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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


Finding Religion in Sperryville

I wanted an early hereafter
so I drove to Sperryville,
though I knew God could be found
in the voices of rain
or the eyes of a dog,

I just wanted a day in someone's
toy village, and of course,
I found all the porches—
posing like Lady Liberty—
anyone could ever hope for
and those little fences and rivers
crazed with sanctity, brighter, even
than the tall servings of clouds—
mounds and mounds of
Victorian sweetness, bulging down
over steeples and cows and flags
and sad, rusted things . . .

Oh, and the mountains making a
sound like an anthem . . .

and that's when I heard it: reality
in the far distance of my spirit—
so far, yet grinding away at
the beauty bearing down,

because somewhere,
in a world that's burning,
someone is weeping over another
life stolen,
for no other reason than that life
was labeled less precious
than some others,

so now, how could I be a scholar of
the Universe or sing like Raphael
about the fruited plains,
when the graves are screaming
and hope is seething in
tear gas
and some children will never hear
their father say "Well done"?

How was I supposed to join the
green revival of the pastures—
and truly they can roll out scripture—
when all I know is Heaven's not here
till we pull it down
and see our splendor in each other?

Seeing all I came to see, nothing more,
I drove back towards my one last life,
with Sperryville,
clean-cut old preacher,
faded and small
behind me.

Patricia Joan Jones

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

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