PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

They laugh,
and humans take off
their masks,

slip into stars
like a billion souls,
and suddenly believe in
gray and white angels
and one kind God and
and an eternity worthy
of all our
tomorrows . . .

Untamed joy set loose
in glacial waters . . .

a baby's smile and a
prophet's heart:
they shimmy,
they flirt from
their liquid dance floor,
and all I can do is
watch from the pier,
from the edge of an alien
freedom I can
only dream
of.  

Pool of moon rippling
behind them . . .
sweet moon, sweet reservoir
of maternal love;
too old for flirting,
melting fast . . .

The comedians splash Her
awful, lovely face then
dive into the sea
and shatter
its heart of glass,

and I think about magic and
how logical it now seems,
because I've looked
into their eyes and I
know they have the
answers:

Dolphins' eyes are
souls that have seen the
ancient crucible,
dark as blindness,
bright as Truth,
where the sparks of
countless minds were kindled . . .

eyes that swam the death black
veins of my ancestral home.

Stars jumping on the wrinkled
waters; fallen stars dreaming,
always dreaming of the
sky where they were born.

Magic, I think, is the smile
on a dolphin's face:
it says anyone can master
the art of happiness:
it's not the buried treasure
under the feet of
the strong,
and for a moment,
tonight, life can be a
casual stroll through
infinity, not my
fevered sprint through
one corner of the
vastness . . .

Slow down! they screech,
in a wild
staccato fanfare,
their white bellies soaking
up stars like the scent
of salt-spray and
shadow.

Yes, magic . . .

It looks quite real from here.

Magic like soft-sculpted
waters burning in the night,
like love translated into a
moon's watchful eye,
like chandelier skies,
like dolphins dancing
on the moonlit
sea,

like everything your
mind knew at the
moment of birth about
Heaven,
and just now remembered.

by Patricia Joan Jones