Acknowledgement:

I would like to thank all the people who

contributed in some way to the work described
in this Project. First and foremost, I thank my
academic advisor, Mr. Jonel Lambuguin for
accepting this project. And to my Parents and
my friends who helped me a lot on this project.
To god be the Glory!
Table of contents:
Page
3 Structural of Frame Up
4 Two Classification of Literature
5 .. Classification of Prose
6.. Classification of Fiction
*Folktales (Fable, Legend Fairytale)
21 .. Myth
26 Parable
30. Short Story
48. Anecdote
52. Satire
54 Novel
55 Novelette
61. Drama/Play
 Structural Frame Up of Literature

LITERATU
RE

PROSE POETRY

Narrative Lyric
Fiction Non-Fiction
Poetry Poetry

Auto
Folktales Myth Biography Epic Ballad Ode Elegy
Biography

Metrical
Fables Legend Diary Memoirs Sonnet
Tale

Dramatic
Fairytales Essay Letter
Poetry

Parable Short Story

Anecdote Satire

Novel Novellete

Drama/Play
Two classification of Literature

1.) Prose-Prose is a form of language that

exhibits a natural flow of speech and
grammatical structure, rather than a
rhythmic structure as in traditional poetry.
Where the common unit of verse is based on
meter or rhyme, the common unit of prose is
purely grammatical, such as a sentence or
paragraph.
2.) Poetry- Literary work in which special
intensity is given to the expression of
feelings and ideas by the use of distinctive
style and rhythm; poems collectively or as a
genre of literature.
Classification of Prose:
1.) Fiction- is the classification for any
story or setting that is derived from
imaginationin other words, not
based strictly on history or fact.
Fiction can be expressed in a variety
of formats, including writings, live
performances, films, television
programs, animations, video games,
and role-playing games, though the
term originally and most commonly
refers to the narrative forms of
literature (see literary fiction),
including novels, novellas, short
stories, and plays.
2.) Non-Fiction- Prose writing that is
based on facts, real events, and real
people, such as biography or history.
Classification of Fiction
Folktales- a tale or legend
originating and traditional among a
people or folk, especially one
forming part of the oral tradition of
the common people.
Example of Folktales
A.) Fable- is a literary genre: a succinct
fictional story, in prose or verse, that
features animals, legendary creatures,
plants, inanimate objects, or forces of
nature that are anthropomorphized
(given human qualities, such as the
ability to speak human language) and
that illustrates or leads to a particular
moral lesson (a "moral"), which may at
the end be added explicitly as a pithy
maxim.
 A fable differs from a parable in that the
latter excludes animals, plants, inanimate
objects, and forces of nature as actors that
assume speech or other powers of humankind.
EXAMPLES
(Philippine Fable) Ang Pabula ng Kabayo at ng
Kalabaw
Isang magsasaka ang nais manirahan sa ibang bayan kaya isang araw
ay inipon niya ang kanyang mga gamit at inilulan sa kanyang alagang
kabayo at kalabaw. Maaga pa ay sinimulan na nila ang mahabang
paglalakbay.
Makaraan ang ilang oras ay nakaramdam ng matinding pagod at pang-
hihina ang kalabaw dahil sa bigat ng kanyang pasang gamit.
"Kaibigang kabayo, di hamak na mas mabigat ang pasan kong gamit
keysa sa iyo. Maaari bang tulungan mo ako at pasanin mo yung iba?"
pakiusap ng kalabaw.
"Aba, yan ang ipinataw sa iyong balikat ng ating amo kaya pagtiisan mo,"
anang kabayo na lalo pang binilisan ang paglalakad.
"Parang awa mo na tulungan mo ako. Di ko na kakayanin ang bigat ng
dala ko. Nanghihina ako. Alam mo namang kailangan kong magpalamig
sa ilog kapag ganito katindi ang init ng araw dahil madaling mag-init ang
katawan ko," pakiusap pa rin ng kalabaw.
"Bahala ka sa buhay mo," naiinis na sagot ng kabayo.
Makaraan pa ang isang oras at lalung tumindi ang init ng araw. Hindi
nagtagal at ang kalabaw ay iginupo ng bigat ng kanyang dala at siya
ay pumanaw.
Nang makita ng magsasaka ang nagyari ay kinuha niya ang lahat ng
gamit na pasan ng kalabaw at inilipat sa kabayo na bahagya namang
makalakad dahil sa naging napakabigat ng kanyang mga dalahin.
"Kung tinulungan ko sana si kasamang kalabaw ay hindi naging ganito
kabigat ang pasan ko ngayon," may pagsisising bulong ng kabayo sa
kanyang sarili.
Mga aral ng pabula:
Ang suliranin ng kapwa ay maaaring maging suliranin mo rin kung hindi
mo siya tutulungan. Ang makasariling pag-uugali ay may katapat na
kaparusahan. Ang mga pasanin natin sa buhay ay gagaan kung tayo ay
magtutulungan.

(World Fable) The Snake and the Frog

A Fable from Africa
Some time ago in the African jungle a baby snake set out to play. As he
slithered away his mother chanted words of caution:
"Watch out young son,
For things with claws,
For things with a beak,
For things with strong jaws."
"Claws, beak, jaws. Claws, beak, jaws," Snake Baby replied.
At the same time baby frog set out to play. As he slithered away his mother
chanted words of caution:
"Watch out for the hiss,
Watch out for the coil,
Watch out for the squeeze,
They will cause turmoil."
"Hiss, coil, squeeze. Hiss, coil, squeeze," Frog Baby replied.
Baby snake and Baby frog met in the jungle and played the day away. What
good games they played! First they played Leap Frog. Then they played Hide
and Hug.
That night Frog Baby told Frog Mama about his fun and the games he played.
"No, no, Frog Baby! Hide and Hug is not a game for you. It is the game of
the hiss, coil, and squeeze. Promise you will never play with him again."
Also that night Snake Baby told Snake Mama about his fun and the games he
played.
"No, no, Snake Baby! Hide and Hug is not a game for you. Hide and Hug is
what you must do. This is the way you get your meals! Promise me you will
hiss, coil, and squeeze. It will feel so good and then your belly will become
full."
The next day as Frog Baby set out he fearfully recited his words of caution,
"Hiss, coil, and squeeze." But as Snake Baby set out his tongue lashed out as
happily sang, "Hiss, coil, and squeeze. Makes a meal for me."
Now we know why frog and snake won't be found playing games together - it
is against their nature.

B.) Legend- A legend is a narrative of human

actions that are perceived both by teller and
listeners to take place within human history and
demonstrating human values, and which
possesses certain qualities that give the tale
verisimilitude. Legend, for its active and passive
participants, includes no happenings that are
outside the realm of "possibility," but may
include miracles. Legends may be transformed
over time, in order to keep them fresh and vital,
and realistic. Many legends operate within the
realm of uncertainty, never being entirely
believed by the participants, but also never
being resolutely doubted

Example of Legend Story

(Philippine Legend) The Legend of Mayon
Volcano
In the town of Daraga, in the province of Albay in the Bicol Region, lays the
most beautiful volcano in the Philippines- Mayon volcano. Its picturesque
view may have been what inspired the natives to come up with one of the
most exceptional Philippine alamats - the legend of "Daragang Magayon" of
the Bicolanos, or "Dalagang Maganda" (beautiful maiden) in Tagalog.

Long ago, along the streams of Yawa river lays a kingdom named Rawis. It
is reigned by a very generous and intelligent king - King Makusog. His only
daughter was called "Daragang Magayon" (beautiful maiden) because of the
exceptional beauty that she possesses. Because of this beauty, all the men in
their kingdom, as well as in the neighboring kingdoms, dream to have her
heart.

It has been a hobby of Daragang Magayon to secretly take a bath in the

Yawa River every morning at the break of dawn. It was one morning when a
traveler from the faraway kingdom of Laguna accidentally saw her secret
ritual. He was a young lad named Ulap (cloud). Upon seeing the beautiful
maiden, Ulap was instantly hypnotized by her beauty.

In the many journeys of Ulap, it was only then that a maiden has
successfully captured his heart. Every morning since then, he would secretly
watch behind the bamboo groves as Daragang Magayon takes a bath in the
Yawa River. He was not contented in being a secret admirer so he eventually
decided to come out of his hiding place and introduce himself to the maiden.

Daragang Magayon, startled by this revelation , started to come to her feet

and run away, but as fate may have dictated it, she was tripped by a mossy
stone and was about to be drawn away by the river current when Ulap
grabbed her arm. In that instant, she too was hypnotized by the lad's stance
and charming eyes that she failed to turn her back from him and run away.

Not for long, the two became inseparable lovers and their relationship was
happily blessed by King Makusog. Ulap asked permission from his lady love
to go home to Laguna and fetch his relatives for the pamamanhikan
(prenuptial get together). He was away for two months.

Meanwhile, the news of the soon-to-be wedding spread like fire in the nearby
kingdoms including the Kingdom of Iraya which is reigned by Patugo. This
news enraged him and brought back the pain incurred by Daragang
Magayon's refusal of his love proposal.

He convinced his people to set a battle against the Kingdom of Rawin by

telling them that Daragang Magayon's marriage to a foreign man is an insult
to their maleness. They agreed to capture King Makusog and ask for
Daragang Magayon as a ransom.

Meanwhile, the Kingdom of Rawis is busy in the preparation for the arrival
of the people from Laguna. This was used by Patugo and his army as an
opportunity to attack them. The people of Rawis was so stunned by this
sudden attack that the king was effortlessly captured. The festive mood was
instantly replaced with doom. Daragang Magayon offered herself as a ransom
for the freedom of his father even if this was against her will. Just then, their
expecting visitors, Ulap and his clan from Laguna, arrived and helped in
fighting the enemies. "If you are real men, fight with men! Do not waste your
power in terrorizing ladies and old men!", Ulap exclaimed. With this, the
battle heated up and there was bloodshed. Under the heat of the sun, behind
the dusty wind, swords and bolos were ravagely swished against each other.
Daragang Magayon's heart beated outrageously because of the suspense
brought about by the battle. A bloody body fell on the ground, and the
maiden's heart skipped a beat thinking that this might be his lover's. She ran
closer and reveled when she saw that instead of Ulap, the lifeless body
belongs to Patugo. She turned around and saw Ulap with his arms wide
open. She joyfully ran towards the waiting arms of her lover. As the two
passionately embraced each other, a deadly arrow came flying from one of
the enemies and struck their entwined bodies. The sky was covered with
gloom as the two lovers slowly fell on the ground.

