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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


Another Kind of Prayer

When injustice tangles my
between here
and what is real,

I awaken to
the ordinary,
the everyday,
the devotion of
mountain laurels—

how could I have
missed them?

And the robins
throwing flames around
their twisted villages,
the hemlock
like ghostly brides:

it all appears
when the mind and the
rain-washed air
are one,
when the wind is
theater I want to
know personally—
a gateway to the
Otherworld or just
a better form
of now,

where the scent is
feverish activity,
where countless
tiny lives join
countless others in the
single goal to
just be here.

They know what ambition is,
and it has nothing to do
with the things
I care about.

And now they are
drawing me into
their tin chants,
their sky, their love,
their beliefs,

now rage is a waste
of limited strength
in a limited life,
resentment just
another hissing spark
on the river that
spits out the
fallen sky
and grumbles for me,

and I wonder if it's wise
to pray while the
river is teaching,

and if God,
who loves in a way
I never could, wrote
this epic of birth and death
and mystery in between,

then how should I speak
when the oaks
said it best
long before I was born?

So I'll enter the
and sit in a chapel
of grass
along with the crane who
thinks he is God,
and a thousand sun-gorged
quiet marvels,

and I'll step out of my
old shattered self
and stare and please God
with my wonder,

till the earth is small

a cluster of jewel tones
and souls
sharing the vastness,

a prayer

from this point of view.

Patricia Joan Jones

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

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