Hope

Hope

by Michael Espinoza



The morning star laments the dark of night,
Ere even raised is sun into the sky.
Likewise is death the universal fright;
Yet raised the dead are, ne'er again to die.

It's Over

It's Over

by Michael Espinoza



It's over!  It's finished!
And hardly diminished
Is this poet's poetry touch.

They aren't the best,
But it was a test,
And I thank you people so much.

A month now has passed,
And I stand aghast,
As thirty new poems I see.

This challenge thus given
By NaPo has driven
The writing of poems by me!

I thank all the folk
At the website, no joke,
And any new readers I've got.

Thanks for being with me,
Reading my poetry;
I thank you a heck of a lot!

The Caterpillar Who Wanted to Be a Flower

The Caterpillar Who Wanted to Be a Flower

by Michael Espinoza



Flowers take root and they grow into beautiful plants.
They blossom into many colors, for fine decoration.
While seeds aren't beautiful, each one is given the chance
To grow into rose, tulip, pansy, or even carnation.

He wanted to be a fine flower, but that could not be.
They all told him he was no seed, so he'd better forget it.
A small caterpillar was what he was, ugly to see.
But he would have destiny lovely, if only he'd let it.

He envied the flowers--why couldn't he take root and grow?
Why was a fine blossom beyond his reach?  It wasn't fair.
He thought about all of the flower kinds that he did know,
Not only the common, but also exotic and rare.

He thought that he wanted to be first one kind, then another,
And then to be hybrid of all the most beautiful kind.
He didn't feel comfortable telling this to his mother,
Especially since he just couldn't yet make up his mind.

He loved many flowers, but each one had flaws that he saw.
Too big, or too small, or else lacking in colors enough.
And just when he thought that he had it, a dealbreaking flaw
Presented itself, so he thought about alternate stuff.

And all that he did in the meanwhile was eat and stay there.
He hated depending on others to get himself food.
If he were a flower, he'd make his own food from the air,
And the soil and the sunlight, and water--that brightened his mood.

But he was no flower--he needed to eat and to eat,
And he was no beauty to look at, no more than a worm.
He didn't get anywhere, even with myriad feet.
He felt like a pestilence, vermin--he felt like a germ.

The more that he thought about what kind of flower to be,
The more that he thought that there was no such kind upon earth.
He realized his thoughts led to flitting from flower to tree,
A butterfly, what he was meant to be ever since birth.

But what was so special about being small butterfly?
They had no roots, couldn't grow taller like flowers--oh no.
The world was not made for the butterflies fluttering by,
But flowers, who take their root somewhere and start thence to grow.

Why couldn't, at least, he be flower before butterfly?
If only, if only--now trapped in his skin did he feel.
He locked himself into his chrysalis, starting to cry,
Just stuck in one place, till the day his cocoon starts to peel.

Can a small caterpillar who's ugly have destiny grand?
Will he make any friends who will help him his true self to be?
Is there hope that he might have existence that isn't so bland,
Isn't stuck to the underside of this small branch of his tree?

"I'm Gonna Compose Epic Poetry"

"I'm Gonna Compose Epic Poetry"

by Michael Espinoza



He said, "I'm gonna compose"
(He said, "I'm gonna compose")
"Epic poetry"
("Epic poetry")
He said, "I'm gonna compose"
(He said, "I'm gonna compose")
"Epic poetry"
("Epic poetry")
He said, "I'm gonna compose"
(He said, "I'm gonna compose")
"Epic poetry"
("Epic poetry")
"I'll be an epic poet or I'll die a-tryin'."

He set to work
(He set to work)
To write an epic poem
(To write an epic poem)
He set to work
(He set to work)
To write an epic poem
(To write an epic poem)
He set to work
(He set to work)
To write an epic poem
(To write an epic poem)
He knew he'd write an epic or he'd die a-tryin'.

He said, "I'm gonna compose"
(He said, "I'm gonna compose")
"Epic poetry"
("Epic poetry")
He said, "I'm gonna compose"
(He said, "I'm gonna compose")
"Epic poetry"
("Epic poetry")
He said, "I'm gonna compose"
(He said, "I'm gonna compose")
"Epic poetry"
("Epic poetry")
"I'll be an epic poet or I'll die a-tryin'."

He read The Iliad
(He read The Iliad)
And The Odyssey
(And The Odyssey)
He read The Iliad
(He read The Iliad)
And The Odyssey
(And The Odyssey)
He read The Iliad
(He read The Iliad)
And The Odyssey
(And The Odyssey)
To help him write his epic poem or die a-tryin'.

He said, "I'm gonna compose"
(He said, "I'm gonna compose")
"Epic poetry"
("Epic poetry")
He said, "I'm gonna compose"
(He said, "I'm gonna compose")
"Epic poetry"
("Epic poetry")
He said, "I'm gonna compose"
(He said, "I'm gonna compose")
"Epic poetry"
("Epic poetry")
"I'll be an epic poet or I'll die a-tryin'."

He had a great hero
(He had a great hero)
For his epic poem
(For his epic poem)
He had a great hero
(He had a great hero)
For his epic poem
(For his epic poem)
He had a great hero
(He had a great hero)
For his epic poem
(For his epic poem)
For his epic poem he would write or die a-tryin'.

He said, "I'm gonna compose"
(He said, "I'm gonna compose")
"Epic poetry"
("Epic poetry")
He said, "I'm gonna compose"
(He said, "I'm gonna compose")
"Epic poetry"
("Epic poetry")
He said, "I'm gonna compose"
(He said, "I'm gonna compose")
"Epic poetry"
("Epic poetry")
"I'll be an epic poet or I'll die a-tryin'."

He had a mighty quest
(He had a mighty quest)
For his epic poem
(For his epic poem)
He had a mighty quest
(He had a mighty quest)
For his epic poem
(For his epic poem)
He had a mighty quest
(He had a mighty quest)
For his epic poem
(For his epic poem)
For his epic poem he would write or die a-tryin'.

He said, "I'm gonna compose"
(He said, "I'm gonna compose")
"Epic poetry"
("Epic poetry")
He said, "I'm gonna compose"
(He said, "I'm gonna compose")
"Epic poetry"
("Epic poetry")
He said, "I'm gonna compose"
(He said, "I'm gonna compose")
"Epic poetry"
("Epic poetry")
"I'll be an epic poet or I'll die a-tryin'."

He wrote for thirty days
(He wrote for thirty days)
On his epic poem
(On his epic poem)
He wrote for thirty days
(He wrote for thirty days)
On his epic poem
(On his epic poem)
He wrote for thirty days
(He wrote for thirty days)
On his epic poem
(On his epic poem)
On his epic poem he would write or die a-tryin'.

He said, "I'm gonna compose"
(He said, "I'm gonna compose")
"Epic poetry"
("Epic poetry")
He said, "I'm gonna compose"
(He said, "I'm gonna compose")
"Epic poetry"
("Epic poetry")
He said, "I'm gonna compose"
(He said, "I'm gonna compose")
"Epic poetry"
("Epic poetry")
"I'll be an epic poet or I'll die a-tryin'."

Not even halfway done
(Not even halfway done)
Was his epic poem
(Was his epic poem)
Not even halfway done
(Not even halfway done)
Was his epic poem
(Was his epic poem)
Not even halfway done
(Not even halfway done)
Was his epic poem
(Was his epic poem)
Was his epic poem he would write or die a-tryin'.

He said, "I'm gonna compose"
(He said, "I'm gonna compose")
"Epic poetry"
("Epic poetry")
He said, "I'm gonna compose"
(He said, "I'm gonna compose")
"Epic poetry"
("Epic poetry")
He said, "I'm gonna compose"
(He said, "I'm gonna compose")
"Epic poetry"
("Epic poetry")
"I'll be an epic poet or I'll die a-tryin'."