The whole Kingdom of Rawis grieved upon their loss. King Makusog
proclaimed that the two shall be buried together since it is not right to
separate what death has united as one.

As they say, true love is hard to bury. Like a strong current, it will eventually
struggle and resurface. Daragang Magayon's love is as such. It is said that
because of the strong love of Daragang Magayon for Ulap, her grave
mounted into a towering mass of volcano as if an emblem of her undying
love. Raging lava even came out of it as a symbol of her overflowing
affection. This volcano which surfaced from the grave of Daragang Magayon
is now known as the Mayon volcano. Daragang Magayon is what they claim
as the Mayon.

They say that if you want to see the best of Mt. Mayon, you should wake up
very early in the morning just about the crack of dawn. By then, you will see
clearly the perfect shape of the volcano but as the time passes, clouds will
then cover the slopes from the view. These clouds are represented by the
jealous Ulap who is not comfortable with the numerous eyes laying upon his
beloved Magayon.

(World story) The Goddess Of The Silkworm

Hoangti was the emperor of China. He had a beautiful wife whose
name was Si-ling. The emperor and his wife loved their people and always
thought of their happiness.
In those days the Chinese people wore clothes made of skins. By and by
animals grew scarce, and the people did not know what they should wear.
The emperor and empress tried in vain to find some other way of clothing
them.
One morning Hoangti and his wife were in the beautiful palace garden. They
walked up and down, up and down, talking of their people.
Suddenly the emperor said, "Look at those worms on the mulberry trees, Si-
ling. They seem to be spinning."
Si-ling looked, and sure enough, the worms were spinning. A long thread was
coming from the mouth of each, and each little worm was winding this thread
around its body.
Si-ling and the emperor stood still and watched the worms. "How
wonderful!" said Si-ling.
The next morning Hoangti and the empress walked under the trees again.
They found some worms still winding thread. Others had already spun their
cocoons and were fast asleep. In a few days all of the worms had spun
cocoons.
"This is indeed a wonderful, wonderful thing!" said Si-ling. "Why, each
worm has a thread on its body long enough to make a house for itself!"
Si-ling thought of this day after day. One morning as she and the emperor
walked under the trees, she said, "I believe I could find a way to weave those
long threads into cloth."
"But how could you unwind the threads?" asked the emperor.
"I'll find a way," Si-ling said. And she did; but she had to try many, many
times.
She put the cocoons in a hot place, and the little sleepers soon died. Then the
cocoons were thrown into boiling water to make the threads soft. After that
the long threads could be easily unwound.
Now Si-ling had to think of something else; she had to find a way to weave
the threads into cloth. After many trials, she made a loom - the first that was
ever made. She taught others to weave, and soon hundreds of people were
making cloth from the threads of the silkworm.
The people ever afterward called Si-ling "The Goddess of the Silkworm."
And whenever the emperor walked with her in the garden, they liked to
watch the silkworms spinning threads for the good of their people.

C.) Fairytales- A fairy tale is a type of short story

that typically features folkloric fantasy
characters, such as dwarfs, dragons, elves,
fairies, giants, gnomes, goblins, griffins,
mermaids, talking animals, trolls, unicorns, or
witches, and usually magic or enchantments.
Fairy tales may be distinguished from other folk
 narratives such as legends (which generally
involve belief in the veracity of the events
described) and explicitly moral tales, including
beast fables. The term is mainly used for stories
with origins in European tradition and, at least
in recent centuries, mostly relates to children's
literature.

Example of Fairytales
(Philippine Fairytales) Mangita and Larina
This is a tale told in the lake district of Luzon. At times of rain or in winter
the waters of the Laguna de Bai rise and detach from the banks a peculiar
vegetation that resembles lettuce. These plants, which float for months down
the Pasig River, gave rise, no doubt, to the story.
Many years ago there lived on the banks of the Laguna de Bai a poor
fisherman whose wife had died, leaving him two beautiful daughters named
Mangita and Larina.
Mangita had hair as black as night and a dark skin. She was as good as she
was beautiful, and was loved by all for her kindness. She helped her father
mend the nets and make the torches to fish with at night, and her bright smile
lit up the little nipa house like a ray of sunshine.
Larina was fair and had long golden hair of which she was very proud. She
was different from her sister, and never helped with the work, but spent the
day combing her hair and catching butterflies. She would catch a pretty
butterfly, cruelly stick a pin through it, and fasten it in her hair. Then she
would go down to the lake to see her reflection in the clear water, and would
laugh to see the poor butterfly struggling in pain. The people disliked her for
her cruelty, but they loved Mangita very much. This made Larina jealous, and
the more Mangita was loved, the more her sister thought evil of her.
One day a poor old woman came to the nipa house and begged for a little rice
to put in her bowl. Mangita was mending a net and Larina was combing her
hair in the doorway. When Larina saw the old woman she spoke mockingly
to her and gave her a push that made her fall and cut her head on a sharp
rock; but Mangita sprang to help her, washed the blood away from her head,
and filled her bowl with rice from the jar in the kitchen.
The poor woman thanked her and promised never to forget her kindness, but
to her sister she spoke not a word. Larina did not care, however, but laughed
at her and mocked her as she painfully made her way again down the road.
When she had gone Mangita took Larina to task for her cruel treatment of a
stranger; but, instead of doing any good, it only caused Larina to hate her
sister all the more.
Sometime afterwards the poor fisherman died. He had gone to the big city
down the river to sell his fish, and had been attacked with a terrible sickness
that was raging there.
The girls were now alone in the world.

Mangita carved pretty shells and earned enough to buy food, but, though she
begged Larina to try to help, her sister would only idle away the time.

The terrible sickness now swept everywhere and poor Mangita, too, fell ill.
She asked Larina to nurse her, but the latter was jealous of her and would do
nothing to ease her pain. Mangita grew worse and worse, but finally, when it
seemed as if she would soon die, the door opened and the old woman to
whom she had been so kind came into the room. She had a bag of seeds in
her hand, and taking one she gave it to Mangita, who soon showed signs of
being better, but was so weak that she could not give thanks.
The old woman then gave the bag to Larina and told her to give a seed to her
sister every hour until she returned. She then went away and left the girls
alone.
Larina watched her sister, but did not give her a single seed. Instead, she hid
them in her own long hair and paid no attention to Mangitas moans of pain.
The poor girls cries grew weaker and weaker, but not a seed would her cruel
sister give her. In fact, Larina was so jealous that she wished her sister to die.
When at last the old woman returned, poor Mangita was at the point of death.
The visitor bent over the sick girl and then asked her sister if she had given
Mangita the seeds. Larina showed her the empty bag and said she had given
them as directed. The old woman searched the house, but of course could not
find the seeds. She then asked Larina again if she had given them to Mangita.
Again the cruel girl said that she had done so.
Suddenly the room was filled with a blinding light, and when Larina could
see once more, in place of the old woman stood a beautiful fairy holding the
now well Mangita in her arms.
She pointed to Larina and said, I am the poor woman who asked for rice. I
wished to know your hearts. You were cruel and Mangita was kind, so she
shall live with me in my island home in the lake. As for you, because you
tried to do evil to your good sister, you shall sit at the bottom of the lake
forever, combing out the seeds you have hidden in your hair. Then, she
clapped her hands and a number of elves appeared and carried the struggling
Larina away.
Come, said the fairy to Mangita, and she carried her to her beautiful home,
where she lives in peace and happiness.
As for Larina, she sits at the bottom of the lake and combs her hair. As she
combs a seed out, another comes in, and every seed that is combed out
becomes a green plant that floats out of the lake and down the Pasig.
And to this day people can see them, and know that Larina is being punished
for her wickedness.

(World Story) The Princess and the Pea

There was once a prince who wanted to marry a princess. But she must be a
real princess, mind you. So he traveled all round the world, seeking such a
one, but everywhere something was in the way. Not that there was any lack
of princesses, but he could not seem to make out whether they were real
princesses; there was always something not quite satisfactory. Therefore,
home he came again, quite out of spirits, for he wished so much to marry a
real princess.

One evening a terrible storm came on. It thundered and lightened, and the
rain poured down; indeed, it was quite fearful. In the midst of it there came a
knock at the town gate, and the old king went out to open it.

It was a princess who stood outside. But O dear, what a state she was in from
the rain and bad weather! The water dropped from her hair and clothes, it ran
in at the tips of her shoes and out at the heels; yet she insisted she was a real
princess.

"Very well," thought the old queen; "that we shall presently see." She said
nothing, but went into the bedchamber and took off all the bedding, then laid
a pea on the sacking of the bedstead. Having done this, she took twenty
mattresses and laid them upon the pea and placed twenty eider-down beds on
top of the mattresses.
The princess lay upon this bed all the night. In the morning she was asked
how she had slept.
"Oh, most miserably!" she said. "I scarcely closed my eyes the whole night
through. I cannot think what there could have been in the bed. I lay upon
something so hard that I am quite black and blue all over. It is dreadful!"
It was now quite evident that she was a real princess, since through twenty
mattresses and twenty eider-down beds she had felt the pea. None but a real
princess could have such delicate feeling.
So the prince took her for his wife, for he knew that in her he had found a
true princess. And the pea was preserved in the cabinet of curiosities, where it
is still to be seen unless some one has stolen it.
And this, mind you, is a real story.
 Myth- A myth is any traditional
story consisting of events that are
ostensibly historical, explaining the
origins of a cultural practice or
natural phenomenon. The word
"myth" is derived from the Greek
word mythos (), which simply
means "story". Mythology can refer
either to the study of myths, or to a
body or collection of myths. Myth
can mean 'sacred story', 'traditional
narrative' or 'tale of the gods'. A
myth can also be a story to explain
why something exists.
Example of Myth
(Philippine Myth)
Bagobo (Mindanao)
In the beginning there lived one man and one woman,
Toglai and Toglibon. Their first children were a boy and a
girl. When they were old enough, the boy and the girl
went far away across the waters seeking a good place to
live in. Nothing more was heard of them until their
children, the Spaniards and Americans, came back. After
the first boy and girl left, other children were born to the
couple; but they all remained at Cibolan on Mount Apo
with their parents, until Toglai and Toglibon died and
became spirits. Soon after that there came a great drought
which lasted for three years. All the waters dried up, so
that there were no rivers, and no plants could live.
"Surely," said the people, "Manama is punishing us, and
we must go elsewhere to find food and a place to dwell
in."
So they started out. Two went in the direction of the
sunset, carrying with them stones from Cibolan River.
After a long journey they reached a place where were
broad fields of cogon grass and an abundance of water,
and there they made their home. Their children still live in
that place and are called Magindanau, because of the
stones which the couple carried when they left Cibolan.
Two children of Toglai and Toglibon went to the south,
seeking a home, and they carried with them women's
baskets (baraan). When they found a good spot, they
settled down. Their descendants, still dwelling at that
place, are called Baraan or Bilaan, because of the
women's baskets.
So two by two the children of the first couple left the land
of their birth. In the place where each settled a new people
developed, and thus it came about that all the tribes in the
world received their names from things that the people
carried out of Cibolan, or from the places where they
settled.
All the children left Mount Apo save two (a boy and a
girl), whom hunger and thirst had made too weak to
travel. One day when they were about to die the boy
crawled out to the field to see if there was one living
thing, and to his surprise he found a stalk of sugarcane
growing lustily. He eagerly cut it, and enough water came
out to refresh him and his sister until the rains came.
Because of this, their children are called Bagobo.

