What is the poem unending thanks by Pedro Suarez Osorio?

Answer 1

Allegorical Quatrains

Bienvenido Lumbera

Alas for me, my friend,

Solitary is the peace of thread:

Once it snaps at the bobbin,

It ends up tangled in the heddle-rod

Though the hill be high

And reach up to the highland,

Being desirous of heights

It will finally be reduced to discern.

When one submits to a wound,

He does not feel the pain;

To one who resists it?

A mere scratch become a sole,

I'm the fish the size of the "sap sap"

No wider than a barnade;

But I'm creating quite stir

Because I'm swimming around

With a Big "apahap"

No greater love than yours

Nicanor Tiongson

There is no greater love than yours,

O Most Sacred Heart,

so we, the Filipino people,

offer you our hearts.

In our temples and in our homes,

we cry out to you.

May your kingdom stand firm from Aparri to Jolo.

Long we have hoped

for Your Empire in the East.

Like the sun burning bright

is the faith of the Philippines,

It stands strong like a rock and fills all void like the sea. Never shall these islands be possessed by sin, for on our mountains is raised your heavenly sign

and the gates of Hell shall not prevail.

The Storm

Theodore Roethke

Against the stone breakwater,

Only an ominous lapping,

While the wind whines overhead,

Coming down from the mountain,

Whistling between the arbors, the winding terraces;

A thin whine of wires, a rattling and flapping of leaves,

And the small street-lamp swinging and slamming against

the lamp pole.

Where have the people gone?There is one light on the mountain.

Along the sea-wall, a steady sloshing of the swell,

The waves not yet high, but even,

Coming closer and closer upon each other;

A fine fume of rain driving in from the sea,

Riddling the sand, like a wide spray of buckshot,

The wind from the sea and the wind from the mountain contending,

Flicking the foam from the whitecaps straight upward into the darkness.

A time to go home!--

And a child's dirty shift billows upward out of an alley,

A cat runs from the wind as we do,

Between the whitening trees, up Santa Lucia,

Where the heavy door unlocks,

And our breath comes more easy--

Then a crack of thunder, and the black rain runs over us, over

The flat-roofed houses, coming down in gusts, beating

The walls, the slatted windows, driving

The last watcher indoors, moving the cardplayers closer

To their cards, their anisette.

We creep to our bed, and its straw mattress.

We wait; we listen.

The storm lulls off, then redoubles,

Bending the trees half-way down to the ground,

Shaking loose the last wizened Oranges in the orchard,

Flattening the limber carnations.

A spider eases himself down from a swaying light-bulb,

Running over the coverlet, down under the iron bedstead.

Water roars into the cistern.

We lie closer on the gritty pillow,

Breathing heavily, hoping--

For the great last leap of the wave over the breakwater,

The flat boom on the beach of the towering sea-swell,

The sudden shudder as the jutting sea-cliff collapses,

And the hurricane drives the dead straw into the living pine-tree.

Summer Song

Summer long

I'll sing to you

my summer song

Read a poem

A summer song

It isn't long

It's just a song

From my heart

a poem long

but not at all

my summer song

My summer long

is something special

a poem, a song

to my heart belong

Summer breeze

summer long

I'll sing to you

my summer song

Planting Rice

Planting rice is never fun,

bending over 'til the set of sun.

Cannot sit, cannot stand,

Plant the seedlings all by hand.

Planting rice is not fun,

Bending over 'til the set of sun.

Cannot sit and cannot stand,

Plant the seedlings all by hand.

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