The Storyteller. J. Michaels

      

      The Storyteller

      The Lyrical Tales of

      J. Michaels

      The Storyteller

      The Lyrical Tales of J. Michaels

      Copyright © 2016 J. Michaels. All rights reserved. Except for brief quotations in critical publications or reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without prior written permission from the publisher. Write: Permissions, Wipf and Stock Publishers, 199 W. 8th Ave., Suite 3, Eugene, OR 97401.

      Resource Publications

      An Imprint of Wipf and Stock Publishers

      199 W. 8th Ave., Suite 3

      Eugene, OR 97401

      www.wipfandstock.com

      paperback isbn: 978-1-5326-0214-6

      hardcover isbn: 978-1-5326-0216-0

      ebook isbn: 978-1-5326-0215-3

      Manufactured in the U.S.A.

      Dedicated to those who love a good tale, yet quibble not whether penned as prose or verse, but rather let both instruct as they search for truth in the shadows of their own story

      Tale Well Spun

      (Introduction)

      Everyone loves a good story. Most enjoy a good storyteller. These are stories told in the style of the ancient storytellers, with words animated by rhythm and rhyme. They are more in the style of a Bob Dylan ballad than a Shakespearean sonnet. Such tales are woven with provocation, humor, suspense, and deep feeling, and do so without a full frontal assault. Stories, fables, parables; all leave open a host of interpretations and allow the reader to take away what he or she wants or needs or is ready to assimilate. They may teach, illuminate, or simply entertain, but a good one will most certainly pique our interest.

      This medium of storytelling can convey the deepest of sorrows, the pinnacles of joy, and discover the most humane of experiences. They reveal that the greatest of human achievement often comes from the simplest of acts and that all of us involved in this mutual human experiment are far more alike than different. These are unusual tales, lyrical and haunting, attired in word and phrase. So come join us, if you will, for an excursion through the realm of mystical tales that aim to inflame your heart, provoke your mind and stir your soul. Let us once more ask the storyteller to weave us some magic and may it fill us with the wonder of the tale well spun.

      Once Upon A Time

      Lend me thy hearing

      Fair creatures one and all

      Come sit beside my fire

      Let me spin tales so tall

      Here in mystical forest

      Among leaves and angels and such

      Listen to my stories

      I promise to enjoy them much

      Perhaps you will too

      Journey with me and see

      Lands beyond our vision

      Lands beyond the seas

      Surpassing even the heavens

      As they shine and pass away

      Our humble little stories

      Pass upon this day

      From the poetry collection Memories of the Future

      Nicobod & Icobod

      Nicobod and Icobod went up the hill

      Through the valley and round the bend

      They went high and they went low

      They went to and they went fro

      From here to there they went

      Looking up and fell down

      Looking for good and evil found

      Searching for truth, looking for peace

      Til they came upon a stone

      A large obstacle in their way

      They pushed and shoved

      They pulled and prodded

      But the stone remained

      And ever will until they know

      Where lives the stone

      And its refrain

      From the poetry collection Common Ground

      John Henry

      Born a man, a proud African citizen

      Taken from his home by greed and stealth

      Leaving a family broken and fatherless

      For money, ignorance, and greed

      John Henry was strong and black

      A large man, tall and imposing he stood

      The body of Hercules

      The soul of a dove

      His family and peace were all he prized

      A simple man trying to get along

      Fair to his neighbors, a source for all

      Living to be good, happy to be alive

      Those simple sweet days gone now

      As the slave traders beat and prod

      Afraid of the giant, awed by his size

      Yet dollars counting, they priced their prize

      A gentle man captured by those less so

      A tragedy born that day

      Hearts broken and sadness reigned

      All in a day’s work and the devil’s pay

      John Henry wept when left alone

      Too proud for the cruel captors to see

      His heart heavy as his country faded

      His shoreline replaced by one far away

      Days of discomfort and strife

      Hungry, beaten, robbed of his life

      Treated as livestock, meat for sale

      Reduced to headcount, his soul grew pale

      The long days at sea finally passed

      The new home reached at last

      Uncertainty and fear his companions now

      Sold to rich men, but poorer than he

      Placed on the platform for all to see

      Bids placed on the man so strong

      No smile for the price, no soul of the man

      Body purchased and nothing more

      The buyers cared not but for profit and use

      The soul not of the bargain made

      This gentle giant with so much to add

      Stood motionless with heart so sad

      Sold and purchased as merchant’s wares

      The property of genteel men with hearts of stone

      Branded and named with no care for the man

      Only muscles to them, a working machine

      Life was hard, the days were long

      Picking