(World Myth)

Athena
Roman Name: Minerva
Ancient Greek Myths for Kids
Athena was the goddess of wisdom. She could get angry, but more typically,
she was wise, and kind, and understanding. Athena was born very oddly. Her
father was the mighty Zeus. But she did not have a mother. Instead, as the
myth goes, she was born directly out of Zeus' brain. Zeus loved all his
children. But one of his favorites was Athena.

Athena held a powerful position in the ancient Greek god world. She was an
Olympian, one of the council of 12, who held a seat on Mount Olympus. She
also had a home there.

Here is a myth about Athena that shows how clever and practical she was.

As the story goes ... The Competition, Athena & Poseidon

Nearly every town in ancient Greece had a god that looked after the
townspeople. Towns rarely had more than one god to keep an eye on their
best interests. Most gods did not share well. So usually, it was one town and
if the town was lucky, one god to watch over it.

Poseidon loved watching over towns. He usually picked coastal towns since
he was the Lord of the Sea. Poseidon was a very powerful god. His brothers
were Zeus and Hades. Poseidon was a moody fellow, but he loved his wife
and children and he loved attention. He liked having people build temples in
his honor and bring him gifts. They were not very useful gifts for a god, but
he enjoyed getting them anyway. As Greece grew and developed, new towns
sprang up all the time. Poseidon was always on the lookout for new coastal
towns.

He was not the only god who loved to be in charge. Athena, along with other
gods, enjoyed that role as well. One day, both Athena and Poseidon claimed a
new village.

Most of the time, humans were grateful when they were selected to be under
the care of a god. But two gods? That was one too many. Poseidon wanted
them to chose which god they wanted. But the people did not want to choose.
They could see only trouble ahead if they did.

Athena, goddess of wisdom, daughter of Zeus, understood their worry. She

challenged her uncle Poseidon to a contest. Both gods would give the town a
gift. The townspeople could decide which gift was the more useful.

Poseidon slapped his specter against the side of the mountain. A stream
appeared. The people were excited. A source of fresh water was so
important! But when they tried to drink the water, they discovered it was not
fresh at all. It was salt water!

Athena waved her arm and an olive tree appeared. The people nibbled at the
olives. They were delicious! The people were excited. The olive tree would
provide wood for building homes. Branches would provide kindling for
kitchen stoves and fireplaces. The olives could be used for food. The fruit
could pressed to release cooking oil. It was wonderful.
But theirs was a coastal village. The people could not risk angering the Lord
of the Sea, the mighty Poseidon. As it turned out, they did not have to choose.
Poseidon chose for them. He laughed his mighty laugh, sending waves
crashing against the shoreline. Poseidon proclaimed his niece the winner!

That's how a small village gained a most powerful and wise guardian, the
goddess Athena, a guardian who helped them rise to fame. In her honor, they
named their village Athens

Parable- A parable is a succinct,

didactic story, in prose or verse that
illustrates one or more instructive
lessons or principles. It differs from
a fable in that fables employ animals,
plants, inanimate objects, or forces
of nature as characters, whereas
parables have human characters. A
parable is a type of analogy.
Example of Parable;
(Philippine Parable)
Ang Parabula ng Puno ng Kawayan
 Isang araw, sa ilalim ng puno ng kawayan, may isang matanda na
magbibigay liwanag sa kung ano ang totoong halaga ng buhay sa lupa.

Minsan sa isang matarik na bundok ay may puno ng kawayan. Berde at

matibay ang katawan at mga sanga nito. Maganda ang tubo ng mga dahon.
Maganda ang tubo ng mga bunga nito. Tuwing hahangin ay sasabay ito at
tilay nakikisayaw pa kapag malayo mong titignan. At kailanman ay hindi ito
natibag ng kahit anong bagyo

Ngayon, sa parehong bundok na iyon ay may isang matandang lalaki na binili

ang lupa sa isang magsasakang lumuwas sa Maynila. Nagpatayo siya ng
bahay doon kung saan binalak niyang manirahan upang lasapin ang mga
natitirang taon niya sa lupa.
Kapag siya ay mauupo sa kanyang bakuran ay matatanaw niya ang puno ng
kawayan na malumanay na sumasabay sa simoy ng hangin, na malugod na
tinatanggap ang lahat ng dumaraan dito. Mapapangiti ang matanda at siyay
uugong-ugong sa kanyang upuan at kanyang babalangkasin ang ganda ng
tanawin na sakop ng kanyang mga mata.
Isang araw ay may binatang lalaki na sumigaw sa kanyang bakuran.
Nagkataong siya ay nagkakape noon sa loob ng kanyang kusina. Nang
marinig niya ang pag-iingay ng lalaki ay agad siyang lumabas.
Iho, ano ang problema at nagsisisigaw ka riyan? mahinahong tanong ng
matanda. Hindi siya pinansin ng binata at doon niya napansin na may dalang
palakol ang binatang iyon. Nakatingin siya sa puno ng kawayan, na patuloy
pa rin sa pagsabay sa hangin. Ibig mo bang putulin ang punong iyan?
pagtatanong muli ng matanda.
Tumango ang binata, Opo. Kailangan ko na pong putulin ang kawayan na
iyan. Wala na po itong naitutulong sa aming mag-anak. Bumagsak ang benta
ng aming mga paninda, nasira ang aming palayan, nanakawan pa ang aming
paupahan. Dapat na po itong putulin.
Alam ng matanda ang pakiramdam ng kawalan ng pag-asa. Iyon ang
pinagdaanan niya ng higit na sampung taon. Ayaw niya sanang makialam sa
mga problema ng binata ngunit alam niyang kaya niya itong bigyang liwanag
sa lahat ng nangyayari. Handa na sanang magsibak ng kahoy ang binata,
nakaangat na ang kanyang mga braso at tatama na sana ang palakol sa
kawayan nang tapikin siya ng matanda sa likod.
Bakit po ba kayo nakikialam, Ginoo? Ano po bang gusto niyo? iritang
tanong ng lalaki.
Ngumiti ang matanda at nagwika, Huminahon ka, Iho. Ibig ko lamang na
pakinggan mo ako sa aking sasabihin bago mo balaking putulin ang punong
iyan.
Ano po ba iyon, Ginoo?
Ilang taon na bang nakatayo ang punong iyan, bata?
Sabi po ng aking inay ay bata pa lamang siya ay nariyan na ang puno na
iyan. Mas matanda pa po sa akin ang kawayang ito.
At ilang bagyo na ba ang dumaan sa lalawigang ito?
Hindi ko na po mabilang sa aking mga daliri, Ginoo. Hindi ko na mabilang
kung ilang beses na nasira ang aming palayan dahil sa mga pananalasa ng
mga bagyong walang pakundangan. Hindi ko na malaman kung ilang
kapamilya na ang pinatay ng sakit sa aking nayon. Hindi ko na maisip kung
anong luha pa ang aking patutuluin sa mga mata kong mugto na.
Huminahon ka, binata. Nakita mo bang tumiwalag ang punong ito. Kahit
dinaanan na siya ng maraming bagyo?

(World Parable)

