Use Epic in a sentence
[ep-ik] Show IPA
adjective Also, ep·i·cal.1.noting or pertaining to a long poeti
composition, usuallycentered upon a hero, in which a series
of great achievementsor events is narrated in elevated style
: Homer's Iliad is an epicpoem.
2.resembling or suggesting such poetry: an epic novel on th
efounding of the country.
3.heroic; majestic; impressively great: the epic events of the
4.of unusually great size or extent: a crime wave of epicpro
5.Slang. spectacular; very impressive; awesome: Their burge
rs andfries are epic!
An epic (from the Ancient
Greek adjective ἐπικός (epikos), from ἔπος (epos)
"word, story, poem") is a lengthy narrative poem,
ordinarily concerning a serious subject containing
details of heroic deeds and events significant to a
culture or nation. Oral poetry may qualify as an epic,
and Albert Lord and Milman Parry have argued that
classical epics were fundamentally an oral poetic form.
Another type of epic poetry is epyllion (plural: epyllia),
which is a brief narrative poem with
a romantic ormythological theme. The term, which
means 'little epic', came into use in the nineteenth
century. It refers primarily to the erudite, shorter
hexameter poems of the Hellenistic period and the
similar works composed at Rome from the age of
the neoterics; to a lesser degree, the term includes some
poems of the English Renaissance, particularly those
influenced by Ovid. The most famous example
of classical epyllion is perhaps Catullus 64.
LEGENDS OLDEN DAYS
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
The legends olden days,
Breathe once again,
Under flight's fantasy.
Never yielding treasures,
Most precious keepsake.
Heroes nay concord by,
Beauties most fare.
Lay down there arms,
Kneeling in prayer.
Hopes salvation a,
Delicate tender hearts rose,
In repose. Illusions playground,
Imaginations mystical realm.
The black night rides forward,
As destiny’s last dragon,
Shoots flames fiery rain.
Withered hands upon there staff,
The aged wizard stalks a, Timeless path.
On downy wings steed, Pegasus fly’s high above,
The earth and sea.
Unicorns challenge one,
Another as the winds,
Blow through silken mains.
Ancient bard pass down,
Forgotten by ways.
Drink long and deep from,
Clarity's crystal streams.
Sing he of forgotten times,
To be relived within his,
“Mad Mind” I am seeing things that are not there;
I hear my name whispered softly in the night air,
I feel a presence in this house,
it follows me everywhere,
I hear strange noises in the attic,
do I dare? I long for faith at my side,
but have only fear, Hunted by an invisible beast,
who hides with an evil glint in his red eyes,
I flee from the attic and run to the stairs,
but I hear sinister laughing come from down there.
Why is the night so dark and the air so cold?
How I wish the lights would turn back on.
I feel the monster everywhere,
As if I am trapped in a treacherous house of mirrors,
But when I dare to stare,
I find only me standing there.
Where did this darkness come from?
My only hope is to breathe this malignant air.
Sprinting from my house,
I hide in the woods But I can feel the breathing of creatures,
and smell fire everywhere.
Onto a lonely old road I run,
but my predator is waiting for me there.
Up ahead is an abandoned farm house,
that was destroyed long ago by the fire in this air.
Across the open field, salvation awaits there,
A empty church with open doors, and a powerful cross that hangs there.
Now I see it is the Devil trying to beat me there,
The perverted Angel spreads its rotting wings and ascends into the night air,
It laughs, it roars, it screams, then it calls my name and say’s
“I am the one who has always been there.” Into the church I run, surely God
will protect me there.
Thirsty Feeling about Nature
Seating nearby valley side,
Astonished by seeing a nature's serene beauty.
Amidst Grassy hills,
zigzagically mounted on the stupefying homeland.
Sliding from the highest peak,
Flowing in its own way,
Wondering about its challenging destiny.
Love the way you are.
I owe you for myself!! Wind's whispered,
Cheering in its ain way.
Chanting of music beats, Recited with a soothing intonation.
Birds speaking eloquently.
Dazzling due to marvellous rainbow.
Love the way you are, I owe you for myself!!
Amazing and enamoured environment aroused my emotions,
Feeling Shy to express.
Missing my dream person,my Mr.Adam.
Versatile persona where are you?
Come here and hug me.
Fuel me up with spirit. Gift me a smile.
Until forever fades away, Endure me.
Love the way you are.
I owe you for myself!!
Finished dropping stones in water.
Gladly waiting for your arrival.
Testing patience is all enough now.
Wanted to feel the gist of love.
Desire to fulfil wish with pure heart and soul.
Auspicious moments provoking to capture Love the way you are,
I owe you for myself!!
1.a short tale to teach a moral lesson, often with anima
inanimate objects as characters; apologue: the fable of the
tortoise and the hare; Aesop's fables.
2.a story not founded on fact: This biography is largely
a self-laudatory fable.
3.a story about supernatural or extraordinary persons o
r incidents; legend: the fables of gods and heroes.
