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


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Cascade's picture

Perfection becomes stagnant

Perfection becomes stagnant in the lie of it's perfection... something I highly doubt this poem nor it's creator and her creator will ever experience. I for one, am ecstatic to hear your (amazement) is just beginning so I can piggyback on the afterglow of all this magical phenomenon of poetic alchemy.  Won't find me ma'am Smile

patriciajj's picture

Thank you for coming along on

Thank you for coming along on my journey and leaving such thrilling feedback. Always a pleasure. 

allets's picture

"Forever new"

Somebidy firgot to tell my body about renewal. Yet, I intend to go out smiling - it is and so far was GREAT!  71 - a lot of friends gone and are missed. Stay safe! ~S~ 

Lady A

patriciajj's picture

My body hasn't gotten the

My body hasn't gotten the message either. But you're still young and fabulous! Always a pleasure when you stop by. Thanks. 

word_man's picture

a place and time only the

a place and time only the mind can go

ron parrish

patriciajj's picture

Thank you for stopping by and

Thank you for stopping by and leaving such thought-provoking insights. 

word_man's picture

  you`re welcome pat

  you`re welcome pat

ron parrish

Starward's picture

This poem's center of gravity

This poem's center of gravity is "the forbidden void where stars are pinned and only faith dares go."  This poem particularly reminds me of the French and Russian Symbolists' poetry.  I am not saying that Patricia is one of them; that is not my privilege to assert. I am saying this poem is like theirs in its use of symbols to enter the forbidden void, where the stars are, with a faith in the powers of her language skill to be able to limn that void, and to harness the power of the stars' light in order to illuminate the human and humane content of this poem and, indeed, of all her poems.  The void is called forbidden in this poem; forbidden to all but the initiates, and Patricia is one of the chiefest initiates---in a great lineage that extends as far back as the Hellenistic poets, and includes the greatness of Vergil. 

  The purpose of the Poet's initiation, and of the exploration of the forbidden void, and of the harnessing of stars' light is to approach "the love I call amazement . . . unravished, intact and just beginning."  This, in my opinion, also is a statement that expresses the purpose and function of her entire body of poetry, not just one poem.  Her consistence is that of the greatest of Poets---for example, Stevens, Vergil, and Mallarme.  She is not what I have elsewhere called a "scapbook" poet---one who takes a morning stroll and writes about things observed, and only as they are observed within the local (and often, yokel) dimension.  Patricia's observation places the items she names within a cosmic context, with a moral significance attached to them.  She elucidates the mystery of our existence; unlike the scrapbook poets, who gather only the superficial, much of which is debris and detritus, like Pop Stevens' "The Man On The Dump."  Her poems, like Stevens', instruct us in the marvelous . . . as much by what they exclude as by what they include.

Her achievement is not nearly finished, and continues to expand and expound before our very eyes and ears; her Poetry's glory resonates throughout postpoems, and I am very glad---and undeservedly privileged---to bear witness to that.


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patriciajj's picture

I'm the one who's privileged

I'm the one who's privileged to have such an insightful observer accompany me on my pilgrimage and offer the deepest understanding, the most sincere appreciation and the most valuable motivation. It's incredibly gratifying that you read my work with such an intuitive grasp of my vision and the interpretations of a true poet. If there's a word for my immeasurable gratitude, I'd like to know it. 

Starward's picture

I have said before, but I

I have said before, but I think it bears repeating (although it is intensely personal) . . . during those four undergraduate years I studied the "creative curves"---so to speak---of T. S. Eliot, Wallace Stevens, and Vergil; but I was frustrated because these were established, completed, achievements.  At moments of doubt's anxiety (and there were some), I wondered what my effort---in that particular pursuit---was all for.  I did not suspect, way back then, that I was being prepared for the event of watching your literary accomplishment construct itself before our very eyes . . . at this late stage of my life, when I can most appreciate it.  I have had the privilege of experiencing the thrill of watching a very Major Poet at work---just as astounded explicators watched Eliot and Stevens; or even the Emperor Augustus watched the Aeneid slowly assembling beneath Vergil's pen.  I should like to say I prepared for this experience; but it would be more honest to say that I was being prepared for this.  And, in the midst of this health affliction, I am the more grateful that it has not prevented me from being able to watch the process of your Poetry---the way (permit me to repeat a favorite metaphor) an astronomer ardously and enthusiastically studies an emerging star in the iridescences of a nebula.


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patriciajj's picture

Thank you for your very

Thank you for your very moving and eloquent words of support. They make all the difference.