The story goes back some time ago. A man punished his 3-year-old daughter
for wasting a roll of gold wrapping paper. Money was tight and he became
infuriated when the child tried to decorate a box to put under the Christmas
tree.
Nevertheless, the little girl brought the gift to her father the next morning and
said, This is for you. Daddy."
The man was embarrassed by his earlier over reaction, but his anger flared
again when he found out the box was empty.
He yelled at her, stating, "Don't you know, when you give someone a present,
there is supposed to be something inside?"
The little girl looked up at him with tears in her eyes and cried, "Oh, Daddy,
it's not empty at all. I blew kisses into the box. They're all for you, Daddy."
The father was crushed. He put his arms around his little girl and he begged
for her forgiveness.
Only a short time later, an accident took the life of the child. It is also told
that her father kept that gold box by his bed for many years and whenever he
was discouraged, he would take out an imaginary kiss and remember the love
of the child who had put it there.
In a very real sense, each one of us, as humans beings, have been given a
gold container filled with unconditional love and kisses... from our children,
family members, friends, and God. There is simply no other possession,
anyone could hold, more precious than this.
 Short Story- A Short story is a
piece of prose fiction that can be read
in one sitting. Emerging from earlier
oral storytelling traditions in the 17th
century, the short story has grown to
encompass a body of work so diverse
as to defy easy characterization. At its
most prototypical the short story
features a small cast of named
characters, and focuses on a self-
contained incident with the intent of
evoking a "single effect" or mood.
Example of Short Story
(Philippine Story) Harvest
HE first saw her in his brothers eyes. The palay stalks were taking on gold in
the late after-noon sun, were losing their trampled, wind-swept look and
stirring into little, almost inaudi-ble whispers.
The rhythm of Fabians strokes was smooth and unbroken. So many palay
stalks had to be harvested before sundown and there was no time to be lost in
idle dallying. But when he stopped to heap up the fallen palay stalks he
glanced at his brother as if to fathom the others state of mind in that one,
side-long glance.
The swing of Vidals figure was as graceful as the downward curve of the
cres-cent-shaped scythe. How stubborn, this younger brother of his, how
hard-headed, fumed Fabian as he felled stalk after stalk. It is because he
knows how very good-looking he is, how he is so much run-after by all the
women in town. The obstinate, young fool! With his queer dreams, his
strange adorations, his wistfulness for a life not of these fields, not of their
quiet, colorless women and the dullness of long nights of unbroken silence
and sleep. But he would bend he must bend one of these days.
Vidal stopped in his work to wipe off the heavy sweat from his brow. He
wondered how his brother could work that fast all day without pausing to
rest, with-out slowing in the rapidity of his strokes. But that was the reason
the master would not let him go; he could harvest a field in a morning that
would require three men to finish in a day. He had always been afraid of this
older brother of his; there was something terrible in the way he deter-mined
things, how he always brought them to pass, how he disregarded the soft and
the beautiful in his life and sometimes how he crushed, trampled people,
things he wanted destroyed. There were flowers, insects, birds of boyhood
memories, what Fabian had done to them. There was Tinay she did not
truly like him, but her widowed mother had some lands he won and
mar-ried Tinay.
I wonder what can touch him. Vidal thought of miracles, perhaps a vision, a
woman But no he would overpower themhe was so strong with those
arms of steel, those huge arms of his that could throttle a spirited horse into
obedience.
Harvest time is almost ended, Vidal. (I must be strong also, the other
prayed). Soon the planting season will be on us and we shall have need of
many carabaos. Milias father has five. You have but to ask her and Milia
will accept you any time. Why do you delay
He stopped in surprise for his brother had sprung up so suddenly and from
the look on his face it was as if a shining glory was smiling shyly,
tremulously in that adoring way of his that called forth all the boyishness of
his natureThere was the slow crunch, crunch of footsteps on dried soil and
Fabian sensed the presence of people behind him. Vidal had taken off his
wide, buri hat and was twisting and untwisting it nervously.
Ah, it is my model! How are you, Vidal? It was a voice too deep and
throaty for a woman but beneath it one could detect a gentle, smooth nuance,
soft as silk. It affected Fabian very queerly, he could feel his muscles tensing
as he waited for her to speak again. But he did not stop in work nor turn to
look at her.
She was talking to Vidal about things he had no idea of. He could not
under-stand why the sound of her voice filled him with this resentment that
was increasing with every passing minute. She was so near him that when she
gestured, perhaps as she spoke, the silken folds of her dress brushed against
him slightly, and her perfume, a very subtle fragrance, was cool and scented
in the air about him.
From now on he must work for me every morning, possibly all day.
Very well. Everything as you please. So it was the master who was with
her.
He is your brother, you say, Vidal? Oh, your elder brother. The curiosity in
her voice must be in her eyes. He has very splendid arms.
Then Fabian turned to look at her.
He had never seen anyone like her. She was tall, with a regal unconscious
assurance in her figure that she carried so well, and pale as though she had
just recovered from a recent illness. She was not exactly very young nor very
beautiful. But there was something disquieting and haunting in the
unsymmetry of her features, in the queer reflection of the dark blue-blackness
of her hair, in her eyes, in that mole just above her nether lips, that tinged her
whole face with a strange loveliness. For, yes, she was indeed beautiful. One
dis-covered it after a second, careful glance. Then the whole plan of the brow
and lip and eye was revealed; one realized that her pallor was the ivory-white
of rice grain just husked, that the sinuous folds of silken lines were but the
undertones of the grace that flowed from her as she walked away from you.
The blood rushed hot to his very eyes and ears as he met her grave, searching
look that swept him from head to foot. She approached him and examined his
hot, moist arms critically.
How splendid! How splendid! she kept on murmuring.
Then Thank you, and taking and leaning on the arm of the master she
walked slowly away.
The two brothers returned to their work but to the very end of the day did not
exchange a word. Once Vidal attempted to whistle but gave it up after a few
bars. When sundown came they stopped harvesting and started on their way
home. They walked with difficulty on the dried rice paddies till they reached
the end of the rice fields.
The stiffness, the peace of the twilit landscape was maddening to Fabian. It
aug-mented the spell of that woman that was still over him. It was queer how
he kept on thinking about her, on remembering the scent of her perfume, the
brush of her dress against him and the look of her eyes on his arms. If he had
been in bed he would be tossing painfully, fever-ishly. Why was her face
always before him as though it were always focused somewhere in the
distance and he was forever walking up to it?
A large moth with mottled, highly colored wings fluttered blindly against the
bough, its long, feathery antennae quivering sensitively in the air. Vidal
paused to pick it up, but before he could do so his brother had hit it with the
bundle of palay stalks he carried. The moth fell to the ground, a mass of
broken wings, of fluttering wing-dust.
After they had walked a distance, Vidal asked, Why are you that way?
What is my way?
Thatthat way of destroying things that are beautiful like moths like
If the dust from the wings of a moth should get into your eyes, you would be
blind.
That is not the reason.
Things that are beautiful have a way of hurting. I destroy it when I feel a
hurt.
To avoid the painful silence that would surely ensue Vidal talked on
whatever subject entered his mind. But gradually, slowly the topics
converged into one. He found himself talking about the woman who came to
them this afternoon in the fields. She was a relative of the master. A cousin, I
think. They call her Miss Francia. But I know she has a lovely, hid-den
name like her beauty. She is convalescing from a very serious illness she
has had and to pass the time she makes men out of clay, of stone. Sometimes
she uses her fingers, some-times a chisel.
One day Vidal came into the house with a message for the master. She saw
him. He was just the model for a figure she was working on; she had asked
him to pose for her.
Brother, her loveliness is one I cannot understand. When one talks to her
forever so long in the patio, many dreams, many desires come to me. I am
lost I am glad to be lost.
It was merciful the darkness was up on the fields. Fabian could not see his
brothers face. But it was cruel that the darkness was heavy and without end
except where it reached the little, faint star. For in the deep darkness, he saw
her face clearly and understood his brother.
On the batalan of his home, two tall clay jars were full of water. He emptied
one on his feet, he cooled his warm face and bathed his arms in the other. The
light from the kero-sene lamp within came in wisps into the batalan. In the
meager light he looked at his arms to discover where their splendor lay. He
rubbed them with a large, smooth pebble till they glowed warm and rich
brown. Gently he felt his own muscles, the strength, the power beneath. His
wife was crooning to the baby inside. He started guiltily and entered the
house.
Supper was already set on the table. Tinay would not eat; she could not leave
the baby, she said. She was a small, nervous woman still with the lingering
prettiness of her youth. She was rocking a baby in a swing made of a blanket
tied at both ends to ropes hanging from the ceiling. Trining, his other child, a
girl of four, was in a corner playing siklot solemnly all by herself.
Everything seemed a dream, a large spreading dream. This little room with
all the people inside, faces, faces in a dream. That woman in the fields, this
afternoon, a colored, past dream by now. But the unrest, the fever she had left
behind was still on him. He turned almost savagely on his brother and
spoke to break these two grotesque, dream bubbles of his life. When I was
your age, Vidal, I was already mar-ried. It is high time you should be settling
down. There is Milia.
I have no desire to marry her nor anybody else. Justjustfor five
carabaos. There! He had spoken out at last. What a relief it was. But he did
not like the way his brother pursed his lips tightly That boded not defeat.
Vidal rose, stretching himself luxuriously. On the door of the silid where he
slept he paused to watch his little niece. As she threw a pebble into the air he
caught it and would not give it up. She pinched, bit, shook his pants furiously
while he laughed in great amusement.
What a very pretty woman Trining is going to be. Look at her skin; white as
rice grains just husked; and her nose, what a high bridge. Ah, she is going to
be a proud lady and what deep, dark eyes. Let me see, let me see. Why,
you have a little mole on your lips. That means you are very talkative.
You will wake up the baby. Vidal! Vidal! Tinay rocked the child almost
despair-ingly. But the young man would not have stopped his teasing if
Fabian had not called Trin-ing to his side.
Why does she not braid her hair? he asked his wife.
Oh, but she is so pretty with her curls free that way about her head.
We shall have to trim her head. I will do it before going out to work
tomorrow.
Vidal bit his lips in anger. Sometimes well, it was not his child anyway. He
retired to his room and fell in a deep sleep unbroken till after dawn when the
sobs of a child awak-ened him. Peering between the bamboo slats of the floor
he could see dark curls falling from a childs head to the ground.
He avoided his brother from that morning. For one thing he did not want
repetitions of the carabao question with Milia to boot. For another there was
the glorious world and new life opened to him by his work in the masters
house. The glam-our, the enchantment of hour after hour spent on the
shadow-flecked ylang-ylang scented patio where she molded, shaped,
reshaped many kinds of men, who all had his face from the clay she worked
on.
In the evening after supper he stood by the window and told the tale of that
day to a very quiet group. And he brought that look, that was more than a
gleam of a voice made weak by strong, deep emotions.
His brother saw and understood. Fury was a high flame in his heart If that
look, that quiver of voice had been a moth, a curl on the dark head of his
daughter Now more than ever he was determined to have Milia in his home
as his brothers wife that would come to pass. Someday, that look, that
quiver would become a moth in his hands, a frail, helpless moth.
When Vidal, one night, broke out the news Fabian knew he had to act at
once. Miss Francia would leave within two days; she wanted Vidal to go to
the city with her, where she would finish the figures she was working on.
She will pay me more than I can earn here, and help me get a position there.
And shall always be near her. Oh, I am going! I am going!
And live the life of aa servant?
What of that? I shall be near her always.
Why do you wish to be near her?
Why? Why? Oh, my God! Why?
That sentence rang and resounded and vibrated in Fabians ears during the
days that followed. He had seen her closely only once and only glimpses
thereafter. But the song of loveliness had haunted his life thereafter. If by a
magic transfusing he, Fabian, could be Vidal and and how ones
thoughts can make one forget of the world. There she was at work on a figure
that represented a reaper who had paused to wipe off the heavy sweat from
his brow. It was Vidal in stone.
Againas it ever would bethe disquieting nature of her loveliness was on
him so that all his body tensed and flexed as he gathered in at a glance all the
marvel of her beauty.
She smiled graciously at him while he made known himself; he did not
expect she would remember him.
Ah, the man with the splendid arms.
I am the brother of Vidal. He had not forgotten to roll up his sleeves.
He did not know how he worded his thoughts, but he succeeded in making
her understand that Vidal could not possibly go with her, that he had to stay
behind in the fields.
There was an amusement rippling beneath her tones. To marry the girl
whose father has five carabaos. You see, Vidal told me about it.
He flushed again a painful brick-red; even to his eyes he felt the hot blood
flow.
That is the only reason to cover up something that would not be known. My
brother has wronged this girl. There will be a child.
She said nothing, but the look in her face protested against what she had
heard. It said, it was not so.
But she merely answered, I understand. He shall not go with me. She called
a ser-vant, gave him a twenty-peso bill and some instruction. Vidal, is he at
your house? The brother on the patio nodded.
Now they were alone again. After this afternoon he would never see her, she
would never know. But what had she to know? A pang without a voice, a
dream without a plan how could they be understood in words.
Your brother should never know you have told me the real reason why he
should not go with me. It would hurt him, I know.
I have to finish this statue before I leave. The arms are still incomplete
would it be too much to ask you to pose for just a little while?
While she smoothed the clay, patted it and molded the vein, muscle, arm,
stole the firmness, the strength, of his arms to give to this lifeless statue, it
seemed as if life left him, left his arms that were being copied. She was lost
in her work and noticed neither the twi-light stealing into the patio nor the
silence brooding over them.
Wrapped in that silver-grey dusk of early night and silence she appeared in
her true light to the man who watched her every movement. She was one he
had glimpsed and crushed all his life, the shining glory in moth and flower
and eyes he had never understood because it hurt with its unearthly radiance.
If he could have the whole of her in the cup of his hands, drink of her strange
loveli-ness, forgetful of this unrest he called life, if but his arms had
already found their duplicate in the white clay beyond
When Fabian returned Vidal was at the batalan brooding over a crumpled
twenty-peso bill in his hands. The haggard tired look in his young eyes was
as grey as the skies above.
He was speaking to Tinay jokingly. Soon all your sampaguitas and camias
will be gone, my dear sister-in-law because I shall be seeing Milia every
night and her father. He watched Fabian cleansing his face and arms and
later wondered why it took his brother that long to wash his arms, why he
was rubbing them as hard as that

