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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

 

The Sound of Creation


In the new moon
I heard the other
side of silence:

Nothingness rising
to the summit of all
there is.

It was born in this
furnace of giddy emptiness:

one note,
one dot of blinding knowledge
against the aimless void,

a diamond on ebony,
a new life spinning out of
a blind forever,

spraying shattered crystal,
then waves of sun and moon
and everything precious,
falling and rising
and sculpting . . .

music.

And worlds.

And all that is unknowable,
unreachable and perfect
is contained in rhythm,
the web we get lost in
on our way to infinity.

Clothed in a night
dripping stars,
I heard the ancestral drums:

Heavens's floor was just a stage
for the heartbeat
crashing to earth
then back to where we came from,

and all the answers were there,
but life stood between us:
just one short life and
one illusion between me
and understanding.

In the waterfall I heard
the ancient strings,
the first of many worlds
and the first notes
the river learned
in a burst of unbearable love,

now wandering in song,
now endlessly born

in the beginning
and the end of time.


Patricia Joan Jones





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