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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

 

Sacred Crone


The past,
a tattered hymnal,
crumbling praises here
there and flitting
past another night,

perfect with invisible
beauty just beyond,
a temporary afterlife
breathing beside me,

I join the emptiness,
the merciful emptiness
of One.

But I do envy those who
feast upon decedent sorrow.

Such luxury to need no appointment
for pain,

to wear it like shrapnel
deep within,
even give yourself a medal
for all your eloquent
weeping.

The moon is a host in
the hands of an
Olympian priest.

She's always something
and new every night.

Now an orthodox ghost,
half-eaten,
ordained in glass,

bloated with souls too
beautiful for our world,

but still a life force
blessing all the world's pain,

the pain I cannot afford . . .

She's that decomposing
teacher who saved you
in grade school.

Sacred.

And now lost in a swamp of clouds.

Oh, the luxury of being lost.
No need to be seen,
no need for a soul.

Stars, swallowed and spit out
like quantum particles,
here and not here
and always believed in,

scrambled like the dream
the young call love.

Close your curtain,
whimpering zodiac,

let emptiness well up,
drown it all

and be something.

And in something elsewhere
and forgiving
I'll be strong.

Patricia Joan Jones





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