can see me roaming around. Standing at the nearby canto (street). Or else standing beside a jukebox stand playing the nerve tickling bugaloo.Those are the reasons, why people, you branded me delinquent, a juvenile delinquent.
My parents ignored me, my teachers sneered at me and my friends, they neglected me. One night I asked my mother to teach me how to appreciate the values in life. Would you care what she told me? "Stop bothering me! Can't you see? I had to dress up for my mahjong session, some other time my child". I turned to my father to console me, but, what a wonderful thing he told me. "Child, here's 500 bucks, get it and enjoy yourself, go and ask your teachers that question".
And in school, I heard nothing but the echoes of the voices of my teachers torturing me with these words. "Why waste your time in studying, you can't even divide 100 by 5! Go home and plant sweet potatoes".
I may have the looks of Audrey Hepburn, the calmly voice of Nathalie Cole. But that's not what you can see in me. Here's a young girl who needs counsel to enlighten her way and guidance to strenghten her life into contentment.
Honorable judge, friends and teachers...is this the girl whom you commented a juvenile delinquent?.
"Jewels of the Pauper "
Oratorical Piece
by Horacio de la Costa, S.J.
There is a thought that comes to me sometimes as I sit by my window in the evening, listening to the young men’s guitars, and watching the shadows deepen on the longs hills, the hills of my native land.
You know, we are a remarkably poor people; poor not only in material goods, but even in the riches of the spirit. I doubt we can claim to possess a truly national literature. No Shakespeare, no Cervantes has yet been born among us to touch with immortality that which is in our landscape, in our customs, in our story, that which is most original, most ourselves. If we must give currency to our thoughts, we are focused to mint them in the coinage of a foreign tongue; for we do not even have a common language.
But poor as we are, we yet have something. This pauper among the nations of the earth hides two jewels in her rages. One of them is our music. We are sundered one from another by eighty-seven dialects; we are one people when we sing. The kundimans of Bulacan awaken an answering chord of lutes of Leyte. Somewhere in the rugged north, a peasant woman croons her child to sleep; and the Visayan listening remembers the crane fields of his childhood, and his mother singing the self-made song.
We are again one people when we pray. This is our other treasure; our Faith. It gives somehow, to our little uneventful days, a kind of splendor; as though they had been touched by a king. And did you ever notice how they are always mingling, our religion and our music? All the basic rite of human life – the harvest and the seedtime, the wedding, birth and death – are among us drenched with the fragrance and the coolness of music.
These are the bonds that bind us together; these are the souls that make us one. And as long as there remains in these islands one mother to sing Nena’s lullaby, one boat to put out to sea with the immemorial rowing song, one priest to stand at the altar and offer God to God, the nation may be conquered, trampled upon, enslaved, but it cannot perish. Like the sun that dies every evening it will rise again from the dead.
by Horacio de la Costa, S.J.
There is a thought that comes to me sometimes as I sit by my window in the evening, listening to the young men’s guitars, and watching the shadows deepen on the longs hills, the hills of my native land.
You know, we are a remarkably poor people; poor not only in material goods, but even in the riches of the spirit. I doubt we can claim to possess a truly national literature. No Shakespeare, no Cervantes has yet been born among us to touch with immortality that which is in our landscape, in our customs, in our story, that which is most original, most ourselves. If we must give currency to our thoughts, we are focused to mint them in the coinage of a foreign tongue; for we do not even have a common language.
But poor as we are, we yet have something. This pauper among the nations of the earth hides two jewels in her rages. One of them is our music. We are sundered one from another by eighty-seven dialects; we are one people when we sing. The kundimans of Bulacan awaken an answering chord of lutes of Leyte. Somewhere in the rugged north, a peasant woman croons her child to sleep; and the Visayan listening remembers the crane fields of his childhood, and his mother singing the self-made song.
We are again one people when we pray. This is our other treasure; our Faith. It gives somehow, to our little uneventful days, a kind of splendor; as though they had been touched by a king. And did you ever notice how they are always mingling, our religion and our music? All the basic rite of human life – the harvest and the seedtime, the wedding, birth and death – are among us drenched with the fragrance and the coolness of music.
These are the bonds that bind us together; these are the souls that make us one. And as long as there remains in these islands one mother to sing Nena’s lullaby, one boat to put out to sea with the immemorial rowing song, one priest to stand at the altar and offer God to God, the nation may be conquered, trampled upon, enslaved, but it cannot perish. Like the sun that dies every evening it will rise again from the dead.
"If…"
Oratorical Piece
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with wornout tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!'
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run -
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man my son!
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with wornout tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!'
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run -
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man my son!
“I Demand Death!”
Oratorical Piece
My hands are wet with blood. They are crimsoned with the blood of a man I have just killed.
I have come here today to confess. I have committed murder, deliberate, premeditated murder. I have killed a man in cold blood. That man is my master.
I am here not to ask for pity but for justice. Simple, elementary justice. I am a tenant… My father was a tenant before me and so was his father before him. This misery is my inheritance and perhaps this will be my legacy to my children.
I have labored on a patch of land not mine. But I have learned to love that land, for it is the only thing that lies between me and complete destitution.
It is the only world that I have learned to cherish. And somewhere on that land I have managed to build what is now the dilapidated nipa shack that has been home to me.
I have but a few world possessions, mostly rags. My debts are heavy. They are sum total of my ignorance and the inspired arithmetic of my master, which I do not understand.
