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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


Moon of Secrets

I slipped free from the
vanity of day
and landed here:

another clean-carved horizon,
another apparition of moon,
another chiseled scowl
steaming through a falling sky
where it all begins
and ends,

and She's not giving up the secrets,
not for a handful of glowing dust
creaking down,
and certainly not for me,
little seeker, twisting
in questions,
only knowing there
is this . . .

and a body we never owned,
but certainly owns us—
lured us into believing it was
the killer of dreams
and lord of our nightmares:
fragile, seductive prison.

So we play along while light
presses against the windows of
of our raging: Let me in!

We rarely do.

I have a friend who is dying and I don't
know if I should say goodbye and pretend that
it's a serious thing to slip out of an iron suit
we imagine is all our grief and majesty,
ambition and stunning tragedy—

Yes, the dream wore sequins
and a paper crown. Quite the
trickster, this Game:
Look, over here, no, here and here,
see this sorrow,
believe this ending
before you wake up and say:

So that was it?

Under a spray of burning poems,
I take down your volume of
prehistoric heroes and
villains with beautiful names,
and think of how you will
try to finish their stories.

A laughing immortal in on the joke.
A vessel of secrets.
A body of light.

Patricia Joan Jones

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

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