Author Information
What Survives
My world shrinks with age.
Too much time pruning
what is left of my life
like a bonsai tree
until it is a
tame and demure
little thing.
Can the real self ignore the
howls outside our door?
Can we love the world
into submission,
dream it
into peace?
Nothing to see here,
just dainty,
skulking branches,
never reaching for things they
know nothing about.
Every day a trap door opens up
and some of us plunge into another
shrieking surprise.
Others dance on the shores
of the lava.
I want my miniature,
well-trained
world back.
But I know too much.
The sky shifts,
braids moonglow
into clouds
and hides the starfields
that time moved on from.
Still I believe,
even while dwindling in
a cage of riddles . . .
I still believe someday
it will all open
up and pour,
in one crazed chorus,
through the
crumbling dream,
and I will be surrounded
by answers
to yesterday's questions
in a place beyond
form and separation
and pretending,
in a place where everything
beautiful lasts,
where everything perfect
never truly died
because,
I will realize,
I never left God.
Patricia Joan Jones
This poe can be considered
This poe can be considered spiritual survival 101. Writing this comment from the twists and turns of a bad patch right now, I can look again to Hope after reading this poem. That, alone, proves its legitimacy as a masterpiece. I have missed Patricia's presence on this site, recently, and so the appearance of this poem is an event which carries several levels of impotance.
The poem's logical progress occurs in three sections. In the first, or Bonsai, section, the poem describes and laments "the artificiality" of existence that the present state of society forces on to us. After describing what a Bonsai existence is, she brilliantly locates its cause in the loss of the sight, due to cloudiness, of the starfields. This then leads into what I would call the Starfield section. Even as her perspective on the Cosmos experences a shrinkage, or drawing back, that the perspective will open again and briing back everything that is both beautiful and lasting; and this activates the last section of the poem, which can be called the Lasting Beautiful. She realizes that the Lasting Beautiful can be attained again because she has never left God; and that is because God will never foresake her, as the great Hebrews epistile in the Bible declares. And at that point, the poem ends, with that triumphant orchestral cadence of the final line.
Starward-Led [in Chrismation, Januarius]
I’m overjoyed that you found
I’m overjoyed that you found some comfort in my expression and that you, so generously, took the time to dive deep with exquisite and precise insights. Coming from you that’s a coveted gift.
I’m still praying for your wellbeing and wishing you the very best of everything. You are a beacon.
This piece really moved me,
This piece really moved me, patriciajj ...the bonsai image captures so vividly how age can prune life down,
yet the closing vision opens into something vast and luminous.
I love how you hold the tension between diminishment and faith,
ending with that powerful affirmation of never having left God. A beautiful meditation.
here is poetry that doesn't always conform
galateus, arkayye, arqios,arquious, crypticbard, excalibard, wordweaver
I’m thrilled and gratified by
I’m thrilled and gratified by your astute analysis of my expression. You eloquently, precisely, unearthed my intention. Coming from such a gifted wordcrafter, that means so much. Huge thanks!
Talk about aging gracefully!
Your world may be shrinking,
But your vision is bursting it's boundaries!
Hope to meet you one day in that place you so aptly envision.
Peace!
I’m honored by your stunning
I’m honored by your stunning and inspiring footprints. I also enjoyed my visit to your site and the discovery of your amazing literary artistry. Thank you so much for your valuable encouragement.
Wow!! So many bridges between
Wow!! So many bridges between a few very intense mood shifts, from feeling as bleek and empty on the canteen as a melancholic drifter, with wisdom which showers down like dry leaves in fall, braids playing upon the back of a dainty darling playing upon the playground swing of better memories...
peace, pot, tequila shot
Jesus loves us, stoned or not
Many thanks for taking the
Many thanks for taking the time to read, with deep understanding, and comment on my work. Your observations illuminated my vision with clarity and beauty. That means so much!