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