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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


Memories of the Kingdom

More legends of the earth
were scooped out today,
more trees trampled
like disposable populations,
and I had nothing to say
about it, but I could
watch, the way we watch
stock footage
of battles.

How many times have I
come here to find
that untouchable something
that roams in the wilds
of nothing human,
where all the ingredients
of deep living
are found:

the stony path I walked
like Saint Francis on his
but without the stigmata,
the penitence and shame . . .

And after a rain, the bleary swamp—
one black, pondering eye
for everything blue and green to
slide into, stare for a moment,
then flicker away.

Here my body was the body of air
and sifted dawn, red earth and
bark and leaves—
forests above forests, foaming
like fountains,
throwing down
green light and shadow light,
breathing light and spirit light . . .

so quiet,

as patient as we want God
to be.

And here were the neighborhoods
of my sisters and brothers,
both soft and fierce—
it was all here in the anthology
of what was, for a while,
a complete and ancient story.

The bulldozers, the backhoes,
the chainsaws and chatting men
have left for the day.

Love bleeds out on the clawed dust.

I want to crawl in the emptiness,
shrink in the dripping sun,
ask the sky
to take me like that cloud,
all broken and elsewhere,
the one that once
looked like a dove.

Patricia Joan Jones

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

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