I labor like a slave and out of the fruits of that labor I get but a mere pittance for a share. And I have to stretch that mere pittance to keep myself and my family alive.
My poverty has reduced me to the bare necessities of life. And the constant fear of rejection from the land has made me totally subservient to my master. You tell me that under the constitution, I am a free man-free to do what I believe is just, free to do what I think is right, and free to worship God according to the dictate of my conscience. But I do not understand the meaning of all these for I have never known freedom. I have always obeyed the wishes of my master out of fear. I have always regarded myself as no better than a slave to the man who owns the land on which I live. I do not ask you to forgive me nor to mitigate my crime. I have taken the law into my own hands, and I must pay for it in atonement.
But kill this system. Kill this system and you kill despotism. Kill this system and you kill slavery. Kill this despotism and you set the human soul to liberty and freedom. Kill this slavery and you release the human spirit into happiness and contentment. For the cause of human liberty, of human happiness and contentment, thousands and even millions have died and will continue to die.
Mine is only one life. Take me if you must but let it be a sacrifice to the cause which countless others have been given before and will be given again and again, until the oppressive economic system has completely perished, until the sons of toil have been liberated from enslavement, and until man has been fully restored to decency and self respect.
You tell me of the right to life and liberty and the pursuit of happiness. But I have known no rights, only obligations; I have known no happiness; only despair in the encumbered existence that has always been my lot.
My dear friend, I am a peace-loving citizen. I have nothing but love for my fellowmen. And yet, why did I kill this man? It is because he was the symbol of an economic system which has made him and me what we are: He, a master, and I, a slave.
Out of a deliberate design I killed him because I could no longer stand this life of constant fear and being a servant. I could no longer suffer the thought of being perpetually a slave.
I committed the murder as an abject lesson. I want to blow that spelled the death of my master to be a death blow to the institution of the economic slavery which shamelessly exists in the bright sunlight of freedom that is guaranteed by the constitution to every man. My dear friend: I do anguish from the weak and helpless and has laid upon the back of the ignorant labor burdens that are too heavy to be borne, I demand death!
To this callous system of exploitation that has tightened the fetters of perpetual bondage in the hands of thousands, and has killed the spirit of freedom in the hearts of men, I demand death.
To this oppression that has denied liberty to the free and unbounded children of God, I DEMAND DEATH!
My hands are wet with blood. They are crimsoned with the blood of a man I have just killed.
I have come here today to confess. I have committed murder, deliberate, premeditated murder. I have killed a man in cold blood. That man is my master.
I am here not to ask for pity but for justice. Simple, elementary justice. I am a tenant… My father was a tenant before me and so was his father before him. This misery is my inheritance and perhaps this will be my legacy to my children.
I have labored on a patch of land not mine. But I have learned to love that land, for it is the only thing that lies between me and complete destitution.
It is the only world that I have learned to cherish. And somewhere on that land I have managed to build what is now the dilapidated nipa shack that has been home to me.
I have but a few world possessions, mostly rags. My debts are heavy. They are sum total of my ignorance and the inspired arithmetic of my master, which I do not understand.
I labor like a slave and out of the fruits of that labor I get but a mere pittance for a share. And I have to stretch that mere pittance to keep myself and my family alive.
My poverty has reduced me to the bare necessities of life. And the constant fear of rejection from the land has made me totally subservient to my master. You tell me that under the constitution, I am a free man-free to do what I believe is just, free to do what I think is right, and free to worship God according to the dictate of my conscience. But I do not understand the meaning of all these for I have never known freedom. I have always obeyed the wishes of my master out of fear. I have always regarded myself as no better than a slave to the man who owns the land on which I live. I do not ask you to forgive me nor to mitigate my crime. I have taken the law into my own hands, and I must pay for it in atonement.
But kill this system. Kill this system and you kill despotism. Kill this system and you kill slavery. Kill this despotism and you set the human soul to liberty and freedom. Kill this slavery and you release the human spirit into happiness and contentment. For the cause of human liberty, of human happiness and contentment, thousands and even millions have died and will continue to die.
Mine is only one life. Take me if you must but let it be a sacrifice to the cause which countless others have been given before and will be given again and again, until the oppressive economic system has completely perished, until the sons of toil have been liberated from enslavement, and until man has been fully restored to decency and self respect.
You tell me of the right to life and liberty and the pursuit of happiness. But I have known no rights, only obligations; I have known no happiness; only despair in the encumbered existence that has always been my lot.
My dear friend, I am a peace-loving citizen. I have nothing but love for my fellowmen. And yet, why did I kill this man? It is because he was the symbol of an economic system which has made him and me what we are: He, a master, and I, a slave.
Out of a deliberate design I killed him because I could no longer stand this life of constant fear and being a servant. I could no longer suffer the thought of being perpetually a slave.
I committed the murder as an abject lesson. I want to blow that spelled the death of my master to be a death blow to the institution of the economic slavery which shamelessly exists in the bright sunlight of freedom that is guaranteed by the constitution to every man. My dear friend: I do anguish from the weak and helpless and has laid upon the back of the ignorant labor burdens that are too heavy to be borne, I demand death!
To this callous system of exploitation that has tightened the fetters of perpetual bondage in the hands of thousands, and has killed the spirit of freedom in the hearts of men, I demand death.
To this oppression that has denied liberty to the free and unbounded children of God, I DEMAND DEATH!
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