(World Story) Christmas Everyday

The little girl came into her papa's study, as she always did Saturday morning
before breakfast, and asked for a story. He tried to beg off that morning, for
he was very busy, but she would not let him. So he began:
"Well, once there was a little pig--"
She put her hand over his mouth and stopped him at the word. She said she
had heard little pig-stories till she was perfectly sick of them.
"Well, what kind of story shall I tell, then?"
"About Christmas. It's getting to be the season. It's past Thanksgiving
already."
"It seems to me," her papa argued, "that I've told as often about Christmas as
I have about little pigs."
"No difference! Christmas is more interesting."
"Well!" Her papa roused himself from his writing by a great effort. "Well,
then, I'll tell you about the little girl that wanted it Christmas every day in the
year. How would you like that?"
"First-rate!" said the little girl; and she nestled into comfortable shape in his
lap, ready for listening.
"Very well, then, this little pig--Oh, what are you pounding me for?"
"Because you said little pig instead of little girl."
"I should like to know what's the difference between a little pig and a little
girl that wanted it Christmas every day!"
"Papa," said the little girl, warningly, "if you don't go on, I'll give it to you!"
And at this her papa darted off like lightning, and began to tell the story as
fast as he could.
Well, once there was a little girl who liked Christmas so much that she
wanted it to be Christmas every day in the year; and as soon as Thanksgiving
was over she began to send postal-cards to the old Christmas Fairy to ask if
she mightn't have it. But the old fairy never answered any of the postals; and
after a while the little girl found out that the Fairy was pretty particular, and
wouldn't notice anything but letters--not even correspondence cards in
envelopes; but real letters on sheets of paper, and sealed outside with a
monogram--or your initial, anyway. So, then, she began to send her letters;
and in about three weeks--or just the day before Christmas, it was--she got a
letter from the Fairy, saying she might have it Christmas every day for a year,
and then they would see about having it longer.
The little girl was a good deal excited already, preparing for the old-
fashioned, once-a-year Christmas that was coming the next day, and perhaps
the Fairy's promise didn't make such an impression on her as it would have
made at some other time. She just resolved to keep it to herself, and surprise
everybody with it as it kept coming true; and then it slipped out of her mind
altogether.
She had a splendid Christmas. She went to bed early, so as to let Santa Claus
have a chance at the stockings, and in the morning she was up the first of
anybody and went and felt them, and found hers all lumpy with packages of
candy, and oranges and grapes, and pocket-books and rubber balls, and all
kinds of small presents, and her big brother's with nothing but the tongs in
them, and her young lady sister's with a new silk umbrella, and her papa's and
mamma's with potatoes and pieces of coal wrapped up in tissue-paper, just as
they always had every Christmas. Then she waited around till the rest of the
family were up, and she was the first to burst into the library, when the doors
were opened, and look at the large presents laid out on the library-table--
books, and portfolios, and boxes of stationery, and breastpins, and dolls, and
little stoves, and dozens of handkerchiefs, and ink-stands, and skates, and
snow-shovels, and photograph-frames, and little easels, and boxes of water-
colors, and Turkish paste, and nougat, and candied cherries, and dolls'
houses, and waterproofs--and the big Christmas-tree, lighted and standing in
a waste-basket in the middle.
She had a splendid Christmas all day. She ate so much candy that she did not
want any breakfast; and the whole forenoon the presents kept pouring in that
the expressman had not had time to deliver the night before; and she went
round giving the presents she had got for other people, and came home and
ate turkey and cranberry for dinner, and plum-pudding and nuts and raisins
and oranges and more candy, and then went out and coasted, and came in
with a stomach-ache, crying; and her papa said he would see if his house was
turned into that sort of fool's paradise another year; and they had a light
supper, and pretty early everybody went to bed cross.
Here the little girl pounded her papa in the back, again.
"Well, what now? Did I say pigs?"
"You made them act like pigs."
"Well, didn't they?"
"No matter; you oughtn't to put it into a story."
"Very well, then, I'll take it all out."
Her father went on:
The little girl slept very heavily, and she slept very late, but she was wakened
at last by the other children dancing round her bed with their stockings full of
presents in their hands.
"What is it?" said the little girl, and she rubbed her eyes and tried to rise up in
bed.
"Christmas! Christmas! Christmas!" they all shouted, and waved their
stockings.
"Nonsense! It was Christmas yesterday."
Her brothers and sisters just laughed. "We don't know about that. It's
Christmas to-day, anyway. You come into the library and see."
Then all at once it flashed on the little girl that the Fairy was keeping her
promise, and her year of Christmases was beginning. She was dreadfully
sleepy, but she sprang up like a lark--a lark that had overeaten itself and gone
to bed cross--and darted into the library. There it was again! Books, and
portfolios, and boxes of stationery, and breastpins--
"You needn't go over it all, papa; I guess I can remember just what was
there," said the little girl.
Well, and there was the Christmas-tree blazing away, and the family picking
out their presents, but looking pretty sleepy, and her father perfectly puzzled,
and her mother ready to cry. "I'm sure I don't see how I'm to dispose of all
these things," said her mother, and her father said it seemed to him they had
had something just like it the day before, but he supposed he must have
dreamed it. This struck the little girl as the best kind of a joke; and so she ate
so much candy she didn't want any breakfast, and went round carrying
presents, and had turkey and cranberry for dinner, and then went out and
coasted, and came in with a--
"Papa!"
"Well, what now?" "What did you promise, you forgetful thing?" "Oh! oh
yes!"
Well, the next day, it was just the same thing over again, but everybody
getting crosser; and at the end of a week's time so many people had lost their
tempers that you could pick up lost tempers anywhere; they perfectly strewed
the ground. Even when people tried to recover their tempers they usually got
somebody else's, and it made the most dreadful mix.
The little girl began to get frightened, keeping the secret all to herself; she
wanted to tell her mother, but she didn't dare to; and she was ashamed to ask
the Fairy to take back her gift, it seemed ungrateful and ill-bred, and she
thought she would try to stand it, but she hardly knew how she could, for a
whole year. So it went on and on, and it was Christmas on St. Valentine's
Day and Washington's Birthday, just the same as any day, and it didn't skip
even the First of April, though everything was counterfeit that day, and that
was some little relief.
After a while coal and potatoes began to be awfully scarce, so many had been
wrapped up in tissue-paper to fool papas and mammas with. Turkeys got to
be about a thousand dollars apiece--
"Papa!"
"Well, what?"
"You're beginning to fib."
"Well, two thousand, then."
And they got to passing off almost anything for turkeys--half-grown
humming-birds, and even rocs out of the Arabian Nights--the real turkeys
were so scarce. And cranberries--well, they asked a diamond apiece for
cranberries. All the woods and orchards were cut down for Christmas-trees,
and where the woods and orchards used to be it looked just like a stubble-
field, with the stumps. After a while they had to make Christmas-trees out of
rags, and stuff them with bran, like old-fashioned dolls; but there were plenty
of rags, because people got so poor, buying presents for one another, that
they couldn't get any new clothes, and they just wore their old ones to tatters.
They got so poor that everybody had to go to the poor-house, except the
confectioners, and the fancy-store keepers, and the picture-book sellers, and
the express men; and they all got so rich and proud that they would hardly
wait upon a person when he came to buy. It was perfectly shameful!
Well, after it had gone on about three or four months, the little girl, whenever
she came into the room in the morning and saw those great ugly, lumpy
stockings dangling at the fire-place, and the disgusting presents around
everywhere, used to just sit down and burst out crying. In six months she was
perfectly exhausted; she couldn't even cry any more; she just lay on the
lounge and rolled her eyes and panted. About the beginning of October she
took to sitting down on dolls wherever she found them--French dolls, or any
kind--she hated the sight of them so; and by Thanksgiving she was crazy, and
just slammed her presents across the room.
By that time people didn't carry presents around nicely any more. They flung
them over the fence, or through the window, or anything; and, instead of
running their tongues out and taking great pains to write "For dear Papa," or
"Mamma," or "Brother," or "Sister," or "Susie," or "Sammie," or "Billie," or
"Bobbie," or "Jimmie," or "Jennie," or whoever it was, and troubling to get
the spelling right, and then signing their names, and "Xmas, 18--," they used
to write in the gift-books, "Take it, you horrid old thing!" and then go and
bang it against the front door. Nearly everybody had built barns to hold their
presents, but pretty soon the barns overflowed, and then they used to let them
lie out in the rain, or anywhere. Sometimes the police used to come and tell
them to shovel their presents off the sidewalk, or they would arrest them.
"I thought you said everybody had gone to the poor-house," interrupted the
little girl.

