The Mysterious Amalgam

Glad Prince,
He who was meek,
He who was mild,
Come wondrous child grown.

~ such ~

Joy You Know,
Such peace in your voice,
What is this smile that you bring,
What wonder is this that causes me to sing?

Once In Pain,
Twice in pain,
In the grove, and
Upon the wooden beam,
That first was a heavy weight, and yet
Now is an easy yoke that you came to bear,
That you came to shape, and
That now you offer to me.

Wondrous Man,
Man most kind,
My eldest brother,
How could I question that you are divine?

Oh King of Kings,
Ye prince of peace,
Your smile is grace, and
Your joyous fruit is the sweetest to taste, for
It is the fruit of love you received,
From your Father, from our Father, and
From our Brother who appeared as the dove,
like a symbol of love and as a messenger of peace, and now so freely
you offer this love to all, including simple me.


By C.J. Powell
6-22-08

~ All is Fading to Quiet ~


Lidded Eyes Fall to Rest,
in whispered images, painted in
fair soft tones, an
… evening dream begins …

Scenes,
… of life …

Filled With Beauty,
in some and trials in others,
loved ones lifting,
loved ones lost, a soft
entreating and the scenes shift, the
dreamer finds joy in meaning.

My Life is Filled,
my struggles I come to understand,
I see the worth of them, I see it now,
… the beauty of the whole …

Grace is My Life, for
the strife of hurt, of sorrow, and
anger’s flash, seem little, now, somehow,
compared to the zest of my laughter and smiles shared, so
now I grin away my chagrin, and
smile in the quiet of the night,
silently marveling over, a
life so filled.



by C.J. Powell
8-9-08

Pain I Drank, to
my heart,
amidst the confusion of my soul,
and yet it was my mind,
that could not understand,
nor comprehend the complexities, of
… that great divide…

The Divide of Dreams and Desires,
only half glimpsed or understood,
perceived through the frailties of a mind,
beset by fear and doubt,
along with all, the
misunderstandings and misapprehensions,
stored from before.

Rickety, Lurching, Clouded, yet
aspiring is my mind, and
my heart does yearn and burn,
storing treasured = 20 loves and memories,
just as my mind does, along with gems of wisdom,
gleamed sometimes gently, but often
with repeated difficulty.

Oh, but my Spirit,
strives on hoping for enlightenment, but
knowing no sure entitlement, still
I hope for grace and though I seem, to
…stare into space…

I Perceive a Vista of Joy and Peace, I
drink some taste of it now,
counting what is better this year, than
from the year before and hoping, to
adore each breath of laughter and every smile,
gifted to me and to all who matter most to me.

By C.J. Powell
9-12-08

A Breath Flows,

on currents, no one can truly know,

gently and deeply, slow and sure,

fast and choppy, shallow and winding,

can you hold it, can you keep it,

can you bind it and save it?



A Breath is Flowing,

do you need it still,

would you freeze it and bind it away?



A Breath is Racing,

a breath is flowing slow,

I cannot know, it holds the colors,

the colors of the heart and soul,

dyed with the wishes known and cast so silently.



Rain is Dripping,

the sun is shinning,

a mist wreathes the sky, and
I try not to question why, but

only let it flow, a breath flows,

it is its own wings, it can be.


By C.J. Powell

3-7-09

Time Calls On,
remaining but a moment then winding on,
under the burning sun life shall finds its way, through
every night whether of peace or fright I must wind my way.

Fighting, Turning, Trudging on with Doubt,
regarded as a joy, regarded as a chore,
I have viewed life in so many ways,
each time though when its weight I do count,
no turn or measure can be complete without examining, the
depth and surety of the friends who stand with me, who add such worth to life.

Down and Out, or
amidst the refrains of laughter,
no longer can these turns be so complete without such souls.

Brighter are the Happier Times with Friends,
relieved or eased are the burdens when shared between them,
under the blazing sun, through every eve,
no matter what paths of life may bring or how they turn, please
know this you are a blessing which I count and ever hope to prove a true friend to you.

by C.J. Powell
9-27-08

Monarch Wings Flutter Golden,

Over fields of green, over flowers dancing in lovely shades,

Mountains line the vista, guard the vista strong and still.