4.legends or myths collectively: the heroes of Greek fable.
5.an untruth; falsehood: This boast of a cure is a medica
Fable is a literary genre. A fable is a succinct fictional
story, in prose or verse, that features animals, mythical
creatures, plants, inanimate objects or forces of nature
which are anthropomorphized (given human qualities such as
verbal communication), and that illustrates or leads to an
interpretation of a moral lesson (a "moral"), which may at
the end be added explicitly in 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 and other
powers of humankind.
The Bat and the Weasels
A Bat who fell upon the ground and was
caught by a Weasel pleaded to be spared
his life. The Weasel refused, saying that
he was by nature the enemy of all birds.
The Bat assured him that he was not a
bird, but a mouse, and thus was set free.
Shortly afterwards the Bat again fell to
the ground and was caught by another
Weasel, whom he likewise entreated not to
eat him. The Weasel said that he had a
special hostility to mice. The Bat assured
him that he was not a mouse, but a bat,
and thus a second time escaped.
THE WOLF AND THE HOUSE
There was once a Wolf who got very little to eat because the Dogs of the
village were so wide awake and watchful. He was really nothing but skin
and bones, and it made him very downhearted to think of it.
One night this Wolf happened to fall in with a fine fat House Dog who
had wandered a little too far from home. The Wolf would gladly have
eaten him then and there, but the House Dog looked strong enough to
leave his marks should he try it. So the Wolf spoke very humbly to the
Dog, complimenting him on his fine appearance.
"You can be as well-fed as I am if you want to," replied the Dog.
"Leave the woods; there you live miserably. Why, you have to fight
hard for every bite you get. Follow my example and you will get along
"What must I do?" asked the Wolf.
"Hardly anything," answered the House Dog. "Chase people who carry
canes, bark at beggars, and fawn on the people of the house. In
return you will get tidbits of every kind, chicken bones, choice bits
of meat, sugar, cake, and much more beside, not to speak of kind
words and caresses."
The Wolf had such a beautiful vision of his coming happiness that he
But just then he noticed that the hair on the Dog's neck was worn
and the skin was chafed.
"What is that on your neck?"
"Nothing at all," replied the Dog.
"Oh, just a trifle!"
"But please tell me."
"Perhaps you see the mark of the collar to which my chain is
"What! A chain!" cried the Wolf. "Don't you go wherever you please?"
"Not always! But what's the difference?" replied the Dog.
"All the difference in the world! I don't care a rap for your
feasts and I wouldn't take all the tender young lambs in the world
at that price." And away ran the Wolf to the woods.
A short story is a brief work of literature,
usually written in narrative prose. 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. In so doing, short stories make
use of plot, resonance, and other dynamic
components to a far greater degree than is
typical of an anecdote, yet to a far lesser
degree than a novel. While the short story
is largely distinct from the novel, authors
of both generally draw from a common pool
of literary techniques.
1. A short story is a piece of prose fiction which can be read at a single
2. It ought to combine objective matter-of-fact description with poetic
3. It ought to present a unified impression of tone, colour and effect
"unity of effect" (Poe)
4. It mostly shows a decisive moment of life (which can entail a fatal
5. There is often little action, hardly any character development, but we
snapshot of life (slice-of-life story).
6. Its plot is not very complex (in contrast to the novel), but it creates a
impression and leaves us with a vivid sensation rather than a number of
7. There is a close connection between the short story and the poem as
there is in
both a unique union of idea and structure.
8. There is a limited set of characters, one single action and a simple plot
(often: exposition, complication, crisis, sad / happy ending).
The Hospitality of The Pigeon
Once upon a time, there lived two pigeons. They
were husband and wife. They spend their day looking for
food. In the evening they would come and rest on their
favorite tree in the forest.
One evening, the wife returned home early. A usual she
was waiting for herhusband, when suddenly it started
raining. She strated to worry. “Where are you, my dear?
You never get so late,” she whispered to herself.
Just then she saw a bird-catcher coming towards her. In
a cage he had a pigeon. It was her husband. “OH no, what
shall I do now” I wish I can help my husband,” she said.
She desperately tried to distract the bird-catcher by
flapping her wings, but all in vain.
Soon, it stopped raining. “Brrr! It is so cold,” said the
bird-catcher. His clothes were wet. He decided to sit
under the same tree where the two pigeons lived.
The poor wife sat by her husband’s cage. And she started
to cry. The husband said. “Do not feel sad, dear. We
now have a guest. This man is shivering and hungry. He
needs your help.” Hearing this, the wife flew around
getting dry twigs. She made a fire for the bird-catcher.
Then she looked at the bird-catcher and said, “You are our
guest, since I have no food to offer, I will jump into this
fire. In few minutes I will become an edible item for you.
You can eat me.”
By now, the bird-catcher was overwhelmed by the
hospitality of the humblepigeon couple. He at once stopped
the wife jumping into the fire.