He wouldn't never give up
(He wouldn't never give up)
This epic poet to be
(This epic poet to be)
He wouldn't never give up
(He wouldn't never give up)
This epic poet to be
(This epic poet to be)
He wouldn't never give up
(He wouldn't never give up)
This epic poet to be
(This epic poet to be)
He'd write an epic poem or he'd die a-tryin'.

He said, "I'm gonna compose"
(He said, "I'm gonna compose")
"Epic poetry"
("Epic poetry")
He said, "I'm gonna compose"
(He said, "I'm gonna compose")
"Epic poetry"
("Epic poetry")
He said, "I'm gonna compose"
(He said, "I'm gonna compose")
"Epic poetry"
("Epic poetry")
"I'll be an epic poet or I'll die a-tryin'."

He wrote for thirty days more
(He wrote for thirty days more)
And thirty after that
(And thirty after that)
He wrote for thirty days more
(He wrote for thirty days more)
And thirty after that
(And thirty after that)
He wrote for thirty days more
(He wrote for thirty days more)
And thirty after that
(And thirty after that)
On his epic poem he'd write or die a-tryin'.

He said, "I'm gonna compose"
(He said, "I'm gonna compose")
"Epic poetry"
("Epic poetry")
He said, "I'm gonna compose"
(He said, "I'm gonna compose")
"Epic poetry"
("Epic poetry")
He said, "I'm gonna compose"
(He said, "I'm gonna compose")
"Epic poetry"
("Epic poetry")
"I'll be an epic poet or I'll die a-tryin'."

He finished it at last
(He finished it at last)
After ninety days
(After ninety days)
He finished it at last
(He finished it at last)
After ninety days
(After ninety days)
He finished it at last
(He finished it at last)
After ninety days
(After ninety days)
He wrote the epic poem he would write or die a-tryin'.

He said, "I'm gonna compose"
(He said, "I'm gonna compose")
"Epic poetry"
("Epic poetry")
He said, "I'm gonna compose"
(He said, "I'm gonna compose")
"Epic poetry"
("Epic poetry")
He said, "I'm gonna compose"
(He said, "I'm gonna compose")
"Epic poetry"
("Epic poetry")
"I'll be an epic poet or I'll die a-tryin'."

He wasn't satisfied
(He wasn't satsfied)
After ninety days
(After ninety days)
He wasn't satisfied
(He wasn't satsfied)
After ninety days
(After ninety days)
He wasn't satisfied
(He wasn't satsfied)
After ninety days
(After ninety days)
It was no good, his poem he'd write or die a-tryin'.

He said, "I'm gonna compose"
(He said, "I'm gonna compose")
"Epic poetry"
("Epic poetry")
He said, "I'm gonna compose"
(He said, "I'm gonna compose")
"Epic poetry"
("Epic poetry")
He said, "I'm gonna compose"
(He said, "I'm gonna compose")
"Epic poetry"
("Epic poetry")
"I'll be an epic poet or I'll die a-tryin'."

The publisher said no
(The publisher said no)
And others said the same
(And others said the same)
The publisher said no
(The publisher said no)
And others said the same
(And others said the same)
The publisher said no
(The publisher said no)
And others said the same
(And others said the same)
They didn't want the poem he would write or die a-tryin'.

He said, "I'm gonna compose"
(He said, "I'm gonna compose")
"Epic poetry"
("Epic poetry")
He said, "I'm gonna compose"
(He said, "I'm gonna compose")
"Epic poetry"
("Epic poetry")
He said, "I'm gonna compose"
(He said, "I'm gonna compose")
"Epic poetry"
("Epic poetry")
"I'll be an epic poet or I'll die a-tryin'."

He'd given it his all
(He'd given it his all)
And it wasn't any good
(And it wasn't any good)
He'd given it his all
(He'd given it his all)
And it wasn't any good
(And it wasn't any good)
He'd given it his all
(He'd given it his all)
And it wasn't any good
(And it wasn't any good)
This epic poem he would write or die a-tryin'.

He said, "I'm gonna compose"
(He said, "I'm gonna compose")
"Epic poetry"
("Epic poetry")
He said, "I'm gonna compose"
(He said, "I'm gonna compose")
"Epic poetry"
("Epic poetry")
He said, "I'm gonna compose"
(He said, "I'm gonna compose")
"Epic poetry"
("Epic poetry")
"I'll be an epic poet or I'll die a-tryin'."

He'd fallen in despair
(He'd fallen in despair)
'Til a friend did say
('Til a friend did say)
"Don't die so young and fair"
("Don't die so young and fair")
"Don't you feel dismayed"
("Don't you feel dismayed")
"An epic poem's rare"
("An epic poem's rare")
"But look what you have made"
("But look what you have made")
"You've made the greatest children's folk song I have known."

He said, "I'm gonna compose"
(He said, "I'm gonna compose")
"Epic poetry"
("Epic poetry")
He said, "I'm gonna compose"
(He said, "I'm gonna compose")
"Epic poetry"
("Epic poetry")
He said, "I'm gonna compose"
(He said, "I'm gonna compose")
"Epic poetry"
("Epic poetry")
"I'll be an epic poet or I'll die a-tryin'."

He thought about these words
(He thought about these words)
And you know what he did?
(And you know what he did?)
He thought about these words
(He thought about these words)
And you know what he did?
(And you know what he did?)
He thought about these words
(He thought about these words)
And you know what he did?
(And you know what he did?)
He sent his song to be recorded, and it was!

It was a hit with kids
(It was a hit with kids)
And with their parents, too
(And with their parents, too)
When life is on the skids
(When life is on the skids)
Do you know what to do?
(Do you know what to do?)
When inspiration bids
(When inspiration bids)
You do what's right for you
(You do what's right for you)
If it's not an epic poem, it's still good!

Now he's a famous man
(Now he's a famous man)
Singin' children's songs
(Singin' children's songs)
He should've known God's plan
(He should've known God's plan)
And known it all along
(And known it all along)
Both young and old are fans
(Both young and old are fans)
So how could this be wrong?
(So how could this be wrong?)
Didn't write an epic, but he didn't die a-tryin'!

He said, "I'm gonna compose"
(He said, "I'm gonna compose")
"Epic poetry"
("Epic poetry")
He said, "I'm gonna compose"
(He said, "I'm gonna compose")
"Epic poetry"
("Epic poetry")
He said, "I'm gonna compose"
(He said, "I'm gonna compose")
"Epic poetry"
("Epic poetry")
"I'll be an epic poet or I'll die a-tryin'."

He said, "I'm gonna compose"
(He said, "I'm gonna compose")
"Epic poetry"
("Epic poetry")
He said, "I'm gonna compose"
(He said, "I'm gonna compose")
"Epic poetry"
("Epic poetry")
He said, "I'm gonna compose"
(He said, "I'm gonna compose")
"Epic poetry"
("Epic poetry")
"I'll be an epic poet or I'll die a-tryin'."
"I'll be an epic poet or I'll die a-tryin'."
"I'll be an epic poet or I'll die a-tryin'."

Betwixt and Between

Betwixt and Between

by Michael Espinoza



Though gifted with the skills of higher thought,
Suggesting intellectual career,
Professor, doctor, scientist are not
The kinds of occupations I would cheer.
I'm also good performing with my voice,
In acting and in singing---still, to be
A superstar is far from my first choice;
It isn't either job that's right for me.

Far better to combine the strengths of each:
Attracting folk with beauty, that I might
Put logical advice within their reach,
And thereby guide my audience aright.
But an endangered species is the task;
The how and why are questions that I ask.

One Traveler and Many Paths

One Traveler and Many Paths (inspired by "A Frog He Would A-Wooing Go")

by Michael Espinoza



One traveler and many paths!
("Hey there!" says Nonny!)
And whether it's verbal or whether it's maths--
(With a nonny, nonny, crock of baloney,
"Hey there!" says Oliver Nonny!)

The path, it runs away from him!
("Hey there!" says Nonny!)
And whether it's light out or whether it's dim--
(With a nonny, nonny, crock of baloney,
"Hey there!" says Oliver Nonny!)