Light Streams Golden,

It sparkles upon waters flowing blue,

Now a blossom flutters red,

Down the flowing, teasing breeze,

Always whispers the wind, always may peace come anew.



Storms May Come,

Under shadow we may fall, until

Even as the caterpillar we may feel we crawl through dust.



Peace Though, Peace Though,

Open my heart to this,

Wait through the storm,

Ever so slowly then as the seed, ever so sweetly then as the blossom, first

Lying dormant then, rising above the loam to dance in the breeze, as

Light shines golden upon the blossom and upon the water flowing blue.



~ I See the Monarch Butterfly at Wing and the Flowers Dancing in the Field ~



Laugh Now, They Seem to Whisper, Race Now, They Seem to Cry,

Open and free, may your joy be, but come to us, if only in

Visions held in your mind, but let your heart feel sublime, and

Ever come back, ever return to this, a feeling of shinning peace, until you may whisper.



Yes, I Feel Joy Cascading, and I shall,

Open always anew to peace as winter does to spring, so if

Under shadow my heart may seem to be I shall let light return to me, so …



~ My Heart Might Feel Joy Return Sweeter Still,

Fairer still, as the Monarch Butterfly,

Seen again in vistas green, flying with golden wings ~


By C.J. Powell

4-5-09

The sun sets, like

The blush of a rose,

Time fades and a silver watch,

Chimes into cactus blossom laced wind, while

The juniper sways, andthe tumble weeds roam, and while

I pray for hearth and home that I might call my own.



The Red Tail Hawk,

rides the breeze, and

I beg to be free, while

I scream my defiance, to

The tethering trains, of

Memories too dark and stark, and

The agony of misdeeds, that

Behave like a rattlers stinging bite,

Turning hopes putrid, poisoning them

Into fears though I would have them be,

the dreams of my heart I would ever hold dear…



A Kangaro Rat Jumps,

Creating little puffs of dust, while

I whisper, if only could, if only I would,

Bounce away from these worries.



A Pool Glistens, in

A bowl made of red rock, in

The waters I see a rippling depiction of me, and

I hope for more, while the phrase in a song,

Flits through my mind, “Keep a moving Dan”, sung so beautifully

By Marty Robins, and though it’s not my name,

I feel its call resonate in the heart of me so I go on.

Perhaps to El Paso, but I would fly as the red tailed hawk, and

Make the scream a joyful challenge,

My heart at full strength in a lusty breath of exaltation, at

The feeling of flying into the blushing rose of sunset,

Upon the wind laced by cactus bloom and the juniper evergreen.


By C.J. Powell

5-2-09

Ah the Secret Dance, of
love's fretful and hopeful chance,
waltzing with candle flames,
peeking at engravings,
carved and glimpsed,
some only half etched,
with merest suggestion, or
completely hid yet there ...

Phrases of Hope, and
deep desire, words of belief,
prayers for sweet release, or
secret confessions of a need for refuge,
words with meanings obscured,
I just need someone, someone to hide in,
I am pained, I cannot bare the strain,
I was wronged why shouldn't I do the same,
why not punish you, when it was done to me...

... so we ...

Court and Dance,
offering whispered words,
eyes pained, but masked,
sparking love affairs not meant to last,
eyes so bright and hopeful, or
filled with all which has come before,
knowing, seeing yet still believing,
eyes grown stark and cold,
all are windows to the soul ...


Candles Play Peek-a-Boo,
chasing after the phrase,
I love you, with so many meanings scrolled behind them,
in whispers with myriad connotation and clauses secreted, or
entirely unknown, and then yes then, the accidents of happen stance,
a sharp word voice untoward, a sweet intention misunderstood, and
the bile of love affairs past, vented on one so unsuspecting, a
heart of twisted shape unable to straighten like a tree tortured by wind on stony ground,
when it would stand nobly spread to the warm sun, as the heart would toward sweet love...

Fingers Curled,
round the candle like a beggar bowl, while
eyes peer at the masks of others worn and secretly there,
we whisper, we speak, we show, but hold another meaning,
hope so sweet, or plot so dark, this game is stark, it is no game at all,
where so oft hearts and sweet dreams grow cold and take on a nightmare scape, yet I
must confess I hope for a blissful rest, the peace which comes of true understanding,
a longing fulfilled another heart to be my harbor even as I would be theirs,
oh but it is true I too have wronged and caused a sweet love's swan song,
darkened other eyes and had these things done to me and cannot answer why ...

