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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


In the Church of Ordinary Miracles

Why do I always choose
to do the reasonable thing
when another day is
without me?

And see,
I almost missed it again:
a glimpse of a deer,
as feminine as any
Pre-Raphael goddess, and
I'm sure she knows it . . .

Or the fragrance of mist
that could be something wild
or something holy,
all I know is that it
has taken me through the
portal to my
to the Catholic masses,
those sung in Latin,

when the sprawling vowels
of priestly chants
wore the room like a veil
and lifted us
like pious moths
to a flame of redemption,

till everything unimportant
vanished in that
gold-plated, midnight-scented,
tear-washed epic,

but this time,
in this diamond spot
of understanding,
there are no nuns like
cloaked soldiers,
and nothing to fear
if I sing while others
are silent,
or dance like a fool
while others are still, or
choose to be who I was
before they made
me who I am,

to love without needing,
to pray without words,
to be this day
in a ferocious life,
to be a practicing immortal
on currents of light
I cannot fathom
or stop.

Just silent.
Just here.

Patricia Joan Jones

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

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