"Now, really, this is not polite!"
("Hey there!" says Nonny!)
And whether it's wicked or whether it's right--
(With a nonny, nonny, crock of baloney,
"Hey there!" says Oliver Nonny!)

"You didn't even say goodbye!"
("Hey there!" says Nonny!)
And whether it's truthful or whether it's lie--
(With a nonny, nonny, crock of baloney,
"Hey there!" says Oliver Nonny!)

"I can't take several paths at once!"
("Hey there!" says Nonny!)
And whether he's genius or whether he's dunce--
(With a nonny, nonny, crock of baloney,
"Hey there!" says Oliver Nonny!)

"My head's in pain, I'm just one man!"
("Hey there!" says Nonny!)
And whether he couldn't or whether he can--
(With a nonny, nonny, crock of baloney,
"Hey there!" says Oliver Nonny!)

"You once seemed right, but now you're wrong!"
("Hey there!" says Nonny!)
And whether it's shortened or whether it's long--
(With a nonny, nonny, crock of baloney,
"Hey there!" says Oliver Nonny!)

"I think I've found--but I'm not sure--"
("Hey there!" says Nonny!)
And whether it's over or whether there's more--
(With a nonny, nonny, crock of baloney,
"Hey there!" says Oliver Nonny!)

And whether you're human or whether you're elves,
If you want any more, you can write it yourselves!
("Hey there!" says Oliver Nonny!)

Do Not Hope to be a Princess

Do Not Hope to be a Princess

by Michael Espinoza



Said the mother, "Daughter, heed me; you are blessed to herd the cattle.
Do not hope to be a princess, lest your husband die in battle.
Lest your sons within their coffins be returned to you to mourn them.
Though our stations be the lowest, rush not recklessly to scorn them.
Heed my words, my dearest daughter; do not think them idle prattle:
You were spared the misery of having kinfolk die in battle."

The Two Faces of Logic

The Two Faces of Logic

by Michael Espinoza



O Lord, you're ever present, yet elusive:
So many faiths do make the same one claim--
That their faith is alone the Truth exclusive,
So that I knew not where to fix my aim.
'Twas evidence and reason led me here,
To faith in You, in Christ, in Catholic Church.
And here I have remained for now five year,
Though now I find myself in other lurch.

While evidence and reason were a start,
I know now that is all that they can be.
I must now go beyond--with all my heart--
Lest I be guilty of idolatry.
You're Persons I must love the most of all,
Not abstract concept philosophical.

A Beautiful Order

A Beautiful Order

by Michael Espinoza



Why speak in prose?  Why not in poetry?
Why speak?  Why don't we sing the words we say?
Why can't in song our voices always be?
Why walk, instead of dance to rhythm's sway?
Oh, surely song and dance are greater beauty
Than speech and motion to the ears and eyes?
So why do we consider it our duty
To shun these for a more "realistic" guise?

Is not attraction, as we have to food,
A sign that song and dance are far more real?
They both do wonders to improve the mood,
Influencing more strongly how we feel.
Let not the lie (that song and dance are merely
For entertainment) stop us seeing clearly.

Poetry: A Sonnet

Poetry: A Sonnet

by Michael Espinoza



Why not appreciate great poetry?
It's not a thing just anyone can do;
To rhyme and meter weave in tapestry
Which long time after we have heard it new
Has power to arouse emotions and
Caress the ears with gently soothing sounds;
And when of memory aid we have demand,
A plethora of poetry abounds.

We're taught to pit the body and the soul
Against each other, cleaving us in twain.
Now song--now music--doth perform the role
Performing verse, to lyrical disdain.
While poems now are free association;
Psych patients write them all across the nation.

What Harm Can It Do?

What Harm Can It Do?

by Michael Espinoza



There was never more damage, perhaps it be true,
Than that from the saying, "What harm can it do?"

"What harm can it do?  What harm can it do?"
Distracting until we are no longer new.

It is time and our lives that are food, if we knew,
Getting eaten by things we refuse not to do.

Oh, to not be on deathbed, dejected and blue,
Regretting the saying, "What harm can it do?"

Is a life not more precious, to me or to you,
Than to throw it away with "What harm can it do?"

Light and Darkness: A Limerick

Light and Darkness: A Limerick

by Michael Espinoza



Why does darkness exist every night?
Why a time of the day without light?
It can seem rather grim
When your lamp is too dim
But in darkness it looks very bright!

Humility

[Very weird day yesterday, and once more I neglected to do my daily poem.  I hope this will be the last time this month but I had a lot on my mind.  Fortunately it's inspired me.]



Humility

by Michael Espinoza



It's been said that if you want to make the Lord laugh,
You just tell Him your plans.

I don't know if that's true in a literal sense,
But a kernel exists.

I keep getting ideas that seem to be right,
Then I find out the truth.

My ideas are good for improving the world--
At least so I think....

But the world never makes as much sense as I think,
Or as much as I want.

Look up upper division-type courses before
You commit to a major.

To be honest, the one course of action I think
Is the best one for me....

Is to work as a busker, performing on streets--
But that's on the horizon.

It's not lucrative, working for tips--plus I don't
Have the skills yet to make it.

I have talent enough, but they need to be exercised
To become good.

For my resume, also, I need a good background
Which I do not have.

It's discouraging sometimes, as old as I am--
I'm in my early thirties.

I still have no full-time employment at present.
To think of it's hard.

I will probably change my beliefs when I'm old,
But at present it bothers me....

...when I'm told that I'm still a young kid and have plenty
Of time left to me.

Of the pills you can swallow it's bitter indeed,
But I'm grateful for health.

Yes, humility's taste isn't pleasant at all,
But it is good for you.

And if you can appreciate that in the face
Of its bitterest taste....

...then that shows you are growing inside,
as the late Mister Rogers once said.

I am grateful to God and I trust He will see me
To whatever end.

I just wish that I knew what it was, so that I
Could be free to pursue it.

Sandals: A Mystery

Sandals: A Mystery

by Michael Espinoza



I put this question to you: how do you call footwear which
Has bottom, but which doesn't have a top, so when you itch,
It's easier to scratch it?  I thought "sandal" was the word,
For growing up that was the only term of which I'd heard.

Yet now, within my family even, seems that only I
Would call them "sandals"--other people call same footwear by
Some words, like "flip-flops", which in childhood I had never heard,
Or--though describing different footwear--"slippers" is the word.

How can it be?  If even my own family doesn't call
This footwear "sandals", how could I have learned the term at all?
Or rather, how could I have used it as the term preferred,
If everybody else would use a different kind of word?

The only other explanation I can think to say
Is I'm the only one who didn't change my mind one day
And start to call them differently where "sandal" was the word
That I'd used in my childhood when it's that which I preferred.

Look at it Another Way

Look at it Another Way

by Michael Espinoza



Some say, "Show me evidence for God's existence.
Without it, how can I believe?"

An answer is: "Show me the line between that
Which I point to, and my index finger."



Some look at the poor and downtrodden and ask,
"So where is your God, Who allows this?"

An answer is: "Note that you care for such people--
Who put that concern in your heart?"

The World Didn't End

[I didn't realize until it was too late that I failed to write a poem for yesterday.  I have OCD, so I'm upset about it, but I'd imagine that NaPoWriMo is more lenient than that.  After today I'm still going to try to write exactly one poem every day--no more, no less--for the remaining 13 days of April, but I'm going to hope that I didn't fail the challenge already simply because I forgot to write a poem yesterday.  I'm going to hope that the rules are more lenient than that, as they are for National Novel Writing Month, aka "NaNoWriMo", so that as long as I've done 30 poems this month I will have managed it.]

The World Didn't End

by Michael Espinoza

You're in a rut.  Things don't go well.

It feels like hell, and you can't shake it.

Opportunity arises.

It surprises you--you take it.

And you find you have the skill!

So now you will go further, higher!

You've come far and you're a hero!

Never fear, oh man on fire!