We Hope,
we pray, we seek to know,
it rolls away and comes again,
adrift we seek an isle of peace, but
could we stay, so it is
in love's seasoned play, so
a whisper comes, spoken of only in hidden expression, or
said so low only another's heart could hear, but not their ears,
perhaps it is hinted with a touch, yet it is often too much to be clearly said ...

"Will You Grow With Me,
can I grow with you,
can you forgive me,
can I forgive you, for
the wrongs which may come,
intended and not, promise please,
do not be cruel, I shall seek to refrain as well ...

Can You Tell Me Your Need,
can I trust you with my wish,
can you likewise trust me,
will you share your dream with me,
will you seek mine with me, but
allow it still to be mine,
can we have dreams that are ours,
can you help me be me,
can I help you be you ...

What Will You Mean,
if you say you love me,
what can I offer you,
when I say I love you,
can us together be more than us apart,
will you cherish and tend the flame, of
the love sparked between us,
if it seems dimmed will you seek to build it up with me...

Can We Last, through
the seasons and survive mistaken reasons,
will you gentle me, can I calm you,
when it seems a lonely winter between us,
can we find the spring of renewed feelings, when
all turns bright and hot, can we find
sweet satisifaction in mist and the flame of beauty's that fade.

Can My Love,
dance with yours,
will you dance with me,
if not in body, then in heart,
can we be apart, but
still be together, will
you offer me your hand,
to help, to guide, to be lead, to stand aside me,
will you ward me, support me, can I do these things for you,
equals who grow, who know that here is the bond of love,
leaving past or accepting the memories that must be, for
they define who we are today, yet seeking a surety of love between the hearts of we...

... oh so many ...

Words,
convey it with a touch,
a smile, an embrace in need,
an embrace from the wish to just be near.

Can I Grow With You,
will you grow with me,
can I know what you mean,
when you say you love,
will you know what I mean,
when I say I love you...

Here is My Flame,
there is your light,
cherish me, may I tend to you,
may our love's join as a circle,
may we fulfil one another,
in sincerity, in honesty,
with warm conviction and earnest intent...

.. and if by chance,
by strange design,
a love between us must be severed,
may we not be bitter or seek the other's harm,
oh but may this not come, for ...

Your Heart, I
have glimpsed, I
find you beautiful,
within and without,
may this love prove lush and lasting,
may we grow, plant sweet wish, and reap
dreams of love fulfilled, for
all the seasons we shall know, and
find the simplest reasons for our love to grow,
forgive the wrongs and seek to not repeat them, but
understand the things which make us unique ...

May My Love, for
you be defined by the truest you,
may your love for me, be
woven from all there is inside of me, and
may this love prove free and true,
I'll place my love, my candle flame,
upon the alter of love's destiny, and
dance with the light of you,
come dance this way with me...

... 'till ...

Love Shall Blaze Between Us Ever More,
sweet and sure, the masquerade left far behind, as
we take our place in the dawn and dusk of days, and
the silver lining of love's wishing stars,
may they have guided us to this, and
may this be the fulfilling of secret dreams,
become love's abiding adoration, held with sweet devotion,
woven between the hearts of we to shine with truth, eternally."


by C.J. Powell
5-19-09

How Can Eyes,
peer so deeply,
how is it they are with me now,
after so many seasons have passed,
since we last laughed together, held each other,
oh but how I long to gaze into your eyes my doll face, and
to feel your hands curled in mine ...

Beneath Some Flowering Tree,
standing of a slight knoll of emerald green,
rivers and streams flowing near by,
the music of the water, the
whisper of the wind through the leaves,
blossoms falling into your hair, while
my lips seek yours amidst falls of softened golden light ...

Sheltered By the Leaves, of
vibrant green and the drifting shadows,
painting the ground, a
vision of soft lingering perfection,
if only you were near, if only my eyes could find yours once more, and
the desire is enough to make my eyes tear, over this earnest wish,
if only you were where I could reach you my dear ...

by C.J. Powell
6-11-09

“I was hoping you would understand.”



