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The Sound of Creation

On the Edge of a Dead World

Shadows of December

Unholy Love

Fire from a Distant Life

Follow the Birdsong

Archibald

Frozen Retreat

A Silent Knowing

Sacred Crone

Welcome Jack

Morning Candle

Please Live

A Multitude of One

Love is Now

Remembering Spring

Canvas of Gold (A Tribute to Poetry Sites)

Someone Else's Paradise

April Snow

Night of the Broken Glass, Revisited

In a Moment of Understanding

Requiem for Yesterday

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

Lifespan

Sitting

Living machine

Revolution in Bloom

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

 

Morning Candle

for Pauline

I want your handprints in the sand,
the faraway sand,
the sand with its own light,
broken and crackling under our feet.

Can you show me again the earth,
ocean-winged bird,
painting the sky of your new
soft dreams?
I want that feathered blossom
when I saw it through your eyes,
when frogs were cherubs and
leaves were precious
and you could wear them or
splash them against the
apple-flavored air,
and I could lift you above
the earth when the earth
was pastel,
and it handled us gently as
if we were its ancient
beating heart,
when the sun scattered its
red soul across the sea
and died too young.
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If I could fly backwards and
meet you there, I would plow
the clouds like Aurora and
bring the kindest sun, a gold
tissue, to your crib before
you had a chance to fear
the day.
I would hold yesterday like
God in a blanket and
bleed love till I fainted by
your side, and
I would swallow every sorrow
and snatch your words before
they fluttered in droves past
my ears, through
the knives that cut them into
memories behind my eyes.

I would.

Oh lantern of joy and sadness,
spirit breaking out of a
robin’s egg morning,
tall candle exploring the skies
like pines,
eyes cracking open your
personal moon,

Are you leaving me minute by
minute?
Who will shatter the marble leaves?
Who will catch the frogs
when they break the paper-thin air?

© Patricia Joan Jones

This poem received the Galadrial's Goblet Award at Galadrial's Respite poetry forum and was chosen Poem of the Week at The Golden Quill Poetry forum.
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