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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


Scattered As One

In the shapeless castle of
the Earth's native tongue,
solitude is the great illusion
that the November-glazed
pines know well—
stirring my personal
sky above
and embraced in the truth
of each other

like the mandala
we are made of,
unseen and disbelieved,
though pulsing with
soul light
and billions of lives:

every self
mirrored in myself.

Today is one of those legends:
tiny pastures of moss,
precision-cut holly,
life crouched in acorns,
oaks that lived fast and
voluptuous all summer
and now sleep as smoke—

just another fevered sleep,
this dense illusion,
this solid mist,
this conniving world
we search in, search always,
when it's all right here,


waiting like the bones
of sassafras
that will seduce again
with amber perfume
and a taste like secret love . . .

waiting for us to part
the curtain early
in the Spring of our dreamtime,
in this comedy of chaos,
in this microscopic space
between birth
and everlasting,
right here.
Like this:

Free . . .

In unquestioning Oneness
we can finally breathe that air,
when there's nothing left
but knowing,
nothing left but God—
the universe within—
when Love,
the only thing that ever was,
finds itself again.

Patricia Joan Jones

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

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