"They did go, at first," said her papa; "but after a while the poor-houses got
so full that they had to send the people back to their own houses. They tried
to cry, when they got back, but they couldn't make the least sound."
"Why couldn't they?"
"Because they had lost their voices, saying 'Merry Christmas' so much. Did I
tell you how it was on the Fourth of July?"
"No; how was it?" And the little girl nestled closer, in expectation of
something uncommon.
Well, the night before, the boys stayed up to celebrate, as they always do, and
fell asleep before twelve o'clock, as usual, expecting to be wakened by the
bells and cannon. But it was nearly eight o'clock before the first boy in the
United States woke up, and then he found out what the trouble was. As soon
as he could get his clothes on he ran out of the house and smashed a big
cannon-torpedo down on the pavement; but it didn't make any more noise
than a damp wad of paper; and after he tried about twenty or thirty more, he
began to pick them up and look at them. Every single torpedo was a big
raisin! Then he just streaked it up-stairs, and examined his fire-crackers and
toy-pistol and two-dollar collection of fireworks, and found that they were
nothing but sugar and candy painted up to look like fireworks! Before ten
o'clock every boy in the United States found out that his Fourth of July things
had turned into Christmas things; and then they just sat down and cried--they
were so mad. There are about twenty million boys in the United States, and
so you can imagine what a noise they made. Some men got together before
night, with a little powder that hadn't turned into purple sugar yet, and they
said they would fire off one cannon, anyway. But the cannon burst into a
thousand pieces, for it was nothing but rock-candy, and some of the men
nearly got killed. The Fourth of July orations all turned into Christmas carols,
and when anybody tried to read the Declaration, instead of saying, "When in
the course of human events it becomes necessary," he was sure to sing, "God
rest you, merry gentlemen." It was perfectly awful.
The little girl drew a deep sigh of satisfaction.
"And how was it at Thanksgiving?"
Her papa hesitated. "Well, I'm almost afraid to tell you. I'm afraid you'll think
it's wicked."
"Well, tell, anyway," said the little girl.
Well, before it came Thanksgiving it had leaked out who had caused all these
Christmases. The little girl had suffered so much that she had talked about it
in her sleep; and after that hardly anybody would play with her. People just
perfectly despised her, because if it had not been for her greediness it
wouldn't have happened; and now, when it came Thanksgiving, and she
wanted them to go to church, and have squash-pie and turkey, and show their
gratitude, they said that all the turkeys had been eaten up for her old
Christmas dinners, and if she would stop the Christmases, they would see
about the gratitude. Wasn't it dreadful? And the very next day the little girl
began to send letters to the Christmas Fairy, and then telegrams, to stop it.
But it didn't do any good; and then she got to calling at the Fairy's house, but
the girl that came to the door always said, "Not at home," or "Engaged," or
"At dinner," or something like that; and so it went on till it came to the old
once-a-year Christmas Eve. The little girl fell asleep, and when she woke up
in the morning--
"She found it was all nothing but a dream," suggested the little girl.
"No, indeed!" said her papa. "It was all every bit true!"
"Well, what did she find out, then?"
"Why, that it wasn't Christmas at last, and wasn't ever going to be, any more.
Now it's time for breakfast."
The little girl held her papa fast around the neck.

"You sa'n't go if you're going to leave it so!"

"How do you want it left?"
"Christmas once a year."
"All right," said her papa; and he went on again.
Well, there was the greatest rejoicing all over the country, and it extended
clear up into Canada. The people met together everywhere, and kissed and
cried for joy. The city carts went around and gathered up all the candy and
raisins and nuts, and dumped them into the river; and it made the fish
perfectly sick; and the whole United States, as far out as Alaska, was one
blaze of bonfires, where the children were burning up their gift-books and
presents of all kinds. They had the greatest time!
The little girl went to thank the old Fairy because she had stopped its being
Christmas, and she said she hoped she would keep her promise and see that
Christmas never, never came again. Then the Fairy frowned, and asked her if
she was sure she knew what she meant; and the little girl asked her, Why not?
and the old Fairy said that now she was behaving just as greedily as ever, and
she'd better look out. This made the little girl think it all over carefully again,
and she said she would be willing to have it Christmas about once in a
thousand years; and then she said a hundred, and then she said ten, and at last
she got down to one. Then the Fairy said that was the good old way that had
pleased people ever since Christmas began, and she was agreed. Then the
little girl said, "What're your shoes made of?" And the Fairy said, "Leather."
And the little girl said, "Bargain's done forever," and skipped off, and
hippity-hopped the whole way home, she was so glad.
"How will that do?" asked the papa.
"First-rate!" said the little girl; but she hated to have the story stop, and was
rather sober. However, her mamma put her head in at the door, and asked her
papa:
"Are you never coming to breakfast? What have you been telling that child?"
"Oh, just a moral tale."
The little girl caught him around the neck again.\
"We know! Don't you tell what, papa! Don't you tell what!"

Anecdote- An anecdote is a brief,

revealing account of an individual person or
an incident. Often humorous, anecdotes
differ from jokes because their primary
purpose is not simply to provoke laughter,
but to reveal a truth more general than the
brief tale itself, such as to characterize a
person by delineating a specific quirk or
trait, to communicate an abstract idea about
a person, place, or thing through the
concrete details of a short narrative.An
anecdote is "a story with a point.

Example of Anecdote
(Philippine Anecdote)
 Sometimes your biggest weakness can become your biggest strength.
Take, for example, the story of one 10-year-old boy who decided to study
judo despite the fact that he had lost his left arm in a devastating car accident.

The boy began lessons with an old Japanese judo master. The boy was doing
well, so he couldn't understand why, after three months of training the master
had taught him only one move.
"Sensei," the boy finally said, "Shouldn't I be learning more moves?"
"This is the only move you know, but this is the only move you'll ever need
to know," the sensei replied.
Not quite understanding, but believing in his teacher, the boy kept training.
Several months later, the sensei took the boy to his first tournament.
Surprising himself, the boy easily won his first two matches. The third match
proved to be more difficult, but after some time, his opponent became
impatient and charged; the boy deftly used his one move to win the match.
Still amazed by his success, the boy was now in the finals.
This time, his opponent was bigger, stronger, and more experienced. For a
while, the boy appeared to be overmatched. Concerned that the boy might get
hurt, the referee called a time-out. He was about to stop the match when the
sensei intervened.
"No," the sensei insisted, "Let him continue."
Soon after the match resumed, his opponent made a critical mistake: he
dropped his guard. Instantly, the boy used his move to pin him. The boy had
won the match and the tournament. He was the champion.
On the way home, the boy and sensei reviewed every move in each and every
match. Then the boy summoned the courage to ask what was really on his
mind.
"Sensei, how did I win the tournament with only one move?"
"You won for two reasons," the sensei answered. "First, you've almost
mastered one of the most difficult throws in all of judo. And second, the only
known defense for that move is for your opponent to grip your left arm."
The boy's biggest weakness had become his biggest strength.

(World Anecdote) Your Personal Angel

A story about an angel who has been taking care of you even before you were
born and will always take care no matter how much you grow old.... you
know that angel as Mother, Mamma, Mom...
My mom only had one eye. I hated her She was such an embarrassment.
She cooked for students and teachers to support the family.
There was this one day during elementary school where my mom came to say
hello to me. I was so embarrassed.
How could she do this to me? I ignored her, threw her a hateful look and ran
out. The next day at school one of my classmates said, Eeee, your mom only
has one eye!
I wanted to bury myself. I also wanted my mom to just disappear. I
confronted her that day and said, If youre only gonna make me a laughing
stock, why dont you just die?
My mom did not respond I didnt even stop to think for a second about
what I had said, because I was full of anger. I was oblivious to her feelings.
I wanted out of that house, and have nothing to do with her. So I studied real
hard, got a chance to go abroad to study.
Then, I got married. I bought a house of my own. I had kids of my own. I was
happy with my life, my kids and the comforts. Then one day, my Mother
came to visit me. She hadnt seen me in years and she didnt even meet her
grandchildren.
When she stood by the door, my children laughed at her, and I yelled at her
for coming over uninvited. I screamed at her, How dare you come to my
house and scare my children! Get Out Of Here! Now!
And to this, my mother quietly answered, Oh, Im so sorry. I may have
gotten the wrong address, and she disappeared out of sight.

One day, a letter regarding a school reunion came to my house. So I lied to

my wife that I was going on a business trip. After the reunion, I went to the
old shack just out of curiosity.
My neighbors said that she died. I did not shed a single tear. They handed me
a letter that she had wanted me to have.
My dearest son,
I think of you all the time. Im sorry that I came to your house and scared
your children.
I was so glad when I heard you were coming for the reunion. But I may not
be able to even get out of bed to see you. Im sorry that I was a constant
embarrassment to you when you were growing up.
You see... when you were very little, you got into an accident, and lost your
eye. As a mother, I couldnt stand watching you having to grow up with one
eye. So I gave you mine.
I was so proud of my son who was seeing a whole new world for me, in my
place, with that eye.
With all my love to you,
Your mother
 Satire- is a genre of literature, and
sometimes graphic and performing arts, in
which vices, follies, abuses, and
shortcomings are held up to ridicule, ideally
with the intent of shaming individuals,
corporations, government, or society itself
into improvement. Although satire is usually
meant to be humorous, its greater purpose is
often constructive social criticism, using wit
to draw attention to both particular and
wider issues in society.
Example of Satire Stories:
First Political Cartoon in America

It was one of the founding fathers, Benjamin Franklin, who is credited with
creating, and printing the first political cartoon in America. Franklin was
attempting to rally support for his plan for an inter-colonial association, in
order to deal with the Iraquois Indians at the Albany Congress of 1754.
Franklins cartoon depicts a snake, cut into pieces, with each piece
representing one of the colonies. The cartoon was published in every
newspaper in America, and had a major impact on the American conscience.

The words Join, or Die eluded to the Indian threat, but much of the
effectiveness of this image was due to a commonly held belief at the time,
that a dead snake could come back to life if the severed pieces were placed
back together. Franklins cartoon effectively grabbed the American peoples
minds, and implanted an idea that endured even though the Albany Congress
turned out to be a failure.

The image of the snake became the symbol for colonial unification, and was
transferred to the colonial battle flag Dont Tread on Me, and became part
of the American spirit.
 Novel-A novel is any relatively long,
written work of narrative fiction, normally
in prose, and typically published as a
book. The genre has been described as
having "a continuous and comprehensive
history of about two thousand years.
Example of Novels:
(Philippine Novels) An Embarrassment of Riches.
In 1994, Jeffrey Kennedy Tantivo - a writer- returns from his exile in the
Philippines to his homeland the Victorianas because of his father's death. Ong
intends to uncover the identities of his father's murderers. In addition to this
circumstance, Tantivo was also summoned to return to Victorianas by his old
friend Jennifer "JaySy" Suarez. Suarez a middle aged woman belonging to
the 20- to 30-year-old generation - wants Tantivo to manage her presidential
campaign, timed after the demise of General Azurin, the dictatorial leader of
Victorianas. Suarez is a politician with Maoist inclinations. Suarez won but
her political rule was brief. On one hand, Brother Mike Verano, a charismatic
preacher and healer, leads the Victorianas Moral Restoration Army using
violence for the cause of morality. Then, Alfonso Ong a wealthy, shrewd
and shady character builds his alternative city of the future on an island off
the coast of Victorianas. The novel ends with Tantivo leaving Victorianas
going back in exile but with a renewed sense and sagacity after the
altercations and travails he experienced in the island nation. During Tantivo's
stay in the Victoriana's, he found out that Jennifer Suarez is his half-sister,
and that his real father is Alfonso Ong. Tantivo left the Victorianas with
Jennifer Suarez, leaving their beloved nation in political, socio-economic,
and religious turmoil.

