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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


One More Moon Beside Me

In the dark
that is the light,
beneath Aquarius and his
watery flame
and something close
to healing,
I share the night's appetite
for this raw living,

but I don't leave the
small world
because I love the
wide stillness more,
I leave the world
because I love it too much,

because I accept
the privilege,
the test,
of being here
with my other voice,
still a stranger
waiting patiently outside
my doubt.

The river is content
to be a lost soul, some
scattered lyrics, never complete
and running off with pebbles,
shards of moon and some
instant knowing.

Now that is perfection:
to never be finished
and always becoming,
never used up
and forever new.

We're saints
of a different sort
on chiseled nights like these.

My guess is the
so-called righteous ones
were never completely rabid
with longing for anyone
and never saw Divinity in
the shameless lily or
the forbidden void
where stars are pinned
and only faith
dares to go.

A love I call amazement
joins me like a second moon,
unravished, intact and
just beginning.

No feet are needed
for this journey.
I believe
and I am there.

Patricia Joan Jones

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

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