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A River's Chant

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

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

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

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

His Love will Sustain Us

His Love will Sustain Us

His Love will Sustain Us

His Love will Sustain Us

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

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

 

Remembering Spring

for my daughter

In a mausoleum of dozing trees
I imagine lemon balm and fairy-tale
pink.

This is the winter I have created.

Many years ago she was a chattering
woman in the making:
a blank page and everything and anything
and all she wanted
was one more tea party.

What is fifteen minutes next to a glacier
of time spent sprinting
after everything you now know
was everything?

You run and it runs faster.

The frozen ground hides the idea of earth.
You knew an easy life once
and you try to remember.

There's a phantom glimpse of joy
in that lone squirrel that reminds
me of freedom, but the space it fled
is locked in ice, paralyzed as
the nest of barbed-wire
branches all around.

Give me the spring my daughter screamed
when her cat offered her a
dead mole as a gift.
Give me dogwood blossoms like
her origami birds.
Give me morning glories like
the hope in her eyes.

February's clouds seem close to heaven:
mirror of our authentic self and
our runaway dreams in all directions.

Fatal and glorious, this cold.

Beautiful tyrant, I know you too well
and I've fought you too many
times before.

Sacred emptiness of now,
life after many lives,

what is fifteen minutes?

Patricia Joan Jones





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