(World Novel) Shen Mu (an Chinese Novel)

Shenmo Cemetery, resting place of ancient Gods and Demons. An
inconspicuous grave, surrounded by the tombs of giants, lies at the side.
Suddenly, a young man emerges from the grave.
Chen Nan, who had last felt the embrace of death, finds himself surrounded
by the graves of Deities whose names shook the old Xiuhuan and Mohuan
Continents. What happened to them? Why was he buried here as well? He
finds that ten thousand years has passed, and the world has changed much in
the meantime

Novelette-may refer to: A

novella, especially with trivial or
sentimental themes. A narrative
work of prose fiction shorter than a
novella and longer than a short
story.
Example of Novelette
(Philippine Novelette) Magdalena
Cecilia Manguerra Brainard has written an ambitious novel of forbidden love.
Set against the turbulent history of East Asia in the twentieth century and by
turns erotic and tragic, Magdalena vividly depicts three generations of strong
Filipino women.
Aimee Liu, author of Cloud Moutain
Cecilia Manguerra Brainard s novel Magdalena takes its title from a
protagonist descended from several generations of equally compelling female
characters. . . Brainard uses a nonlinear narrative and multiple points of view
to describe the history of the Philippines that roughly corresponds to its
contact with the United States from the Spanish American War to the war in
Vietnam. The novel brings into focus not only the romantic and social
conflicts of different generations of women but also economic and racial
divisions in the Philippines . . . Interspersed throughout the novel are archival
photographs of places and people, photographs that remind the reader that
while the characters are fictional, the backdrop is historical reality.
Kathleen Flanagan, Longwood University, World Literature Today
With her second novel, Magdalena, Cecilia Brainard adds new portraits to the
gallery in Philippine literature. She has always had a strong sense of place.
Here, she provides an inner landscape as well. Together, these provide the
coordinates for the family secrets that bind the characters as securely as
bloodlines.
Linda Ty-Casper, author of The Stranded Whale
In this novel, Brainard blends a series of multiple perspectives to create a
polyphony of voices that enacts Philippine society before and during the
Second World War. The narrative is a nuanced vision of the workings of
culture, social class, obligation and the Filipino personality.
Rocio G. Davis, author of Transcultural Reinventions: Asian American and
Asian Canadian Short Story Cycles
I have been looking for a good story about the war.
N.V.M. Gonzalez, author of The Bread of Salt and Other Stories (upon
reading Winning Hearts and Minds, one chapter of Magdalena.)
About Brainard s first novel When the Rainbow Goddess Wept
The strengthening of the national spirit; the loss of innocence in two
generations these themes are explored by the author, who was born in the
Philippines, with persuasive conviction and stark realism. (Publishers
Weekly)
A fast-paced, sensitively written first novel about the psychological damage
war wreaks, seen through the eyes of an intelligent, resilient young girl ...
Brainard s appealing characters are larger-than-life people who change before
our eyes, yet remain utterly convincing. (Kirkus Review)

(World Novelette)
Tactics
The beginning...
Chapter 1
As his office door opened, Michael looked up sharply, his finger marking the
line on the page he was working on. I asked not to be disturbed, Marcia, he
firmly told his secretary. You know how important this project is.
Yes, sir, Im aware of that, but I thought you would want to know that there
has been an accident on the loading dock...
Michaels heart seized as he heard the words. Colin was on the loading dock.
His new shipment was due in this morning and he was always so particular
that any new equipment was perfect before he would accept delivery. Not
Colin, please God, not Colin; the words pounded inside Michaels head,
drowning out the words Marcia was still saying. Taking a deep breath,
Michael forced himself to listen.
theyve been taken to Mercy General. I have asked for
He theyre alive? Thank God! Michael interrupted hoarsely. Who?
I said, sir, the woman frowned.
Who, damn it?
Mr. Marsden and Mr. Wilmot. It sounds as if Mr. Wilmot was injured more
severely but
Michael didnt hear the rest of the sentence; he was already halfway through
his secretarys office as soon as he heard Colin Marsdens name mentioned.
He was admittedly relieved when he heard that Colin was not as seriously
hurt as Steve Wilmot. Michael couldnt even feel regret or guilt at his relief
that it was Steve and not Colin who had come off worse. Nothing, no one
meant more to him than Colin.
So why the hell had he never let Colin know that?
***
Colin saw Michael enter the emergency room, Michael noticeably slowing
down as he reached the man in the bed next to Colin. He stared at Wilmot for
a few seconds, before his eyes jerked toward his best friend. The fear in
Michaels eyes was obvious to Colin, who was equally shocked and satisfied
that Michael was so affected. Guilt swept through Colin; he shouldn't be
pleased that Michael was worried for him.
As soon as Michael saw that Colin was sitting up, watching him, he visibly
relaxed.
"It's okay, Mike," Colin said, as Michael came closer. "I wasn't hurt
anywhere near as badly as Steve."
"No, thank God!" Michael smiled, sidling in to stand alongside Colin's bed,
staring pointedly at Colins bandaged shoulder, held tightly to his chest by a
short sling. I was expecting to see you flat on your back with tubes and
wires and stuff. Still, you look bad enough.
Thanks, Colin retorted, grinning. He gave a one shouldered shrug, But, I
guess I was lucky; if Id been standing a few inches further
Right. Youd be worse off than poor Steve, Michael finished for him.
Colin sighed, knowing Michael was right, the odds were that he would have
died when the chain slipped and the heavy load fell. It was pure luck that he
moved to retrieve his clipboard at the same moment, receiving only a
glancing blow instead. As chief engineer, Colin considered it his duty to
double-check, on delivery, every new piece of equipment that he had ordered.
He had been doing just that when the accident happened.
Dont suppose you know what caused it? Michael asked. Michael, as the
Engineering Director and Vice President of Harrison Lethe, was Colins
direct boss, but, more importantly to both men, was also Colins oldest
friend.
Not really. I had just turned away when I heard a sound, a harsh grating
noise. Afterwards, I saw the chain hanging from the pulley. I assume it
broke. Colin posed it more like a question than a statement.
Dont worry about it now, Michael said. Ill investigate it thoroughly and
if anyone is to blame His voice had taken on a sharp edge.
Michael?
What? If it is someones fault you and Steve were injured He let the
sentence hang, but Colin knew that Michael wouldnt let it go. Deep down,
Colin also knew he would do the same if Michael had been hurt, so he didnt
comment any further.
Michael glanced over at the unconscious Steve again and then back to Colin,
an unusual expression on his face.

What? Colin asked.

I just Weve been friends for a long time. It was something of a shock to
hear that youd been rushed to the hospital. Michael shrugged. Dont want
to think about the possibility of losing you, you know?
Michaels words warmed Colins heart, but he simply said, Dont make
more of it than it was, Mike, Im fine. Theyre keeping me in for a few days,
thats all.
As if in response to the comment, an orderly arrived with a wheelchair to
transfer Colin to his room.
What about his colleague? Michael asked, nodding at Steve.
Hell be moved when theyre sure hes stabilized, the orderly answered.
Right, I see. Im gonna have a word at the desk, Colin, and see if theyll tell
more about Steves condition. I also need to make sure his wife is on the
way, Michael shrugged. I kinda left the office in a rush, left Marcia to sort
things out.
Imagining how he would have felt if their positions had been reversed, Colin
nodded in understanding.
Ill be up to see you as soon as I can, Michael added.
Okay, Colin smiled, watching admiringly as Michael walked across to the
nurses' station. God, the man has a sweet ass.
 Drama/Play-A play is a form of
literature written by a playwright,
usually consisting of dialogue
between characters, intended for
theatrical performance rather than
just reading. Plays are performed at
a variety of levels, from Broadway,
Off-Broadway, regional theater, to
Community theatre, as well as
University or school productions.
There are rare dramatists, notably
George Bernard Shaw, who have
had little preference as to whether
their plays were performed or read.
The term "play" can refer to both
the written works of playwrights
and to their complete theatrical
performance.
Example of Drama and Play
HAMLET: O, that this too too sullied flesh would melt,
Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew,
Or that the Everlasting had not fixed
His canon gainst self-slaughter! O God, God,
How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable
Seem to me all the uses of this world!
Fie on t! ah fie! Tis an unweeded garden
That grows to seed. Things rank and gross in nature
Possess it merely.

Classification of Non- Fiction

Autobiography-An
autobiography (from the Greek,
-autos self + -bios life +
-graphein to write) is a
self-written account of the life of a
person. The word "autobiography"
was first used deprecatingly by
William Taylor in 1797 in the
English periodical The Monthly
Review, when he suggested the
word as a hybrid, but condemned it
 as "pedantic". However, its next
recorded use was in its present
sense, by Robert Southey in 1809.
Example of Autobiography:
The Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin is the traditional name for the
unfinished record of his own life written by Benjamin Franklin from 1771 to
1790; however, Franklin himself appears to have called the work his
Memoirs. Although it had a tortuous publication history after Franklin's
death, this work has become one of the most famous and influential examples
of an autobiography ever written.
Franklin's account of his life is divided into four parts, reflecting the
different periods at which he wrote them. There are actual breaks in the
narrative between the first three parts, but Part Three's narrative continues
into Part Four without an authorial break (only an editorial one).

Biography-A biography, or simply

bio, is a detailed description of a person's
life. It involves more than just the basic
facts like education, work, relationships,
and death; it portrays a person's
experience of these life events. Unlike a
profile or curriculum vitae (rsum), a
biography presents a subject's life story,
highlighting various aspects of his or her
life, including intimate details of
 experience, and may include an analysis
of the subject's personality.

Example of Biography:
Jose Rizal
On June 19, 1861, Jos Protasio Rizal Mercado y Alonso Realonda was
born in Calamba in the Philippines' Laguna Province. A brilliant student who
became proficient in multiple languages, Jos Rizal studied medicine in
Manila. In 1882, he traveled to Spain to complete his medical degree.

