Silent Magic

09-08-18_SFE_Dawn 5am

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

Breath Clasped

If I could kiss every strand
of your starless-night hair,
and every lock and curl that
exists upon your perfect frame

I would find my breath clasped
between the rhythms your heart beats,
exchanged of air in waters from the
sacred lakes and fires of your soul –

And as I cross the settled rivers of your
soil, across the endless acreage of our life’s
land, you become my journey to a discovery:
that the rules of breathing captivate my

soul on the coastal sands of your gaze,
the portered bronze and marbled phrases
of your eyes in colors I cannot explain
seized in the twilight of a night’s single star


©K. James Ribble


Writing Prompt: the rules of breathing

Ethereal Reckonings

Did you know you’d be

on the other side of it, intemperate?

enervated, yet among stars that bore me,

mesmerized by the cloud cover of white

before me, what color of blue can this be?

the sky speaks to me in a language known

for All Time, for the space among us, more

heart than anything – is it Titanium White? Or

Thalo Blue? It is a higher perspective when what’s

really at stake is more than Ethereal reckonings:

—Knowing that I can see this—


© K. James Ribble


Writing Prompt: outside my imagination


The fingers of autumn now
reach through a time of day when
the sun light says it’s going to rain

as a slight of summer begins
to close her harvest eyes making
fall yawn before the respite of

dawn’s reflectance – a tinged epistle
penned by the color of your eyes in
what rests beneath these canopy clouds

under a curtain of shade that veils the
mountains in a blank shelter of shadows
where traces of turquoise and pink

tinge the hues of your sweetest smile


© K. James Ribble

Unexplored Places

The unexplored places
Disaffected by time
Sleeping by the sound of
the clock, no notion of afterview

Contemporaneous in their own time
blurred lines of transport, effortless
with thought, like walking into water
being rejuvenation and finding

Synchronicity becomes duplicity – like
a walk-on-carry-on, I refract and reflect –
there are no other reliance’s shown lost
against the golden hills, the waters of Life.


© K. James Ribble

The Sound of Periphery

Verdant evening sky slowly
gives way to the breath of dawn,
night vanquished as revealed

through my eyes of distance
in forty years, like a sounding,
like the depths of an ocean

fathoms measured in days,
–my thoughts as echoes–
that time now in singularity

astray in a story that began
as I have begun in witness
absolved in ferly days since

when my journey began,
where now there is a view,
a silent periphery forming,

rock-strewn and tree-fallen,
along lands of a gentle wind
as every moment of every

day becomes a counting in
the make and measure of my life,
soundless like falling stars
fading aside the morning sun


© K. James Ribble

Life Blurred

Together the landscape before us
finds comfort in the light diminished

the chiaroscuro of time we walk
discovering the same toile colors

through the same months and days, like
shallows through warm pockets of water

in a cold sylvan lake, like an awakening in the
sanguine fog of memory as a dream, bold

as the tempera of optimism blossoms
pretentious in the swollen mouth of measure –

like a hesitation slowing us to moments,
showing us the open wounds of pride

betrayed by the sincerity of our honesty, our
deepest hearts grown gibbous in the winter

of our familiarity, where a word read triggers
dreams of something you swear you dreamt

before, like a vision just outside the grasp
of recollection in the faded ocher shadows

of a snow-drifted stairway blurred in the
sienna tone metonymy of a life gone wry.

© K. James Ribble

>Writing Prompt: existential dissonance<


I catch the very edge of time here
reticulation of an instance catching
the dew with knowing there’s so
much more to come on reflection
as minuets seep in the notion that
I was so much younger then before
like thoughts gathered in the tonal life
of sound, an illumination like photogravure,
an imprint of our own orenda, a lingering
of the soul’s restless instance drenched
in morning gold, where the sun’s blanket
of light, like a guest of these hills, surrounds
our love so complete, so infinitely calm
that I have fallen into the chasm of this
place fully embraced, into the natural flight
of a soft breeze on the notes of its song,
and the motion of summer’s tallest grass


© K. James Ribble

A Glancing Calm

I enter your words, mirth-mouthed
in clothlight, lost in the hidden vestiges
of your afterworlds that form the distant,
departed valleys of a barley-amber gray,

where sounds of blue entrancement seek the
drift absolve in a suspended water of the moor,
your heart, a nemophilist listening to the
earth residing inside the stupor of starlight,

projects your love, a terrestrial entelechy,
an orb of myriad conscience that transforms
me, becomes a fulfillment of purpose, an
anaphora of the soul formed of the body

liberating in its purpose to languish warm,
reaching redemption in the musk and
might of an hour’s salience, past this time,
past recollection to a bead of its moment:

where a glancing calm consumes me,
surrounds me in the pulse of living
and loving to the pause of each second
when I become the verity of my Self.

© K. James Ribble