A Slip of Time

I am born to you,
a rebirth in time
like the morning sun
takes its place
in the tranquil sky
like the way
my hand slips
so easily into
the small of your back
it is this alterity, this
change lifts my heart
nearer to you circling,
coming ‘round like the way
you smell in the same
way the clouds bear rain
on a fire’s flight of
birds singing, I sing in
the same gasp of breath
that brings me to you
brings me home
to the time of us.


©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

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<