Writing on the Wall

the last time we spoke
winter made notice of
white along the snowbound
hills of Vineyard Lake
where the trees, barren in
a frozen grip of silence,
bore the gold of September
as each leaf died when we
were still in love – my intuition,
frost made imminent as the
crisp and dying light of solstice,
knew our hearts would long for the day in
memory to purge this night’s moment –
and now, like the falling snow that
gathers in these hills with stillness,
our love departs each from the other
as a noon-day sun emerges
from these crying clouds

© K. James Ribble

Hewn of Grace


The clouds are forming again
columns of coral pink
symbols, the air
as water where rain
becomes willful
potential to a pale
windham white
and creases the sage
of your eyes in earthly blue
– just for me –
this visual poetry
of fire, like these clouds,
air (the water tomes)
hewn of grace
and the grace of you.

© K. James Ribble

Perfect Circle

A centering of Self
-a seeing-
brief glimpses of
a young, twenty-year self,

my view of Then
finessed by the
Spectacle-of-Life –

it was all so New!
and Now?
Forty years Later …

I am full
of a howling,
my path to
this very Moment

Revealed by the same
connection of (to?) who I was
to a love I feel
emerging before my eyes

it’s as Grecian as
Isis, this grip
on the grasp of life
like wisdom of vision

Time tells me
I am [still] ‘Here’
healing the Song of Self
inside (a (canopy) of) Love

who could say?
and how many thoughts
I’d given – sent to
to the ether of this very Moment

then, in recognition
of my self, of
embracing Who I AM? Now.
So as the light slants Autumn

sending shadows long
like me, I’ve become
a perfect circle surrounding
the days and nights ahead

coming to know
the same young boy
is now the man he IS
this, in a resolution of Time.

© K. James Ribble

End of Day

The summer has spent itself –
growth’s pinnacle released to
the angle of the sun,
its shimmering eloquence,
end of day / exhausted
The scent of epilogue
betrays my utterances –
Autumn approaches in
turquoise abandon, quick
to deny her vices
today I wrapped the
bell songs of September
into the palm of my hand –
Three times the toll was
found on the end of reckoning
Alder and sparrow wreak
the heaviness of the warren
the hills, that view of you,
left adornment aloft of flight,
reflected intimal in our moment

© K. James Ribble

The Dream I Dream

I manifest in time like
Ektachromes of Evans
and clip the sunlight gold

in a cloudless sky-
surprise as your life
evolves un-told before

the dawn of your own
anxiety, a mystery of weight
(pulling through me)

an anchor of the unknown,
an unidentifiable fear
crossing the room

becomes a fantasy
and so the dream I
dream at night

adorns the day
overcome with vision:
You strafe the cold before,

My love, I wake to you.

© K. James Ribble

walk through

I walk through a day dream
verbose and unreliable

incessant loss of chaos
finds me abandoned

in a dream

what privilege of wonder
camps the night before me?

be-sodden with light as
I flail the daybed white

a canvas of my own plight
ending the call into now

clamors for a moment’s
fomented attention like

prepotent grammar
inherent of diction

engendered of knowledge as
pedigree to pen and ink

© K. James Ribble

A Meeting

In bare presence a draft of
garden-light pours beneath me

lost radiance in half-lit truths
on soul-extoling cloud beams

each treecast of maples sifting
royal greens on bonfire reds

calling me in a lightness
like mountain vapor creasing

the day in effigy, an image
of oscillation and twilight as

a meeting of cabbage moths
dance at the edge of morning

I walk your garden in dawn’s
triumphant shadow of illumination

returning to our bed of lost forevers
as I watch you sleep
in the grace of dreams

© K. James Ribble

– *An ekphrastic expression of, ‘A Meeting of Cabbage Moths’, the title of a song-painting by Poemme, from her album ‘Arboretum’


The distance of a thought
from the moment of realization
to the fire of your emotions
burns blueness into night

yet we spin on this blue globe
in a sea of regret
lost in the stars of
our own birth

launched into life’s raging ocean
but seeing you turn your
gaze to me
in a lithe cross of

sunlight buries me
in the nostalgia of late summer
where August leaves
begin to fall now

as a gentle wind carries
your smile to my heart
a floating leaf dances
in a southern breeze

© K. James Ribble

Dressed in Light

just to hear your voice

I listen to the trees speak in the aire
and whisper the tongue of Vesper

day long faire in whelm and elegance
sets lightly on your face before me

under the camphor dressed in
sun’s light as your eyes bring the night

to the close of our ancient mirth
shaded by the twilight of Corvus

now made element in the scar of winter –
for these lands speak of us in muted

voice yet sing serene the depths
of my devotion to your hand

now confessed in the day-end
crescendo of time’s reign of mist

as the sky utters its truths in nimbus grays
you are a song I cannot stop singing

© K. James Ribble