Then come greater obligations.

Now the nation's wanting you.

But how could you expect this much?

Had you known such, what would you do?

You might have chosen different plans.

You wring your hands as pressure mounts.

And now the peak's in sight at last.

The rest is past--this moment counts!

Your friends depend on you to win--

Your voice feels thin, you sweat a lot.

The part you need to win is here!

You know it clear--but you forgot.

You blew it just before you'd won.

First place is gone--it's over now.

You'll never get this chance anew.

How will you do it over?  How?

You want to be alone, and not

To do a lot you did before.

How can you face the world anew?

You feel so blue now, more and more.

But you can't live like this forever,

Getting never out of bed.

Eventually you must come out--

You must be stout, and clear your head.

And then a miracle ensues:

You find your blues just fade away.

Your friends, instead of being mad

At you, have had a normal day.

For them it's back to normal now.

You know not how, but life goes on.

If it improves your mood to hear it,

That's the spirit--you have won!

Halfway

Halfway

by Michael Espinoza



I must immerse myself in verse
For thirty days--it really pays
to get some practice, and the fact is
it's a gift that does uplift.

I'm halfway through now--what to do now?
Of the stuff there's not enough.
Ideas I lack--I need to rack
My mind for more, until I'm sore.

Yet hear my hums!  By nature comes
The poetry, it seems to me.
I write it off the cuff--don't scoff!
I might just do it--might get through it!

A stanza more should be no bore.
We're in the home stretch--now let's comb
The language for a few words more.
Hurrah!  It's done!  I need more none!

Cinderella and Me

Cinderella and Me

by Michael Espinoza



Some call her "Skunk Pelt", others "Chewy Bones."
The wolf is the omega in her pack.
The night's afire with her hunger moans.
Her fur is streaked in stripes, both white and black.

I am a lowly rodent, just a mouse.
Were she not weak with hunger, I'd be caught.
Because she lacks a shelter, rains do douse
The wolf, to cause a stench like week-old rot.

I could have left her quickly to expire.
I'd then be spared a fearsome enemy
Who, weaknesses aside, bears blazing fire
In eyes, to well inspire sympathy.

"If you will fetch to me fresh meat, O mouse,
Then, for my part, when I recover strength,
I'll not eat you--nor will I even grouse--
Should you be all that's left to eat, at length."

My pity overtook me; I agreed.
Nor did I break my word, abandoning
The one depending on a mouse for feed.
I scavenged, and to her brought everything.

When this went on for months, I found, one night,
Outside my hole, a goodly pile of crumbs.
They smelled like her!  She hadn't dared to bite
While I had slept in peace, amid the hums

Of insects who began their nightly noise.
The wolf had kept her word, as she had said.
I scarcely had an appetite, for joys
That sleep had come to me, nor was I dead!

"I thank you for your kindness, little mouse,
And now that I've recovered all my strength,
I'll not eat you--nor will I even grouse--
Should you be all that's left to eat, at length."

I smiled at her, returning sentiment.
I therefore thought I'd seen the last of her.
But time soon tested if she really meant
The promise made by wolf with striped fur.

As months did pass, fresh game was scarce again.
Once more the wolf was starving, nor could I
Find anything to soothe her hunger pain.
It seemed that either she or I would die.

I could not bear to watch the lady suffer.
"I do release you from your promise made.
Eat me, and let my meat become a buffer
'twixt you and gross starvation, wolf!" I bade.

"Nay, sir," she said to me, "though I may starve,
Betrayer would I be to break my vow.
Nay, here upon the stone of death do carve
My name, for I am dying even now.

"Since you have shown me kindness, little mouse,
Though I expire, losing all my strength,
I'll not eat you--nor will I even grouse--
Though you be all that's left to eat, at length."

"Will no one help a wolf who's in distress?"
I shouted to the highest heavenly cloud.
"May she not live, and no more know the stress
Of hunger pains?" I bellowed long and loud.

As if in answer, blinding flash of light
Appeared before the two of us and took
A shape!  Amid the brilliant gleaming white,
We saw familiar form when we did look!

And there, before our eyes, as white as snow,
A handsome wolf appeared before us twain.
He spoke in kindly voice, both soft and low,
And licked the striped wolf where she had lain.

"Come, daughter, I will bear you hence," said he.
"To where?" said she.  "Nay, trust me only now."
"Are you the father of all wolves?" said she.
"I'm not."  He made to her a lowly bow.

She climbed atop his back, and then her bearer
Addressed me: "You shall come as well, O mouse."
"What, in your mouth?" I asked.  I did not error.
But as he let me live, how could I grouse?

He bore us thence unto a mystic place
Where there was food abundant for all kinds.
He let her off, and stood they face to face,
Then did we eat, expanding both our minds.

"I bring you here rewarding you, dear daughter,
For you show kindness and true loyalty."
In her self-sacrifice the he-wolf caught her
And in like vein, he also did catch me.

"And here is your reward," he said to us.
"No more omega wolf and mouse to be.
The mouse shall be a human man, and thus
The wolf his mate--a woman--shall she be."

No sooner had he spoken thus than I
was now a man, and she a woman was.
When I beheld her beauty--and no lie--
I felt a love as no mere rodent does.

Reward beyond this we could never hope,
For foremost rule among all beasts is this:
"Do not hurt man, nor peasant nor the Pope."
My woman shared with me a wondrous bliss.

And now it was that we were meant to be
A man and wife, to share our lives as one.
How many children would myself and she
Produce--all human--ere our lives were done?

We never saw again the wolf so white.
But happily ever after did we live.
And many great rewards to see just might
Befall you, if you only choose to give.

Mind and Body

Mind and Body

by Michael Espinoza



Once the mind and the body were brothers, united as one.
Once they acted together, in efforts of singular will.
There were science experiments, songs and cartoons--for examples.
And the mind was the older, who guided his brother the body.

But the mind and the body were soon separated by jealousy.
For the mind, being topmost, got arrogant with his position.
"I am smarter," said mind.  "I'm the only one who is important.
Now philosophy, poetry, and mathematics are it."

This, of course, made the body, the younger, quite envious soon.
He revolted and said, "I am stronger--why should I need you?
Now it's sports and performances--movies and music--for me."
Where they'd once been united, the brothers now enemies were.

Now the mind was a snob, and he used his wits not for his brother,
But only to make clever insults to show he was smarter.
Now the body'd become just a bully, who used his great muscles
Not protecting his brother, but physically beating him up.

Now no longer did brothers unite in composing their songs:
For the older, great verses were poetry, meant to be read.
For the younger, the words didn't matter, but only the music.
They competed against one another as rivals in combat.

If you recognize mind as the older and rightfully guide,
Now they both say that you're intellectual, hating the riffraff.
If you realize that mind is corrupting his rightful authority,
Now they both call you fans of the superstars who entertain.

Let us hope that eventually body and mind reunite.
They work best when each complements skills that the other possesses.
Otherwise, there are books by the mind--smart but not entertaining--
And the body performs entertainments that aren't so smart.

Now instead of the body and mind in a combat quite mortal,
Let us see a uniting of body and mind--once for all!
A return to the beauty of products they worked on together!
Then there's bound to be hope--no more hidden, but now celebrated!

A Life in Verse

A Life in Verse

by Michael Espinoza

A Scotswoman shared stories with her youngest son.

Grabbed from her girlhood she gabbed about them.

He recalled them realistically right into manhood.

His books bared his feelings over his beloved mother.

She approved all his works afore any were published--

Oh, if only Margaret Oglivy'd observed his magnum opus!

Devastated at her death the son continued diligently.

With St. Bernard he met beloved boys in the gardens.

Then met their mother and was mesmerized.

The Davieses were darling to dear Uncle Jim.

It pleased him to produce his play called Peter Pan.

Then cancer cruelly killed the parents.

World War One was woeful.

But after, Jim Barrie's boldness bade him hire Beb's beloved wife.

Jim's secretary Cynthia stayed on with him.