He opened the cage and set the husband free. “I have
been cruel and selfish. I will never trap any bird in my net
again,” said the bird-catcher and went away. The
two pigeons were happy to be reunited.
The Bonded Donkey
In a small village, there lived a potter. He had
a donkey. Everyday his donkey would carry soil
from the field to his house. Since the field was
quite far off, the potter would rest under a tree
midway, tying his donkey nearby.
One day, the potter forgot to take the rope with
which he tied the donkeyeveryday. When he
reached the tree, he thought, “How do
I tie this donkeytoday? He might run away if I
sleep. “The potter decided to tie down holding the
donkey’s ears so that the donkey would not run
But this way neither the donkey was
comfortable nor the potter was able to take
rest. A saint, who happened to be passing
by, saw the potter holding on to the
donkey’s ears. Then the saint wanted to
know what the problem of the potter was.
When the potter told the saint what the
problem was, the wise saint said, “Take the
donkey to the place where
you tie him everyday. Pretend to tie him
using an imaginary rope. I assure you he
won’t run away.” The potter did whatthe
saint had said.
He left the donkey and went to take a nap.
When he woke up, to his surprise and relief,
he found the donkey standing in the same
Soon the potter prepared to leave for home.
But the donkey did not move. “What is
wrong with this donkey!” exclaimed the
potter in frustration.
Luckily, the potter saw the wise saint again.
He ran up to the saint and told him about
the donkey’s strange behavior. The
saint said, “You tied up the donkey, but did
you untie him?” Go and pretend to untie the
rope with which you had tied the
donkey.” The potter followed the saint’s
Now the donkey was ready to leave for
home. The potter understood
A traditional historical tale (or collection of
related tales) popularly regarded as true but
usually containing a mixture of fact and fiction.
A legend (Latin, legenda, "things to be read") is
a narrative of human actions that are perceived
both by teller and listeners to take place within
human history and to possess certain qualities that
give the tale verisimilitude. Legend, for its active
and passive participants includes no happenings that
are outside the realm of "possibility", defined by a
highly flexible set of parameters, which may
include miracles that are perceived as actually
having happened, within the specific tradition
ofindoctrination where the legend arises, and
within which it may be transformed over time, in
order to keep it fresh and vital, and realistic. A
majority of legends operate within the realm of
uncertainty, never being entirely believed by the
participants, but also never being resolutely
The Legend of Makahiya
Long time ago, there was a couple in Barangay Masagana (Pampanga
today) who wanted a daughter. Their wish was granted and the wife gave
birth to a baby girl. They called her Maria. Maria was very beautiful but
very shy that she wouldn't go out from their house.
Weeks later, Spaniards came to their town. The Spaniards were very cruel
that they get everything they wanted. They rob houses and kill everyone
who gets in their way and who refuses to give what they wanted.
The couple was very frightened to lose their daughter so, they hid Maria in
the bushes so the Spaniards couldn't find her.
After the Spaniards left their town, the couple tried to look for Maria but
they couldn't find her even in the bushes where they hid her, instead they
found a little plant that is very sensitive that when you touch it, it would
So they thought it was their daughter, Maria. They called the plant
"Makahiya" that means "touch me not," like their daughter who was very
The Legends of Mt. Mayon
Once there was a princess named Daragang Magayon (Daraga means
lady, Magayon is beautiful) who lived in Bicol. She's so beautiful. She
came from the family that reigns over the entire Bicol.
Because of her beauty and influence, warriors, princes and datus from
different parts of the country desired to have her as their wife. But
Magayon fell in love with a warrior named Handiong, a prince who
came from a tribe that was, unfortunately, the rival of Magayon's tribe.
The two suffered so much from their respective family's attempts to
separate them that they finally decided to flee. Unfortunately their
families found out and fought a bloody tribal war. This caused the
young couple so much pain they decided together to commit suicide.
The tribes buried the lovers separately. Months passed when Magayon's
tribe saw a volcano growing in the place where Magayon was buried.
They named it for Daragang Magayon. "Bulkang Magayon" describing
its perfect shape like their beautiful Daraga.
And then there's the story of an uncle Magayon*, whose anger depicts
how violent the mountain can become.
It seems that there once lived a very beautiful native
princess who had an uncle named Magayon. He was so
possessive of his niece that no man dared to challenge his
wrath by courting the favors of the young maiden. One
day, however, a brave and virile warrior was so smitten by
the princess that he threw all cares to the wind, clambered
up through the window of the royal chamber and enticed
the girl to elope with him.
With Magayon at their heels, the couple prayed to the gods
for assistance. Suddenly from out of nowhere, a landslide
buried the raging uncle alive. Local folks now claim that it is
Magayon's anger bursting forth in the form of eruptions.
(* now I don't know about you, but having a male name
that means beautiful would definitely evoke such anger in
me. *joke, joke, joke*) :-)
I heard still another story that tells of Daragang Magayon's
lover being killed by her family that she fled from them in
anger. The next day, a beautiful but angry mountain grew
where Magayon was last seen.