Diary- is a record (originally in

handwritten format) with discrete
entries arranged by date reporting on
what has happened over the course
of a day or other period. A personal
diary may include a person's
experiences, and/or thoughts or
feelings, including comments on
current events outside the writer's
direct experience.
Example of Diary:
Saturday 11.6.13
Dear Diary,
Today has been great! It was my birthday today and I got a lot of presents
from my friends and family. My favourite was a big, green dinosaur. After I
opened all my presents I went to my friend Pauls house and we played
football.
Then my mum came to pick me up and take me to my Grandmas house for a
birthday meal. Next we went to visit my sister, we had to drive for a very
long time.Finally we went back home to go to bed. It was past my bedtime
and very dark!
Peter

Memoirs- is a collection of memories

that an individual writes about moments or
events, both public or private, that took
place in the subject's life. The assertions
made in the work are understood to be
factual. While memoir has historically been
defined as a subcategory of biography or
autobiography since the late 20th century,
the genre is differentiated in form,
presenting a narrowed focus. A biography or
autobiography tells the story "of a life",
while a memoir often tells "a story from a
life", such as touchstone events and turning
points from the author's life. The author of a
 memoir may be referred to as a memoirist or
a memorialist.

Example of Memoir
What Is She Thinking: A Canyon of Quandaries
By: Michele Johnson Keesee
Two beautiful, ocean-blue eyes stared blankly from behind
scratchproof lenses. Her mouth gaped, and the sauce from the breadsticks she
ate moments beforehand stained the corners of her mouth. Her facial muscles
slacked and her shoulders slumped. Her mind had retreated to that special
place, her face utilizing its shield, guarding her private thoughts.

Over the years, I watched my daughter grow from a premature infant into an
immature teen. I sat in the far corner of the room, watching Kali and thought,
What could I have done? I did everything the doctors told me to do.

Born six weeks early on an unseasonably warm winter day, Kali triumphed,
insisting her right to exist. She required no assistance in maintaining her
unexpected early arrival. Breathing and eating, just like any full-term
newborn, four days after her birth, the hospital released her into my care.

Essay- An essay is, generally, a piece of writing

that gives the author's own argument but the definition
is vague, overlapping with those of an article, a pamphlet,
and a short story. Essays have traditionally been sub-
classified as formal and informal. Formal essays are
characterized by "serious purpose, dignity, logical
 organization, length," whereas the informal essay is
characterized by "the personal element (self-revelation,
individual tastes and experiences, confidential manner),
humor, graceful style, rambling structure,
unconventionality or novelty of theme," etc.

Example of Essay (Narrative Essay)

Looking back on a childhood filled with events and memories, I find it rather
difficult to pick on that leaves me with the fabled "warm and fuzzy feelings.
As the daughter of an Air Force Major, I had the pleasure of traveling across
America in many moving trips. I have visited the monstrous trees of the
Sequoia National Forest, stood on the edge of the Grand Canyon and have
jumped on the beds at Caesars Palace in Lake Tahoe."
The day I picked my dog up from the pound was one of the happiest days of
both of our lives. I had gone to the pound just a week earlier with the idea
that I would just "look" at a puppy. Of course, you can no more just look at
those squiggling little faces so filled with hope and joy than you can stop the
sun from setting in the morning. I knew within minutes of walking in the
door that I would get a puppy but it wasn't until I saw him that I knew I
had found my puppy.

Letter- a written or printed

communication addressed to a
person or organization and usually
transmitted by mail.
Example of Letter:
 Mr. M. Leaf
Chief of Syrup Production
Old Sticky Pancake Company
456 Maple Lane
Forest, ON 7W8 9Y0

Dear Mr. Leaf:

Let me begin by thanking you for your past contributions to our Little League
baseball team. Your sponsorship aided in the purchase of ten full uniforms
and several pieces of baseball equipment for last year's season.
Next month, our company is planning an employee appreciation pancake
breakfast honoring retired employees for their past years of service and
present employees for their loyalty and dedication in spite of the current
difficult economic conditions.
We would like to place an order with your company for 25 pounds of
pancake mix and five gallons of maple syrup. We hope you will be able to
provide these products in the bulk quantities we require.
As you are a committed corporate sponsor and long-time associate, we hope
that you will be able to join us for breakfast on December 12, 2016.

Respectfully yours,
Derek Jeter
Classification of Poetry
Narrative Poetry- Narrative
poetry is a form of poetry that tells a
story, often making the voices of a
narrator and characters as well; the
entire story is usually written in
metered verse. ... Narrative poems
include epics, ballads, idylls, and
lays.
A.) Epic- Traditionally, an epic poem is
a long, serious, poetic narrative
about a significant event, often
 featuring a hero. Before the
development of writing, epic
poems were memorized and played
an important part in maintaining a
record of the great deeds and
history of a culture.
Example of Epic Poetry (Beowulf)
Mighty and canny,
Hygelacs kinsman was keenly watching
for the first move the monster would make.
Nor did the creature keep him waiting
but struck suddenly and started in;
he grabbed and mauled a man on his bench,
bit into his bone-lappings, bolted down his blood
and gorged on him in lumps, leaving the body
utterly lifeless, eaten up
hand and foot. Venturing closer,
his talon was raised to attack Beowulf
where he lay on the bed, he was bearing in
with open claw when the alert heros
comeback and armlock forestalled him utterly.
The captain of evil discovered himself
in a handgrip harder than anything
he had ever encountered in any man
on the face of the earth. Every bone in his body
quailed and recoiled, but he could not escape.
He was desperate to flee to his den and hide
with the devils litter, for in all his days
he had never been clamped or cornered like this.

B.) Ballad- is a poem that is typically

arranged in quatrains with the
rhyme scheme ABAB. Ballads are
usually narrative, which means
they tell a story. Ballads began as
folk songs and continue to be used
today in modern music.
Example of Ballad:
As I was walking down the street
I saw two people in secret meet
The second one said to the first
'You have some news to quench my thirst?'
'In behind the old, damp shed
There lies a noble man slain, dead
And no one knows he lies in strife
Except his dog and lonely wife
With master gone where no one knocks
His dog has left to chase a fox
His wife has found somebody new
His house is left for all to view

Though it's been empty for a while

We'll be warm and dry in half a mile
For now we can take comfort there
We'll flee the place when it grows bare
Many people knew the noble man
But none do care where he has gone
Over his grave, all do ignore
The wind shall blow forever more.'

C.) Metrical Tales- s a narrative poem

which is written in verse that
relates to real or imaginary events
in simple, straight forward
 language, from a wide range of
subjects, characters, life.
Example of Metrical Tale:
The Queens Bed

There's a certain symmetry in mis-shapes

A Correlation of zig zags
A pyramid of Mish mashery
Of Golden haberdashery
A prism geometry forgot
Disfunctional patterns
Of a Diamant Zodiac
A Tessellating Mosaic
A crazy jigsaw of zany gems
Adorned the Queens four poster bed
A Crystalised Diadem

Lyrical Poetry- Lyric poetry is a

formal type of poetry which
expresses personal emotions or
 feelings, typically spoken in the first
person.
A.) Ode- An ode is a kind of poem, usually
praising something. ... An ode is a form of
lyric poetry expressing emotion and
it's usually addressed to someone or
something, or it represents the poet's
musings on that person or thing, as Keats'
ode tells us what he thought as he looked
at the Grecian urn.

Example of Ode:
To me did seem
Appareled in celestial light,
The glory and the freshness of a dream.
It is not now as it hath been of yore;--
Turn wheresoe'er I may,
By night or day,
The things which I have seen I now can see no more.
Horatian Ode
The Horatian ode was named after the Roman poet, Horace. It was usually
more calm and less formal than the Pindaric Ode, and was more for personal
enjoyment than a stage performance.
Example: Here is an excerpt from Ode to the Confederate Dead by Allen
Tate.
Row after row with strict impunity
The headstones yield their names to the element,
The wind whirrs without recollection;
In the riven troughs the splayed leaves
Pile up, of nature the casual sacrament
To the seasonal eternity of death;
Then driven by the fierce scrutiny
Of heaven to their election in the vast breath,
They sought the rumour of mortality.

B.) Elegy- For all of its pervasiveness,

however, the elegy remains
remarkably ill-defined: sometimes
used as a catch-all to denominate
texts of a somber or pessimistic
tone, sometimes as a marker for
textual monumentalizing, and
 sometimes strictly as a sign of a
lament for the dead.
Example of Elegy:
Old Town Elegy
The bridge still arches the road but with what design?
The railway that once crossed Ridgeway and vale to the sea
Is erased and gone, with now scarcely residual sign
And barely more trace than near roads of Roman decree

From the bridge, track the ghosts of line, goods yard, Old Town Station
Where we lingered and noted the numbers of each passing train
Web of steel and of steam entwined village and town across nation
'Til Arcadian rural slow lines were made suddenly to wain

Gone: the Market where cows sheep and pigs brought in telling perceptions
The images, noises and smells of the farms to the town
The tweeded farmers with leathery limbs and faces
And gaiters of deepest sheen in a rich chestnut brown

Flaxen ropes, billhooks, pitchforks enough for a peasants' uprising

Spread along the High street and over the Corn Exchange square
While Newport Street furnished inns for all thirsts' reviving
And above all, the clock tower made skyline iconic and fair

Then was school run not cosseted, chauffeured, in family car

But raced, skipped or dawdled through field, street, market and station
Our little world teamed with action, unscreened, with no bar
Of health and safety; adventure without filtration

In that world we seemied in different incarnation

So are we the same people, and do we now view the same place?
Can we yet discern immortality's intimation?
The adventure continues though perhaps at a difference pace.

C.) Sonnet- The term sonnet is derived from

the Italian word sonetto (from Old
Provenal sonet a little poem, from son
song, from Latin sonus a sound). By the
thirteenth century it signified a poem of
fourteen lines that follows a strict rhyme
scheme and specific structure.
Conventions associated with the sonnet
have evolved over its history. Writers of
 sonnets are sometimes called
"sonneteers", although the term can be
used derisively.
Example of Sonnet:
Sonnet 53
What is your substance, whereof are you made,
That millions of strange shadows on you tend?
Since everyone hath every one, one shade,
And you, but one, can every shadow lend.
Describe Adonis, and the counterfeit
Is poorly imitated after you.
On Helens cheek all art of beauty set,
And you in Grecian tires are painted new.
Speak of the spring and foison of the year;
The one doth shadow of your beauty show,
The other as your bounty doth appear,
And you in every blessed shape we know.
In all external grace you have some part,
But you like none, none you, for constant heart.
Dramatic Poetry- is any drama
that is written in verse that is meant
to be recited. It usually tells a story
or refers to a situation. This would
include closet drama, dramatic
monologues, and rhyme verse.
Example of Dramatic Poetry:
The Raven, by Edgar Allan Poe

Prophet! said I, thing of evil!prophet still, if bird or devil!

By that Heaven that bends above usby that God we both adore
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.
Quoth the Raven Nevermore.