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


I am meeting you
in my own lifetime
pretensions barreled
in an exculpation of

voyeuristic blame
profligate fleece of white
in pain’s grey and
cadmium yellows as

a foreground of rage
red as the earth below,
becomes a carousel of
clouds born of sunsets

sooner than the evenings
bliss of dawns promise;
I walked many a mile
in the rhythms of my life,

yet you come to me
again and again on a leaf
of aspen’s grasp singing
like the birdcalls of their kin

to homes surrounded by
life etched in the cover
of silent cloudspeak
their closeness like a

feint of thought
here, as form, as a
symbol of Who I Am,
this quiet sings to me

in the couched symmetry
of a mountain flower
soft as the rain in summer.


© K. James Ribble


Like the branches
of a tree
tangents of life reach softly,
stark interstices float
with the lofting of time –
each a corollary
toward its own conclusions,
Zen-like yet outward-facing
monastic in flourish, empyrean,
forming a choreography
of sunlight,
a time-dance of
oak and moonlight,
searing songs of
effortless calm and being
in a rainsong of air
filled with smells of juniper –
a fermentation of softness
becomes an amelioration
of candid loss
where the night has gained
its penury of sun,
intimates the evening
as last rays of light
lay bare across the arms of night.


© K. James Ribble

Only the Light

Mother of sacred time
obscure and vague like

sorrow of yesterdays
long forgotten

ministering urn of upheaval
an open crystallization

of shapes bears witness
to a grain from the smallest

angstrom scaled in pale whites,
sub-atomic – so small

even creation cannot perceive
its existence, an imminent insouciance,

like states of missed understanding,
only the light, a pause of photons

can grasp the attendance of
my heart & gives way to

divine particles, to know you –
, now ,
and be known.


© K. James Ribble

Morning Mist

Blue stone of longing combs
tumescent ‘long the tree line
moist with last night’s rain –

valence of aspens cloak me
in a garland of memory, as
a crosswind of morning

skiff the clouds margin-white
in a silence of caution
-while I dine on moonlight-

ripe with the treasure of
your starshine, your bouquet
of lessons in arroyos, ascendant

in the branch of dry open oceans
forming like the agave morning
mist in your carob eyes

and I gaze the lip of time
at the feet of love’s nymph,
this vision known only to us

in the quiet, riparian tracery
of our souls’ carnal birthing . . .


© K. James Ribble

The Whole of You

If I were to know
The whole of you

I’d clamor the night
Unceasing, the quick

Of day on its edge,
fast approaching –

There, in the veiled,
Conscious moments

Of our choices, a
Revelation of heart

Becomes our home –
And it is in this place

We merge, become
One in understanding,

Lost souls found
As daybreak sets the
Skies asunder

© K. James Ribble


Mountain, sky and
windsong converge now

categorically confined
no more; treewind and

birdsong fill me in
a deluge of daylight calm,

pressed into the palms of
earthcrease like a branch

of time on the fortune of
its camber as we become the

hagiography of these
mountains singing,

Glistening among the
gleam of their own silence

in this palace, this crown of
healing as the canyon,

breath of my lungs,
inhales the story of aspen,

their history laid bare
by the aurorae of my own

a never-ending repose aside
these quiet hills I walk with you

© K. James Ribble