Jim's wishes in his will were that

Cynthia should see the royalties

Paid for his non-Peter Pan productions.

Cynthia saw in ensuing years

Disney showcase his crafted cartoon

And the Mary Martin musical.

Detours

Detours

by Michael Espinoza

Back in 1904 was he born, the boy Ted;

By the time he was six, classic stories he'd read:

It was Jonathan Swift was his favorite writer

But Ted would produce many stories far lighter.

After college, he hoped to become a professor

Of English--but fate had in store a far lesser

Profession (at least in the eyes of the world),

Yet for Ted he preferred how his life now unfurled.

He was bored by his classes and soon he dropped out

For a job at Judge magazine, which was about

Drawing funny cartoons--leading to a career

Advertising for bug spray for many a year.

The Depression began and he found himself stuck,

For his contract he'd signed was exclusive: no luck

If he tried to moonlight advertising for any

Besides Standard Oil--then he'd lose every penny.

But a lawyer looked over his contract and found

That within was a loophole just lying around:

He would not be in breach of his contract moonlighting

With kids' picture books--both the drawing and writing.

That was how the man got into kids' picture books

And his work made us all give the world some new looks--

For a half of a century bookstores were rife

With the books that he wrote for the rest of his life.

He was known for his verse (anapestic tetrameter)

And for the words he made up--for no amater

Was he, though twenty years more now ensued

Till from work advertising could Ted be unglued.

He was 53 now when he quit his day work:

Writing books, illustrating them, now was his perk.

He would do it for 33 years after that--

And the book that allowed it?  The Cat in the Hat.

Yes, the man whom I speak of is called Dr. Seuss,

Known for Horton the Elephant, Thidwick the Moose,

Known for Whos down in Who-ville and also the Grinch--

Though perfectionist work can be hardly a cinch.

And beginning the year that he turned sixty-two,

Dr. Seuss's career took a turn very new:

Animated cartoons airing on the TV,

Which continued for years: in fact, twenty and three.

********

If a moral exists from the tale of his life,

It may be that--while we may encounter some strife,

Taking detours--these might be disguises for blessings,

Things working out ways contradicting our guessings.

Take a page from the book of the man Dr. Seuss

And be flexible--better to let your life loose,

Or you may just discover the life that's for you

May be just as elusive as Solla Sollew.

There's a God in the Heavens who made us, each one,

And He gave us a purpose before world begun.

And He knows what we're meant for much better than us.

So let's trust Him and not waste our time with a fuss.

Often detours are born from misguided ideas

We have that turn out to distract us for yee-ahs,

Because we don't see the whole picture ourselves

And the place man is meant for is not where he delves.

But let go and let God and you may just discover

A path never thought of, yet one that you love her.

You might come to find it in roundabout way,

But it's far more worthwhile, at the end of the day.

Book Spine Poem

Book Spine Poem

by Michael Espinoza



All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten:

The Elements; The Seven Basic Plots; and Aristotle
for Everybody; Play Piano in a Flash; The Story
of English; and The Mysteries of Harris Burdick too.

The Enjoyment of Music and Truth in Religion
Do capstone the eightfold complete education.

Forget, Forget, Forget

Forget, Forget, Forget

by Michael Espinoza



Forget, forget, forget all stories.
Once you know the way a story
ends, that's it--you never need
experience it one more time.
It's only children who desire
to hear the same old thing again
a hundred times--you're not a child,
and you don't want to be annoying.

Forget, forget, forget all stories.
You don't want to put out of a
job the people who make movies,
DVDs and even books.  It's
their job to record things for you.
You are not an actor or a
singer.  No one likes a showoff.
So forget all stories now.



Forget, forget, forget all history.
You don't want to turn the clock back
to the times before the world had
freedom and equality--two
things you cannot eat or drink or
wear or live inside for shelter.
Check the calendar to see what
year it is, you primitive!

Forget, forget, forget all history.
History's all irrelevant.  The
only thing you need to know is
everyone in every time and
place desired to live in ours
but didn't have the mindset for it.
That was then and this is now.
Forget all history now.



Forget, forget, forget all poems.
Who likes poems anyway?
Anyone can do it--just
regurgitate whatever's on your
mind and that is all you have to
do to write a poem.  Sigmund
Freud had people write their poems
as they lay upon his couch.

Forget, forget, forget all poems.
Everyone who's anyone
likes songs instead--they're entertaining,
and they have a snappy beat
which you can dance to.  Either that,
or you express your raw emotion
with a raucous angsty tune.
Forget all poems now.



Forget, forget, forget all--er....
Forget, forget, forget all--well....
Forget, forget, forget all--hmm....
--well, nuts, I just forgot my line.
Aw, just forget it.  Never mind.
It wasn't that profound at any
rate--and not important.  Just
forget all that you knew.

Forget, forget, forget, forget,
forget, forget, forget, forget,
forget, forget, forget, forget,
forget, forget, forget, forget,
forget, forget, forget, forget,
forget, forget, forget, forget,
forget, forget, forget, forget,
forget, forget, for--

The Wonderful Boy

The Wonderful Boy

by Michael Espinoza



"Come away!  Come away!" said the wonderful boy.
"Come fight pirates with me!"

"I cannot.  I cannot," I replied to him then.
"I have work to do now."

"What is work?  What is work?" said the wonderful boy.
"Is it some kind of game?"

"It is not.  It is not," I replied once again.
"It's important to do."

"How is that?  How is that?" said the wonderful boy.
"Who appreciates that?"

"I admit, I admit," was my timid reply,
"No one seems to sometimes."

"Why do that?  Why do that?" said the wonderful boy.
"Is it fun to do, then?"

"It is not.  It is not," I responded, quite shy,
"I get angry a lot."

"Why not stop?  Why not stop?" said the wonderful boy.
"Fighting pirates is fun!"

"I cannot.  I cannot," did I say one more time.
"It can wait till I'm done."

"Oh, all right.  Oh, all right," said the wonderful boy.
Out the window he flew.

I looked out, I looked out, to the starry night sky.
I was finally free.

"What do you want to be when you grow up?"

"What do you want to be when you grow up?"

by Michael Espinoza



"What do you want to be when you grow up?"
A foolish thing to ask the very young.
The first time I was asked, I said "A dentist."
How glad I am now that I've changed my mind!
Oh, learning facts about our teeth was fun,
But I don't have the stomach for a job
Where I would spend my day in people's mouths,
Especially if they chose not to care
For their own teeth--God bless those who can do it!
But such disgusting work is not for me.
Nor do I care to be responsible
For other people's health--nor can I keep
My cool in an emergency at all.
I wasn't old enough to know it yet
That this was just a passing fad, and not
A lifelong passion--I was far too young
For these two things to show their difference!

The next thing that I answered was to work
In paleontological pursuits:
To study dinosaurs and also to
Work in a natural history museum.
As popular as dinosaurs were then,
I didn't know the name of such a job:
I'd never heard it said on TV shows
Addressed at kids when they asked what we wanted
To be when we grew up.  But that dream stuck
For years, so that I thought it was my goal.
Yet over time another love snowballed
In competition with my dino love:
Desire to make up stories--yes, in prose,
But in a lot of other media
As well.  Still, now I said that what I wanted
To be when I grew up was this: "A writer."
But I still knew I needed steady money.

And so instead of majoring in English,
I tried to think of day jobs I could do.
And all that I could think of otherwise,
In terms of lifelong passions, were twofold:
My love of dinosaurs as well as canids--
Both dogs and wolves, inspired by Jack London.
(Admittedly I've never read his work.)
And so combining these I thought that I
Could work with animals for steady income.
And so I majored in Biology--
Which turned out not to be the thing to do.
What fascinated me was history,
And social interactions plus their looks,
And my concerns of welfare and of the
Environment--but that's not what I learned
In my required courses towards my major.
(I didn't bother talking to advisors.)

