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Shadows of December

Requiem for Yesterday

Love is Now

A Multitude of One

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

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

 

A Multitude of One

Our better dreams have no borders.

The earth is carved and served
up to titans,

but we can dream it into place
because all we are is
you and I.

We are each other.

The division howls and
claws our souls away,
but don't say we got it wrong.

See through the tangled hedge
that lied to us
from every side,
frightened us from the
moment we came stumbling
into this terrible,
perfect madness:

not heaven or hell,
just theater.

Yes, it looks so real
from the cheap seats on the
other side of truth.

The autumn forest is dying

and singing:

whispers of heaven burning down.
I float through clouds of
breathing gold and suddenly,
I remember . . .

The afterlife is here.
It shows up now and then
where we are practicing
masters scribbling lifetimes,

where we are diamonds
dreaming of glory
under a conniving planet,

where we are beauty seen
without eyes.

Oh music of the spheres,
precision-cut master jewel,
eons of learning,
crowd of one,

we are you.

Patricia Joan Jones







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