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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


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


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


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


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


Love is Now

I can smell the darkness
while flecks of Orion are still
falling from the pines.

Restless November looms over
my cherished Autumn

and something has to happen,

but all I want are snapshots
of imagined glory,
streaks of victory
I once named Youth.

Yesterday is all that
matters in these porcelain

such a comforting slumber
when your whole life is locked
inside what was
and what will be.

The earth bleeds while we play.

Half the sky has surrendered,
a black helmet closes in
and the war is spilling
through the trees:

blood and gold,
glowing in the moment.

A perfect death.

Soul-light dances to the
melody of now, but still
we live in tomorrow
or yesterday
or whatever feels no pain.

But nothing green will stay.
What we love will shatter us;
hold it now
before its absence makes us
long for this one
immaculate second,

before we are a soul
hungering for the body
that made us whole

and willing to sell
that very soul for another
day with the fragile,
beating heart we believed
would never stop.

Love may last forever,
but we prove it just once
in one flash of gilded light,
in one season
we call life.

Patricia Joan Jones

2000 - 2002 Individual Authors of the Poetry. All rights reserved by authors

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