I learned the hard way that Biology's
About how bodies fit together and
How they're supposed to function (and how not)
And so it's close to veterinary work.
But I already knew that that was not
The work I hoped to do--and worst of all
Was studying Organic Chemistry.
I couldn't wrap my brain around this course!
That should have been a sign for me to quit
But I chose not to do so--I was close,
So close to getting my degree, and I
Just didn't want to give it up, and fall
Behind my academic peers for once,
Instead of just the opposite--my pride
Thus made me stick it out, until I had
To face the question: "Now what do I do?"
(I really hadn't any more ideas.)

Because I overlooked the obvious,
I found myself without a job for years.
But then I came back to the Catholic Church
Because of reason and of evidence--
And that was just the greatest thing for me!
When I discerned vocations, I concluded
That I was meant for the religious life--
To be a friar, more especially
A friar from the Order of the Preachers,
Which means I'd teach and preach the faith to others,
Refuting heresies--things that I've loved
(Albeit not in a religious sense)
Since my first memories that I recall.
While not all kinds of leadership are good
For me specifically, that means that I
Was wrong rejecting teaching altogether.
(I loved my classes more than student teaching.)

But I still needed full-time work before
They'd let me into a religious order.
That was my logjam for the longest time--
I needed steady work, and didn't know
A thing to do that I would 1) enjoy
And have the skill for, and 2) have the background,
Both education and experience,
For such a job.  And searching was a headache--
I never found a thing, and all it did
Was make me hate it.  I was left in childhood.
It's only now that I'm embracing two
Of my great loves that I specifically
Rejected years ago: both Education
And Literature also--still, it's good
That I have learned more since I'm out of school,
And now I can pursue a wiser path.
(Including talking to advisors now.)

At first I thought that I would major in
The English Language, then in that and Film--
Because I narrowed down my skills and passions
Into two categories--things to teach
(Of which the language is foundation) and
Creative and artistic skills which can
Combine in animated musicals.
I also chose these two because it seems
We're victims of a false dichotomy
Regarding what a story is and what
It ought to be and can be--what I mean
Is that two sides believe one single lie,
Interpreting the lie in opposition
So as to look like opposite extremes.
(To thank for this I have two men: for one,
The author Orson Scott Card; for the other,
A man whom I know as "Confused Matthew".)

And these two opposite interpretations
Of one false premise seem to be propped up
On one hand by the English Literature
Departments in our universities
And colleges, and on the other hand,
The motion picture industry--and so
I thought it best to get into both fields
So that I could improve them from within:
Expose this false dichotomy for one,
Providing an alternative for other.
Good literature isn't something which
You need interpret outside of the text;
And neither is a writer unskilled labor
That anyone can do, so that producers
Can hire them and fire them at will.
(I wanted English Language for myself
So I would not depend on what I hated.)

Side note: while some good use just might exist,
It seems most ways that English Literature
Departments justify themselves in college
And university means wrecking stories
For those of us who love to hear a tale--
And telling us that that's "intelligent"
And loving other stories is for kids.
But not just that--it also leads to having
Requirements for students in all majors,
Including English Literature, of course:
A thing which should not be in colleges,
But only in the kindergarten through
The twelfth grade education levels--which
then leads to telling people if they don't
Pay university tuition,
That means they're stupid, lazy, or
They're poor--instead of being normal people.

That also leads to skimping on the schooling
Of K through 12, so that a graduate
From high school now knows less than in the past,
So that he has to go to college now
To get the education he deserves.
Not only that, but mandatory schooling
In public education systems funded
By government--at best, homeschooling is
Now frowned upon, where freemen should embrace it.
This haughty literary attitude
Leads also to the segregation of
Non-literary genres from the shelves
In bookstores saying "Literature/Fiction".
Apologizing for the length of this,
That's why I'm reticent to teach in college
An English Literature class--and K
Through 12 would likely be too similar.

The point is, that's why I decided not
To major in the Literature branch
Of English, but the Language branch instead.
But since I thought all signs now pointed to
My majoring in English and/or Film,
I thought of going back to school and take
Creative Writing: Fiction and Screenwriting.
However, after Frank Klepacki came
To guest speak in Creative Writing: Fiction,
I thought to rearrange my many skills
And passions into hierarchy based
On which are most important to me now
And which I can afford to wait on later.
In doing so I narrowed these all down
To only six: philosophy and math,
And history and making stories up,
And singing and voice acting topped them off.

So English Language didn't make the cut,
And nor did Film.  But still, I liked these six
Because philosophy and math relate
To logic--"logos"--where the other four
Relate to story--"mythos"--and combined,
"Mythos" plus "logos" make "mythology".
But though some possibilities include
Electives and a minor in a field
Instead of majoring in that, I needed
To think it over one more time, because
I had to narrow down these six to three
(at most) if I decided now to major
In studies multidisciplinary.
I still could take electives or a minor,
But majoring in two fields separately
Would take a longer time and much more money.
I felt that math was something to delete.

It would be good to translate to a mind
That doesn't do as well in math or logic,
But if I do not specialize in something,
I neither need to teach such things to others,
And so the only math that people need
Is algebra, arithmetic and also
Geometry--but these are taught before
A student comes to college, meaning that
I'd teach at high school level at the oldest,
And outside Catholic setting I don't want
To teach teenagers or kids who are younger,
Unless they're mine, and I suspect already
That I'm not called to holy Matrimony,
Which means I shouldn't have kids of my own,
To whom to teach it.  Therefore math was out.
At first I thought Philosophy should stay,
Plus History and English for the three.

I thought that this made sense for a foundation
Of education, based on Aristotle's
Three faculties of man: first knowing, then
The second's doing, and the third is making.
Philosophy comes of our knowledge learned;
And History provides examples of
Morality, a better way of teaching
Than telling other people what to do;
The ultimate in making anything
Is sub-creation brought to life by fiction,
Suggesting a Creative Writing course--
And any fiction must communicate.
Since poetry's superior to prose,
Creative Writing: Poetry's another
To take--both can be found in English, so
I thought these three were best for me to keep.
However, I would change my mind on this.

For later God inspired me to think
About it in a different way: of these,
Which did I want to learn about, and teach,
And which did I prefer to actually do?
Concluding that the only one I wanted
To learn about and teach was History
Helped lots!  Now I could really cut out math,
Because unless I specialized in something
Which I don't plan to do, the only job
I know that uses math specifically
Is teaching it--which I don't want to do,
For reasons I've explained above already.
But now I felt that I could also cut
Philosophy--because I can apply
These two to any job that I pursue,
And I would rather do that than to learn
More of them and to teach these fields to others.

That cut it down to four--now in the home stretch,
I needed only one more field cut out.
I also needed to remind myself
That just because it was no concentration,
That didn't mean I couldn't take electives
In that same field--so now which field would I
Decide to settle for electives only?
History, or Theatre, or English,
Or Music?  Even this was difficult.
I almost cut out English once again,
Because while you can study it and teach,
And also can critique it (not for me)--
And you can write some fiction of your own
(And poetry as well), there is no way,
At least not in a formal occupation,
Outside of reading audiobooks aloud,
For telling stories and reciting poems.

The closest thing to oral storytelling
We have in terms of formal occupations
Is standup comedy--is being funny,
Is making up a punchline for to laugh at.
The field of comedy needs someone who
Will keep it clean and truly make it funny,
So I don't want to rule this out completely,
But neither do I want to tell just jokes.
The closest thing to oral poetry
We have in terms of formal occupations
Is rapping, which is but subcultural--
Is African-American--besides,
I have no interest in hip-hop music.
Because of that combined with what I said
Of teaching English Literature meant
The only things left in an English major
Were Language and Creative Writing also.

But I'd decided I could wait on Language,
And Literature study wasn't for me,
But that left just Creative Writing, which
Would mean variety would come from me,
Not from the school--so would there be enough
Such courses for a major concentration?
Or would the English major be the one
That I would cut out from the four above?
But then two things occurred that changed my mind:
On one hand, for three concentrations only
I'd need so few from English that I might
Be able to enjoy myself with that.
The other thing is that I had decided
That what I liked about the Theatre
Was things that I could wait on--and the rest
Were so specific I could take electives.
So Theatre's the one that I've cut out.

