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Forbidden

Visions Released

Intense Imagery (A Haiku)

For our child

Dance Upon Shadows

A Rose

Night bus home

A Comfort Sent to You

Black Lung

Restless

January 14th 1995

January 14th 1995

January 14th 1995

January 14th 1995

January 14th 1995

January 14th 1995

January 14th 1995

January 14th 1995

January 14th 1995

January 14th 1995

January 14th 1995

January 14th 1995

January 14th 1995

January 14th 1995

January 14th 1995

January 14th 1995

January 14th 1995

January 14th 1995

January 14th 1995

January 14th 1995

January 14th 1995

January 14th 1995

January 14th 1995

January 14th 1995

January 14th 1995

January 14th 1995

January 14th 1995

January 14th 1995

Foolish hearts

Heart to Heart

Returning Hero

Old and New

Words

Shades

Clutch

Going back

The Warrior

Facing reality

In the wind

Loyal soldier

Please Live

Lifespan

Sitting

Living machine

Revolution in Bloom

Morning Candle

Welcome Jack

Shadows of December

Unholy Love

Frozen Retreat

Sacred Crone

A Silent Knowing

I Am Not Spoiled Stinky Curdled Milk

Yes, Leonard...It's Math Again Tonight

Winds of time

The Power

What

Hungry for life

Autumn

All men

Man with no name

The face at the bar

Questions

Young girl

To the sea

Mountain Morning Lakeside Fishing

Dragged

I'm Strong Enough to Thank You

Every Step

Whatever!

Carpe Diem

JOEL

A mon fils

TO SARA

GrAttitude

Senses

Crisp and Clear

For everyone and no one

Random Joy

Redemption

 

Frozen Retreat

Photobucket
It all comes down
to a choice:
safety or freedom.

The forest expands
as I walk, still a
compact heaven,
a corral for inner
stallions,
but threatening
the safety
I sold myself for.

I don't know the god
of this grumbling
mausoleum,
but it seems just
fine with two colors
and a Benedictine sky.

Another January and something
needs to happen.

Someone's well-bred garden
is acting up:
honeysuckle vines
still shimmy
and they're grinding
out the blues . . .

even in silence, some freedom
and primitive jazz.

My old cat used to
follow me on these
clean-shaven winter
evenings.

I like to think,
in his new life, he
is a living myth
in a softer kingdom.

How I miss his ferocious joy.

Cats make the right choices
and I am just a
temporary lord of
limping rivers and
mystified squirrels,

some embalmed branches
and leftover surgical air . . .

a safe and furious
visitor on my
way to forever.


ę Patricia Joan Jones





ę2000 - 2002 Individual Authors of the Poetry. All rights reserved by authors


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