Author: Thespian Drummer

There is an understanding
when the voice of the
wind calls out to you
encountering the seat of
all your fears laid bare
by the longspur’s call, where
an embrace of great length,
like an unspeakable founding,
recalls the fog of rote collection
remembering all the things you
could have said
in a moment of bravura, like
swallowing the feeling you sense
when inhaling the cool fall
air of Autumn’s copper sky,
you release and let go the breath
of contiguity in a claret-rose
acceptance, a veneration
of delivery from Time’s healing hand.

© K. James Ribble

In the final moments of the day

I often find you waiting

in a manifest pause

Filled in warmth

of the sweetest summer

Where even now

in the cold, inimical

bindings of the dying day,

– still

the light in your eyes

-spent in time-

crosses the aeons, and

Tends to me in a missive

from the depths of your heart

with the concision of

my breath

And I hold you there –

the day in its finality

unfolding inside me

like a tutelary

lessons of love assigned

to learned halls of my life

caste against the

stark silhouette

of Autumn’s setting sun

© K. James Ribble

“

. . . and the mountains –

looking like horses

running side by side,

Lay the sky

in twilight blues,

their feelings long

above the clouds,

Stand chaste before

a horizon of silence

straddled gracious

along afternoons

in songs for sorrow

“

© K. James Ribble

No matter how hard

I try to forget

there,

in the future of my memories

it is always you that

appears in a forming,

-an effortlessness-

like desert rainfall,

like the way obsidian

catches light in the truculence

of its own darkness

you are placed in mind

like a sonder locked within

the story of your topaz eyes

and I find you there hovering

above the vast precarity of time –

within me

breaking, like

discovering fire

its origins at the root

of your heart

© K. James Ribble

#savageprompts

In

The spruce and juniper

I climb in cogitation

seeking wisdom of light

flush among the trees

of the forest deep

the same xeric light

tendentious without these

landmarks

wayfaring, beaming light in

principles of love

Relative or not.

In anxious atrophy like

ideas never acted on

the chance to try once more

bears the weight of

knowing:

same place, different time

© K. James Ribble

Without any acumen of

stage and grace, thoughts

of you occupy the estuaries of my

time, and to my astonishment,

I am free.

© K. James Ribble

Photo by © K. James Ribble

 © K. James Ribble

© K. James Ribble

I am beholden to the month of June
like a reliquary where a larkspur sky
contains the blue woodgrain of lost stars
in a sacred exploit of shaded form bleeding
light from the purification of my time here –

As if I am the offering to this place,
this landscape of harsh beauty, a litmus
of the blue-black night on a wide open
horizon, I hold my light in ascension, to be
present here – now above the ramadas

Of my own body as this resting sky of my
oblations break to the crease of a Lapis blue
ether, like flux in the canted road ahead
among dogbane and saltbush, bringing me
closer to the cardinal refuge of night

© K. James Ribble

There’s something like silence
in a cobweb of magic
hailing me from the subtle
coasts of a blithe awareness
slow and distant in its crafting,
a conflation bearing the tender
thunder of golds in a night’s rising
sun where the black inks of my
horizon sits below the sliver
of Chalcedon’s crescent moon
rising, dawn chasing the night
now in earnest in the anise light
of daybreak folded across the
expanse of my own determination –
this is where love lives in its
infinite decision, a dedication
to where I stand wandering in
these lands awash in the
agate-red clouds and amber
whites of my own emergence,
crisp as the desert air I breathe

© K. James Ribble

Writing Prompt:  silent magic