POETRY: DECLAMATION PIECE, POEMS, SPEECH

A CALL FOR MOM AND DAD Ring... ring... ring... is it the phone? My, it's two o'clock in the morning yet. But wait. It is Dad. Has he just got home from the business meeting, maybe... poor Dad! He works so hard for Mom and me. I walked on tiptoe to the door ( another honking was heard ). Oh, is it Mom? Yes and what happens? She looks drunk, swinging her way to the sala. All I hope was to give them surprise but I get, instead the biggest surprise in my life. Dad, my hero leads a Cassanova lifestyle: wine, women and party. And Mom, the lady behind the recent fund raising campaign is the exact opposite of the image she projected in that last week's PTA event. A cheat, a liar. How could they do this to me? "You brute," Mom shouted, You think you can always hide things from me? I saw you with your secretary," and she started throwing things at Dad. "Stop that, Matilde." And he pushes Mom hard enough to the wall. Is this the home I w...

LRT BOMBING Bread. Bread. . .spare me a piece of bread. Believe me, I don't want to society but fate dooms me to this deplorable situation. We used to be a happy family. Dad was a good provider until that pitiful day in May. All I could remember was Mom crying over the sad news of Dad's untimely death. He died in an airplane crush and his remains was nowhere to be found. Mom gallantly took her responsibility as our guide and provider. Benjo, Mom and I made up the happy family we were once. A day before New Year, we took the LRT to evade the heavy traffic. I was in pink dress, matched with a pink ribbon. As I mused with towering edifice on our way to lola, a great Commotion ensued. Mom embraced me tightly to shield me from apparent danger. Everything went fast. BOOM. . . A DESTRUCTIVE EXPLOSION WENT OUT. "RIZZA, take care," she said and finally loosened her hold on me. Her look was gloomy and slowly she closed her eyes as she gave forth her last. ...

TOO HIGH A PRICE Oh Joey, Joey, Joey, You're dead. This cannot be. Heavens! I can't believe it. He is still too young to die. Joey, No, no. Joey is now dead, gone. My kid bother is gone. He died of poisoning and this can happen to any of you. Listen. No, no never, over my dead body. you cannot sell that piece of land. That has been the land cultivated by my father's father. That's the very means I sweated my blood on to send you all to college. Never. That  was the firm and final say of Lolo regarding a two-hectare rice field right after the Taiwanese factory in our small barrio. That happened some two years ago. Joey and I were still small but we understood how much that piece of land meant to Lolo. After his death dad in exchange for a fat sum money traded it just the same. Now with this, gone are the green pastures and the rich vegetation with an equally fresh river where fish used to swim.Gone is the vast habitat of the birds and their young ones. Gone i...

THE PLEA OF AN ABORTED FETUS Set me free. Let me live, I deserve to be born, I want to live. For heavens's sake, have pity. Ladies and Gentlemen, dear fathers and mothers, listen to my plea, listen to my story. I could have been the 17th Lady President of the Philippines Republic, had you given me the chance to live, had you not deprived me of my life, had you not taken away my privilege to be born. Some eleven years ago, a healthy ovum started to generate in the womb of a woman with six other children. My coming should be a herald of joy, a symbol of love incarnate but to my mommy it was a burden, a problem, an additional mouth to feed. To Dad, it was a mistake, an effect of mom's carelessness for not taking the contraceptive pills. One gloomy day in June, my unexpected coming was confirmed. It was a painful decision. I could sense the imminent danger as Mom got inside the abortion room. I was an unwanted child. no one loved me. No one cared. I was a rejected bei...

THE PAINS OF GROWING UP A child, aged three, in short pants was holding a balloon with his right hand and ice cream cone with his left. He was running aimlessly while the father followed. Shouting, kicking, crying boisterously. That was then, a few years ago, but it was just faint memory. Yes, for that boy some years back was I. Dad and I used to be great pats ceases to be now. We are at a distance from each other. He talks, I do not listen. I explain he does not admit. . . And this is just one phase of growing , a painful process of change. My friends, any change is not easy at all. "My son", I remember Dad admonished, "you get to be different. You are a grown up child now. Don't be hard on your younger sister. Don't hit her anymore," he said, when I once hit Alice. A grown up I mused to myself so I can now go to Disco join friends and have the real taste of life". But he again interrupted, "My son, remember you are still young, a lit...

BASTARD Penoy, Balot. . .Penoy, Balot. Yes Penoy, Balot has been my means of livelihood. I am Martha. Please listen to my story. Like you we may be both victims of circumstances. I was born out a wedlock to a young colegiala who swayed off her feet when she became madly in love with a young man of the flickerville. Bastard, bastard, that's hoe they called me. Society condemned me for a crime not of my own making but just a mistake by destiny. I have never felt what a father's love was and worst of them too much misery drove my mother out of her sanity. I was oftentimes beaten mercilessly for every little misdeed. One evening I got home late. Right at the door mother was there with her long stick. Without a word she hit me mercilessly. "Please, mother, stop it. I beg you." I was alt\ready bleeding until I could no longer take it. Before I knew it, I felt blood oozing on my forehead. Crimson Blood! "Mother, why do you do this to me." Bu...

I KILLED HER I killed her because I do love her. These hands, these hands that gives life to many, killed her because of my love to her. Ladies and Gentlemen of this honorable court, please listen to me, listen to my story before you give my verdict. I am Dr. Reyes, a cancer specialist. I was born in a slum district of Batalon, My father oh! I don't know him for I am a child of faith. My mother brought me up in such determination and my ambition was to escape the filthy and horrible place of Batalon. I was nourished with hope that someday I might live a life different from her. My mother had burning faith that she turned the nights into days. All her efforts were not in vain for I pushed through of flying colors. My mother who had given her whole life to me had tears in her eyes as she pinned the gold medal on my proud breast. Later on, I was sent as a scholar of the Philippines to the Unites States of America, I embraced my mother. . .tightly as I've reached the plane. ...