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Behind Walls of Data

In the Last Green Hours

Crucible of Light

Dogs (A micropoem)

The Angels of Hawksbill Mountain

Beyond the Gates of Orion

Sanctuary Within

The Sacred Opulence of Abundant Joy

Sitting With Stars

Light of the Tempest

Nucleus

Follow the Birdsong

Celestial Rite

One More Moon Beside Me

Legacy of Ash

Born in a Field of Light

Resurrection in Albemarle County

Dialogue With Silence

Moving Past the Dream

Deadly and Merciful Blue

Sky Full of Legends

On the Border of Earth and Being

Who You Really Are

Council of Stars

Scattered As One

Unfinished Bridge To the Infinite

Scenes from Within

Moon of Secrets

Memories of the Kingdom

In the Church of Ordinary Miracles

Finding Religion in Sperryville

Theater of Shadow and Light

Sapphire Birth

Web of Infinity

Voices from a Choir of Stars

Traveler in the Unseen

Into the Silence

A Soft Ascent

Through a Sacred Forest

Innocent Questions

On the Bridge After a Storm

The Sound of Creation

Your Song in the Ivy

Universe Within

New Empire

Another Afterlife

Where the Wind Lives

Another Kind of Prayer

Indigo Fire

Last Inch of Flame

Blue Home

Sacred Crone

What the Deer Understands

Some Water Lilies I Used to Know

Gates of Orion

Requiem for Yesterday

In a Moment of Understanding

April Snow

Symphony in Sable

Justice Denied

Gossip

Graduation Day

Fire from a Distant Life

Frozen Retreat

Welcome Jack

Remembering Spring

A River's Chant

Shadows of December

Please Live

Unholy Love

A Silent Knowing

Morning Candle

A Multitude of One

Love is Now

Follow the Birdsong 2

Archibald

Night of the Broken Glass, Revisited

Someone Else's Paradise

Canvas of Gold (A Tribute to Poetry Sites)

On the Edge of a Dead World

A Very Late Apology

It Is You

When Two Hearts beat as One

THE WOLD LIKE THIS!

His Love will Sustain Us

His Love will Sustain Us

His Love will Sustain Us

His Love will Sustain Us

His Love will Sustain Us

His Love will Sustain Us

 

Behind Walls of Data



What fantasm are you gazing at now?
What voices are piped into your
digital cell?

In this feast of information
why does every photon of my being
go dim
with hunger?

Where the electronic buffet groans
with every possible manic morsel,
why . . .
Why so all alone?

Here where the oxygen of an embrace
is replaced by the choking flicker
of a flat techscape—
cold microcosm of a life—
we, like a herd of subjects,
march one, march all
into the titans' cyberlabs to
surrender our minds,
to contort the truth we
were born with.

Which face will you wear today
in this blizzard of lifeless hearts,
yellow smiles and clashes for
your attention?

Whose chains will you drag through
the content-crowded dungeon—
one click to paradise,
one click to your inner pit,
and one scroll to entangled solitude,
straight down
to yet another death.

Blue screen of self.

Quick! Shut it down and go outside
before the grass and the actual colors of
the patient fields forget your name; while
the roses still need you; while you're
still breathing like a human.

Pay homage to the joy of it, the pain of
it, the truth of it and perhaps you'll hear
a drizzle of music in the sun or feel some
unfiltered soul light kissing the air like
snow all around.

So this is what reality tastes like
in the morning.

Here, this belongs to you:
here, take this back, this life, always
another idea in the dreaming Universe,
always new,
as long as you are here.


Patricia Joan Jones






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