“The only thing I understand is that you… No, scratch that at this point – I do not understand anything. In fact, after this, I am not sure understanding exists.”



A sheep baas to no one and nothing in particular. Perhaps that isn’t accurate because the whys of a sheep’s life are not entirely known to people. It is easy to say that the sheep isn’t doing much of anything, while wandering around and getting bites of vegetable life. The brown eyes are docile looking and the face, although cute in a sheepish way, does not seem to exude intelligence. However, there is the old adage of not judging a book by its cover. Perhaps a sheep’s mind is turned to such brilliant thoughts that they only appear vacant and at times misguided, while their minds shift through the mysteries of the universe. Sheep, along with other animals, might be transcendent – having discovered that peace, tranquility and wisdom are the ultimate goods.



There is a chance, slim though it might seem that sheep and company may have chosen to forego material wealth and decided to live in harmony with nature. The fluffy beings may have drank from the font of wisdom and decided to allow their lives to consist only of maintaining physical needs and perpetuating their kind, while they endlessly pursue their quest for enlightenment. However, bits of grass slowly disappearing into a mouth that eats with a lopsided chew does impede that notion. Still, that could be the look of a creature whose intellect is turned completely turned inward with its pursuit of brilliant thought.



Meanwhile, the two men sit on a bench, pointedly, not looking at each other or the sheep.


“You should have known better.” The man speaking wears a grey hat and glasses that adds a distinguished air to his mildly disapproving gaze that is cast by brown eyes. The look is somewhat wasted upon the lamp post – he is currently staring at.



“I would have liked to have known better. I truly would have, but I didn’t. I could have sworn I did know better actually, but in that moment I didn’t. I am not sure why.” The man who just talked has his hands clasped together loosely in his lap. His own gaze is fixed upon water sparkling in the air as it rises into the air from a fountain then splashing and rippling amidst the confines of its concrete structure that is set off nicely by blue tiles of light and dark shades. Resting in his hands are sunglasses seemingly forgotten, even though his blue eyes are squinting in a slightly pained way. He seems almost enraptured (or he is quite embarrassed, but he is looking all the same) at the sight of the water gurgling up between two rabbits holding a vase forever caught in a dancing pose. “I wonder who designed the fountain.”



“Grace Amelia McCathy designed it in honor of the Betrix Potter stories.” The answer came quickly upon the question being voiced, which was asked in the manner of one not expecting to get an answer.



“How do you even know that?”



“I read it in the Gazette.”



“Oh. Err, Is the professor coming?”



“No, Professor Whidenheim is not going to make it. She has gone to a World Literature Symposium in Milwaukee. I am not sure why you want her to be here.”



“Milwaukee? Oh and just because I thought she might find it amusing. She does have that off-beat since of humor”



“Yes, the last one was held in Rio Dijenero. I don’t believe that even she would be amused by this.”



“I think, I would much rather go to that one. The conference I mean, and she might.”



“Yes, I would as well. She said she does not expect this one to be quite as well attended, but the idea was contrast and to show how stories come from all around the world from vastly different places. Also she said the idea was to showcase the country outside of the typical notables like New York, Atlanta, Chicago and San Francisco because they are not the only places that produce writers. There is actually going to be a forum for unknown writers to submit work. A volume is to be published from the best stories submitted about life in and around Milwaukee.”



“Sounds fascinating, but they could have picked a place more obscure like Goshen, Utah or Winslow, Arizona.”



The man with the hats gaze flickers briefly. Then he smiles and says in a slightly melodic voice,” Take it easy, take it easy. Don’t let the sound of your own wheels drive you crazy.”



His blue eyed companion smiles and says, “Yes, I always did like the Eagles.”



“Look, I think we put this off quite long enough. We need to resolve this somehow.” His hands lift a length of brown leather one end of which is tied to the bench which was tied to the bench they are sitting on, and the other end is affixed to a collar more commonly seen on a dog than a sheep.



“No, no come away from there. I am not sure that water is safe to drink. Leave it be Reginald. I will get you some good water. Ack, he’s not listening.”



“Reginald?”



“Yes, I named the sheep Reginald. Reginald Walters the Third is his full name. I thought the name would make him sound more distinguished than … than you know Cotton or Steve.”