I still intend to talk to some advisors,
But for the first time ever, I have goals:
I plan to study History, take English,
And also Music--with some job ideas.
With History there's teaching and museums;
I want to publish books of fiction and
Of poetry; I also want to be
A songwriter and singer--you could say,
Composing verses for performances.
I like this since it hearkens back to when
All storytelling was a new endeavor,
When people thought of it completely different
From how they do today: back then it was
That stories really happened (History),
That people told them orally, and that
They chose the words they'd use to tell the stories,
Which needed to be easy to remember.

They also must be pleasing to the ear,
And so these oral storytellers would
Find beauty in the language and make use
Of repetition patterns in the words.
Not only would that make it beautiful,
But use the words as clues to what came next--
In other words, these storytellers would
Compose a verse by which to tell their stories.
They told their stories not in prose, but in
Verse poetry, which they would then perform
By using their own voices to be heard.
But while a tuneless poem's simpler than
A song, which has a music tune besides,
That doesn't mean that songs came later only!
Indeed, it's only natural to add
A tune, since oral poetry is sound,
And all sound has a pitch--notes musical.

Besides, since we no longer have today
A formal occupation for reciting
Verse poetry without a tune unto
An audience, the only occupation
Where one composes verses to perform
Is in the music industry--songwriting.
And if someone within that field does not
Compose a tune, he's called a lyricist.
So even though a singer doesn't speak
A tuneless poem, people do compose
Mere words to be performed outside of what
I said before of audiobook recordings.
In sum, this is where I've been led to now,
And I have hopes this year to find some work.
I hope this is the year that things will change
For better--now that I have some ideas
Of where I'm going.  I hope you do too.

But this is why it's foolish to ask children
"What do you want to be when you grow up?"
If I'd had to commit myself to doing
The first thing that I said, I would have gone
To dental school and felt so unfulfilled--
And that's assuming that I kept my job,
Or found work in the first place!  My, oh my!
And now I think I've found a better calling,
I'm in my early thirties--well beyond
The age for people graduating from
A university or college and
Their entry to the workforce for their bread.
I'm grateful to my parents that I've had
A roof over my head and food to eat,
So that I've had the luxury of thinking
Despite my joblessness--I hope you won't
Need wait so long, but God will see you through.

Whistle and Pie

Whistle and Pie

by Michael Espinoza



A war was waged upon a time,
And in a rhyme we here recall;
Fast did they fall, till one fair night
When stars shone bright: two travelers
Like peddlers did plod through camp,
Through grass so damp--a darling girl
With eyes like pearl; a portly man,
Within whose hand a berry pie
To catch the eye he carried thence
And did commence to follow her.

Two soldiers, one on either side,
Now did they hide from travelers twain,
And in the main were so suspicious
Of delicious baked dessert,
So on alert were they until
Behind the hill the travelers hied,
And so decided both the men
That they would then give hot pursuit
Until the loot they had purloined,
And so they joined in purpose one.

Upon their heels they followed fast
Until at last the travelers stopped--
But never copped the suspect sweet,
So good to eat, did either man.
And now began the graybeard at
A rat-a-tat upon a door.
A minute more, then opened it--
And there did sit upon a bed,
With swarthy head, a little boy
Who smiled for joy at visitors.

The girl who was in age his peer
Now gave a cheer and with a word
Just barely heard, the graybeard told
To be so bold as give the treat
--but not to eat, the soldiers marked!
Instead they harked, as from the pie
(As blue as sky) a whistle drew
The boy who knew to play it mellow,
And the yellow sun arose,
To answer cozy melody.

The soldiers now forgot their spat.
On floor they sat, repentant of
The war--now love did reign supreme,
And face did beam on boy who played.
And now he bade them come to him
In morning dim--but what was this?
How did they miss the robes he wore?
The crown he bore upon his head?
The silken bed--nay, silken throne!--
For him alone who'd stopped the war?

As erstwhile enemies embraced,
Now friends, they faced their boyish king,
Whose whistling went on anew,
And grew and grew--and thus unseen
Upon the green the others fled.
No words they said, not little girl
With golden curl, nor man with beard
Who nothing feared, all dressed in red.
Now north they headed that bright day--
And vanished they into the sky.

Who Are You?

Who Are You?

by Michael Espinoza



When rain and lightning coincide,
Go inside.

When there are bullies who attack,
Don't hit back.

When folk in power've cheated you,
Do not sue.

When people pressure you to ill,
Don't fulfill.



It's your identity defined,
Undermined.

Avoiding the Obvious

Avoiding the Obvious

by Michael Espinoza



If man has made a habit of a time-devouring act,
Then surely one top predator of time
Is when a course so obvious presents itself in fact,
And we defy all reason and all rhyme

By skirting such a straight and narrow path, and so detouring,
Because we listen to our nagging doubts
Pursuing other courses--and while they might seem alluring,
Our destiny does not lie thereabouts.

In doing so, we lose our seconds, minutes, hours, days,
Our weeks and months and even years of life
As we get lost upon these many crooked roads and ways
Which, rather than avail us, cause us strife.

If something isn't evil, and you have a passion for it,
And lacking formal training, find the skill,
A gift you have--so don't despair, but take the road and floor it,
As that is likely, for you, Heaven's will.

So if you like to write, and find you're good at writing tale,
Before you take Creative Writing class,
Why waste time with Biology, especially if you fail,
And find you're unemployed as years do pass?

If you don't try to act alone,
You'll find a path--your very own.

Wheat and Grapes

Wheat and Grapes

by Michael Espinoza



A grain of wheat did fall upon the ground,
From whence it shot into the air, and lo!
A bounteous stalk the farmer shortly found
As busied he to reap what he did sow.

A grape seed fell upon the ground besides,
From whence a goodly vine did burst anew.
Great bunches of new fruit upon all sides;
The vinekeeper delighted in what grew.

The wheat was picked and shucked and ground to flour;
Then mixed with water into batter plain;
Then baked in oven hot, and on the hour
A loaf came out--a loaf from finest grain.

The grapes were picked and crushed, releasing juice
Into a cup constructed for this aim;
O'er time, this liquid which the grapes did loose
Fermented, so that alcohol now came.

Through goodness of the Lord the earth produced
What human hands took, for his bread to make,
And vine grew fruit which human hands had juiced
To ferment into wine, for God's own sake.

*****

Within the city of Jerusalem,
A man with water jug did meet two men;
When they requested lodgings, he showed them
The furnishings within his upper den.

And so the men, their ten companions and
Their Master went to sup in upper room;
And with His Twelve disciples near at hand,
The Master chose to tell them of His doom.

On that Passover night Last Supper came:
"This is My Body," spoke He o'er the bread.
"This is My Blood," o'er wine He spoke the same,
For final warning that He'd soon be dead.

Thus His New Covenant He instituted
In liquid in the Chalice: Blood from wine.
To shed His Blood for them and many suited
Our Lord, for sins' forgiveness, mine and thine.

And Jesus gave command to re-present
This Sacrifice in memory of Him:
This Mass, in which His holy Blood was spent
Good Friday afternoon, so dark and grim.

*****

They say Arimathea housed a man
Named Joseph, who in secret due to fear,
Was Christian since Christ's Ministry began,
But in Christ's death the man now held Him dear.

For Jesus Christ was now condemned to death,
Was nailed to Cross--from noon to three His post,
Until He offered in His dying breath
Unto His Heavenly Father His own ghost.

Before the legs of Jesus could be broken,
A Roman man took Spear of Destiny,
And pierced His side--from whence His flesh was broken
Sprayed Blood and water, that the man might see.

And from His side did Joseph catch the flood
Into the Chalice used the previous night;
The vessel first containing holy Blood,
For other vessel none was just or right.

