The Empathy of Children

Even in the closeness of winter

here in this time –

 

in this place –

 

you have no idea how

honored I am to regarded

as your father –

You are the gift of myself

and your mother

we have given you everything

And yet it is you

Who gives me Life

for I am a galaxy of

of you  – for you.

No other bond

remains / .

 

© K. James Ribble

Blue Pearl

Blue pearl of sky
Flush with winter sun that
I am relinquished to –
[ensorcelled from the daylight to
which I am abandoned to,]
in the quiet of this instance
I am bequeathed to a vision
of having had privilege, a
crossing of paths in that
second – where we saw Truth
as we’d never seen it –
brief as it was, astral in its way,
it has drawn me to find sanctuary
in my own acceptance – stepping
stones to greater intuition, the way
clouds shed their skin, and dispel a
thin patina of white across the desert
floor, its remnants of time -clasped –

 

© K. James Ribble

curiosity of conscience

There is a curiosity of

conscience

in the unhealed wounds

of our sorrows;

a symbol of memory,

engendered by our love,

where remorse nor validation

dwells –

we seek a higher ground,

fulfilling promises made

to ourselves,

holding life enhanced

by the blessing of time – like the

way gold clouds of the desert

converge in a confluence

of gratitude and guilt,

the thought of squandering a life,

lays entirely at the hands of your Self –

And so I walk with the gait of

rhythm and grace in a carriage

of knowing: that it is your blood I

carry in my veins

 

 

© K. James Ribble

The Petroglyph Incantations

I speak in frozen language
borne of a forlorn calling
to this deficit of options

like the night’s shade caste to
an enemy of every doubt,
lingering on a path of my own

questioning, have I lost my way?
have the snows of these desert
reaches, clutched in a caliper

of time, rendered me soft
above the sun’s golden grasp?
now superimposed in the memory

of your smile, I find the earth-brown
golds of your eyes lose me in that
time again with you – in that time

whose temperament belies
the Passage of midnight
where I remain
lost within you

 
 
 

© K. James Ribble

Key of Light

There is an edge of the sky
scored with the colors
of you my friend, my
lover, my igneous flame, you
spar with the winds of a
liquid desire, and in my life,
you love beyond poignancy,
beyond this nostalgia,
unraveling in a totem of gifts,
becoming sentient in the
key of Light, as I learn
the rites of wonder in a land
of Self, a mountain of my
own rising, showing me
that with my own actions,
always like you, I am the dawn
 
 
 

© K. James Ribble

Where Have I Known You Before?

We are so bereft of time
lost among the stars, each his
own, in manifest | buoyancy as
light balanced in the night’s last
dance of luminescence, a wit to
curation of constriction, yet
our camp, dark with the
shadow of night, is a fleeting
Image of time standing still,
as you come to me now,
release me into the vapor
of Time set to the blue
scale of winter, eager for
the longing we’ve known all
along; your whispers, like the
mountain aspens, sing to me
as a voice shuddered in truths,
in sweet aging of desert sage,
brisk as the bright I see
reflected in your southern eyes.
 
 
 
© K. James Ribble

Elements of My Life

A currency of light washes like satin
against a silver mist in a slight of time,
delicate as the moon is long in emotion –

I become this lunar salience and reflect
the silklong of whitesong, like a fallen timber
in Elements of my life, like a tandem star

within myself, I am mirror-against-mirror,
a cameo whose admonition of unresolved
feelings melt into the constellation of my birth,

creased like a truth unknown until that very
moment of awareness, a prefix to inner
knowledge as an understanding – even

before conscience was a thought, so I grip
the talons clean of my birthright and assail
the night in a solemn phrase of ascension,

an abhorrence of elevation, the twilight
of Self in emergence, and carry the gilded spark,
like I was handed the Olympian sun in winter.
 
 
 

© K. James Ribble

Abandoned to its nature

Nothing more churlish, all
Confrontations in adagio,
mystical methods
of Time’s opera –
Of keynotes in blues and greens
glissando’s long enough
to sign in the partisan
second of gossamer pines –
so kiss me now, it’s not too late
bring me to the threshold,
the portmanteau of gold in its
doorway awaiting expectant
moments of Life
 
 
  
© K. James Ribble

Sound at the Door

Just a look across the room is all
it took for me to angle weightless
towards your pull’s direction, aligned
cardinal East along your cherry-brown
eyes, for the night’s blanket of stars
meshed with the waves of your
hair when I knocked on the door
opening; that look in your eyes –
like the way the afternoon’s sun shone
lost against an abstruse angle of pure
declination, revealing imperiled golds
above the lost pinks of your lips, those
agents of Ache within a cloak of dawn,
you became the unforbidden fruit of a desire
I never knew I had until the first kiss, like
Endlessness had gathered in the small of our hands

 
 
 

© K. James Ribble