At this the brown eyed gentleman turned and regarded his companion with the same look of utter bewilderment that he had at the start of the conversation when his friend cheerily said hello, while unaccountably holding a sheep on a dog leash.




“What? I haven’t ever named a sheep before. A rabbit yes, but not a sheep.”



“You shouldn’t have named this one is the thing.”



“Okay, okay I know, but I was lonely and I had trouble sleeping, so I thought I would go out and count sheep. Things kind of went down hill from there.”



“Kind of? Are you sure you had not been drinking? You didn’t try any illicit drugs for the first time or misused prescription ones? I mean you do know that it is a figure of speech and you could just visualize sheep. You do not have to go out and find actual sheep to count.”



“Oh I didn’t have to go far to do it. You know very well that the petting zoo is not far from my house.”



“First of all no petting zoo was ever intended to help cure people from insomnia. Second of all the place was closed. You broke in to count the sheep, and even that does not explain the actual taking of a sheep home with you.” Upon this pronouncement the brown eyed gentleman waved in the general direction of the Reginald Walter the Third. Who at the moment was consuming a tulip and possibly, although doubtfully, mulling over sayings of Confucius and Buddha or the mechanics of the Archimedes screw that he may have discussed with a llama and a mallard.



“Come on, this is not the first strange thing I have done.”



“No, it isn’t, but as your friend who just happens to be a lawyer – little surprise as to why I am the one you called me about this… this fiasco.”



“Now, stop right there we have been friends for a long time and I would have called you anyway – no matter what your profession is.”



“Oh goodie, but to answer your question – I do not know of any laws on the books that pertain directly to sheep napping as you termed it. It will probably be viewed as simple theft, but if you return Reginald Walter the Third before he is greatly missed. I may be able to get you off so that you only have to pay a fine and do some community service. I think arguments of the actions being those of a sleep deprived man whose wool gathering thoughts lead him ridiculously astray may work. Largely, because the judge will laugh at the sheer strangeness of it all, but I do advise you to get your blood screened to prove you were not under the influence at the time of the act. It will just make it that much more bizarre, which should work out in your favor.”



At the mention of community service the man in the grey hat’s companion sat with a sort of contained fervor while waiting for his friend to finish. His question, however, was forestalled by his friend’s uplifted hand before he could ask the question that was so pressing upon his mind.



“Do not even say it. I highly doubt that they will allow you to do community service at the petting zoo – in fact you may not be allowed to visit it okay. Now let’s just go get Reginald in your Stratus and go before it gets too late and we draw too much attention. The couple out for their morning jog almost careened into the lamp post because they were so busy looking at and wondering why there was a guy offering them a sheepish grin, while holding a sheep in the park.”



“Ah, but I am going to miss Reginald and will want to visit him. Perhaps the owners will understand how loveable he is and if I promise to not ever take him again. Oh well, come along Reginald we have to get you home. You know I think he scoffed at some of the theories put forth about the Mayan civilization’s collapse on the history show we were watching.



Having no plausible reply to make the man in the grey hat merely helped his friend sheppard the sheep into his friend’s car, while wearing yet another bewildered expression upon his face. Then he stood and waved his friend off before retreating to his own car muttering Walter Reginald the Third under his breath. Upon the early morning air came a few strains of music he identified as Beethoven’s sixth symphony.



Meanwhile, the man with his ill gotten companion looked over his shoulder and said.



“Now don’t chew on the upholstery just gnaw on the nice apple I got you. Wasn’t it good of him to come and meet us like that with such little notice, and I do hope your care takers will not be too upset with me. Now, as you may, but probably do not know, this is Beethoven’s sixth symphony termed the Pastorale. I selected it out of the belief it would soothe both of us. Isn’t it beautiful – there is nothing quite like Beethoven, especially on morning like this one. Mind you, it’s not like I have ever had morning quite like this one, but perhaps as Nietzsche proposed this will only somehow serve to make me stronger.”



In reply Reginald loosed a baa that almost sounded like the German word for yes, “ja.”



Strangely, enough it seemed to work with Reginald Walter the Third gazing contentedly out the window while slowly finishing off another tulip. The two slowly made there way back to the recently burglarized Marin’s Happy Times Petting Zoo.



By C.J. Powell

6-12-09