From thence, they say, did Joseph travel to
The isle of Britain, founding line of kings--
The Fisher Kings, a royal family new,
To guard this Holy Grail till end all things.

*****

And to this day the Pope, the Bishops and
The presbyters within His Church still do
As Jesus to Apostles gave command,
To re-present His Sacrifice anew.

For this did God make man in image His;
For this did God become Man in His Son;
Why eat His flesh and drink His Blood?  It is,
Retaining our own selves, to be as one.

And so it was in Middle Ages Britain
That Percival, or Galahad, some say,
Towards end of Arthur's reign was duly smitten
To find the Grail in that fair bygone day.

And so the knight too holy for this earth
Did find the Grail and heal the Fisher King,
Thus proving his extraordinary worth
Above all knights, to do this holy thing.

And all of this began with grain of wheat,
And seed of grape, both planted in the earth,
Becoming wine to drink and bread to eat--
Foreshadowing a new and holy birth.

The Kangaroo and the Duck

The Kangaroo and the Duck

by Michael Espinoza



Old Kangaroo,
Certainly knew
The rule since the world began.

The cardinal rule
He learned back in school
Is simply this: "Never hurt man."

"Whatever he do,"
Learned old Kangaroo,
"You never should do a man harm.

"Do not pick a fight,
Or annoy him at night,
Nor trespass upon any farm."

"Fiddlesticks!  Phoo!"
Said old Kangaroo.
"So helpless is man without gun.

"He needs a long stick,
For he can't bite or kick!
In fair fights, he'd lose every one!

"What's that?" said a sound
'Mid a splashing around.
'Twas the duck in the Roundabout pond.

"Do I hear it true,
You bad kangaroo,
That you of mankind are not fond?"

"Without a long gun,
What has a man done
To suggest he is anything grand?"

Said the old Kangaroo.
"I could cleave him in two
Using naught but the claws on my hand!"

"Have you no sense of shame?"
Said the duck as he came
To the field where the kangaroo ate.

"Do you take a delight
In subduing in might
The less powerful?  Why do you hate?"

"It would make greater sense
If a rule did commence
That one never must harm kangaroo!

"In a fair fight, we'd win,
And leave stomach to chin
With great scars," the old Kangaroo blew.

Sighed the duck, "Then I see
You have no sympathy
For the ones who are weaker than you.

"Given that, you must pay
For your insolence; nay,
From now on you are no kangaroo!"

And so is it true:
To this day, kangaroo
Goes upon his hind legs, not on four.

He hops like a coward,
Where one time he towered;
Of man he speaks evil no more.

But unless you've a gun,
Never harm any one
Of the ill-tempered kangaroo clan.

What befell their old sire
Consumes them with ire--
They'll take their revenge upon man.

Tommy's Mommy

Tommy's Mommy

by Michael Espinoza



Tommy's mommy,
Fiddle and fife,
Spread her butter
With a knife.

Little Tommy,
Pudding and plum,
Got impatient
To eat some.

Tommy's mommy,
Fiddle-de-dee,
Bent him over
Her left knee.

Little Tommy,
Apple and core,
Doesn't do this
Anymore.

Sir Percival and Sir Roland

Sir Percival and Sir Roland

by Michael Espinoza



Sirs Percival and Roland
Were a-fighting for the crown.
Sing, sing, sing, sing a lay, O!
The king was dead without an heir,
And so to war went knightly pair
Upon the earth which they did tear
As fought they on the down.
Sing, sing, sing, sing a lay!

Fierce enemies were nobles twain
And neither one would give.
Sing, sing, sing, sing a lay, O!
They swore the war would never stop,
Until the one or other drop
And so the throne his foe would cop,
As only he would live.
Sing, sing, sing, sing a lay!

The knightly armies readied they
Upon that early morn.
Sing, sing, sing, sing a lay, O!
The two like bulls did paw the ground,
Unsheath their brands and start to bound,
As fanfare artists each did sound
A blast upon his horn.
Sing, sing, sing, sing a lay!

The enemies fought valiantly
For hopes of lasting fame.
Sing, sing, sing, sing a lay, O!
The battle lasted hours on end,
For neither did elect to bend,
That warriors with blades to rend
Were matched about the same.
Sing, sing, sing, sing a lay!

The clash of steel was heard for miles
From solitary hill.
Sing, sing, sing, sing a lay, O!
A thirst for blood was in the air
And were it not for one affair
Their ghosts would yet remain up there
A-fighting battle still.
Sing, sing, sing, sing a lay!

For in their midst a Babe appeared
Between the armies twain.
Sing, sing, sing, sing a lay, O!
Each knight did lower brand to thigh,
Called truce, that infant may not die
Upon that hill so towering high
And bring on both a bane.
Sing, sing, sing, sing a lay!

"From whence come thou?" the knights inquired
Of Babe so wondrous fair.
Sing, sing, sing, sing a lay, O!
The Babe looked up, but not a word
From out his mouth the champions heard--
Instead the infant softly purred
As though he lacked a care.
Sing, sing, sing, sing a lay!

"I'll save thee from this villain!"
Said Sir Percival to he.
Sing, sing, sing, sing a lay, O!
"Well, I like that!  'Tis I shall save
The child from thee, thou wretched knave!"
Sir Roland said.  "Or else behave
And cede the crown to me!"
Sing, sing, sing, sing a lay!

The voices raised provoked the child
Into a mournful cry.
Sing, sing, sing, sing a lay, O!
No man could say the knights so rough
Were less than manly, less than tough,
Yet both agreed they'd not rebuff
The child of tearful eye.
Sing, sing, sing, sing a lay!

"What sayest thou?  If Babe should choose
Among us twain his king,
Sing, sing, sing, sing a lay, O!
Upon my word I will agree,
And condescend to bend the knee
If it should hap that he choose thee;
I'll be thy underling.
Sing, sing, sing, sing a lay!"

Thus spoke Sir Percival unto
Sir Roland, his great foe.
Sing, sing, sing, sing a lay, O!
"If thou agreest, then no man
Since ever hath the world began
Can say of Roland that he can
Do less."  And bowed he low.
Sing, sing, sing, sing a lay!

"We put the matter now to thee,
Dear Babe," they did essay.
Sing, sing, sing, sing a lay, O!
"Which of us twain would thou have see
Be sovereign?  Which is it to be?"
The Babe did grin in boyish glee
But nothing did he say.
Sing, sing, sing, sing a lay!

"Now really, this is quite absurd!"
Sir Percival did cry.
Sing, sing, sing, sing a lay, O!
"I could agree more with thee none,
For there can only be but one
To rule, when all is said and done."
Said Roland in reply.
Sing, sing, sing, sing a lay!

The sun is nearing noontime peak
Upon that lonely hill.
Sing, sing, sing, sing a lay, O!
The morning is becoming late
As Percival and Roland wait,
And were it not for sudden fate,
They'd be a-waiting still.
Sing, sing, sing, sing a lay!

A fancy took Sir Percival,
And took Sir Roland, too.
Sing, sing, sing, sing a lay, O!
The two did genuflect to he
Who lay upon the grass to see,
And bowed they both the head and knee
As reign began anew.
Sing, sing, sing, sing a lay!

Sirs Percival and Roland marched
Into the neighboring moor.
Sing, sing, sing, sing a lay, O!
Betwixt them carried they their king,
As merry as a summer spring,
Unto the palace, there to bring
The child who'd stopped the war.
Sing, sing, sing, sing a lay!

Sirs Percival and Roland are
No longer two proud blighters.
Sing, sing, sing, sing a lay, O!
They've sworn unto his majesty
That ne'er will they be enemy
But ever will show loyalty
As his most valued fighters.
Sing, sing, sing, sing a lay!

Sirs Percival and Roland, with
Their armies in alliance,
Sing, sing, sing, sing a lay, O!
Are twice as powerful as one,
And since that day have just begun
Protecting realm, so there are none
Dare show the king defiance!
Sing, sing, sing, sing a lay!