I walk with her
In the acreage
of neglected dreams
she escorts me to
A realm that sees
the angels sing of time
Gathered in a featherless
touch of Agony
where even Michael weeps

archangel tears of anguish

Such is the nature
of her beauty
Like a satin quill
of starless nights in
A Giverny of lessons I try
to scribe, the whole of
My hope and sacrifice
enstates all,
all to her other-wise –

and even then,
just past the ethos
Of this forest song I sing
I am drawn to
Her eyes of Awe

a frightful and lovely truth
That I am within the pleas
Of her only cost,
the cost of being human
Vulnerable enough
To love as the angels sing.


© K. James Ribble

The Custody of Time

A frail memory floats in
turbid waters of absence

reclining altogether in

satisfaction, undone by the cloister
of whereabouts

moments later, a conversation
about monuments and semantics

reveals more than just words
it’s as though conception has taken

a front seat in this house, this
wanton disrobing of submission

so it goes along

managed forethought only
long after the discussion ended.


© K. James Ribble


Midsummer brings
The ramparts of dawn

To canterfields in a haze
Of Delphic greens

And cornflower blues
Where the silver strands

Of Edifice seek the ocean
Air it cannot breathe,

Here, like a break of light,
You come to me on

The cornerstone of betrayal
Like a semaphore bleeding

Stillsymbols of this city’s
Light-spill casting disparate

The rooftops in sorrow before
Each derision of my soullessness

Becomes a camouflage
Reflection of dry, fraying clouds

As if the cameo of fairness
Grants this day’s night of being

The night now a grey elm
Of strides in elements
Of redress and return


© K. James Ribble


Snow sets to the
South of me and the
Sun, in a blaze with the
Light of Prometheus,
They begin to sing –

All the people sing in a
Language of chorus
So their dialect,

A paramour
Of Forgiveness,

Denies the madness
Mended in divine cost
And tenderness, this
Precedence casts hope

Like a robe clothing
The room in release –

For so many,
The syntax of artistry
And argument will
Spill the ageless
Tears of night.


© K. James Ribble

Day Song

Dusk settles me
In a round filament
Of light casting
Its last strands
Of motion
Through my
Window as
Birds sing the
Day song of evening –
Summer engulfs me
Framing this moment
In a triumvirate of life,
The light, sounds, and breeze
All a millenary of minutiae
Enshrouding the day in
Persian golds, details of love
Like a lapidary of time
Revealing the ornaments
Of my reverie in the earth
As comes my heart
Now comes my rest


© K. James Ribble


She glanced over to
Me like an afterthought
Aghast to the realization that
Her self-image carried the
Callow’s weight of mauve
Effortlessly falling into the
Sanctity of remnant time …
And as her gaze returned to
The mirror, a memory of her
Childhood began to sing of
Summer yellow skies and long walks
With her father, long since passed –
Where the aire of regret came
To rest as the fire of burden
Burnished bright in her eyes.


© K. James Ribble


I speak in real time
As head motions hand
to write
I’ve uncovered layers
of Self
the fog of years
roll revealing
slowly the nature of Now –
Wrought appears at
The edge of
these grasslands
Stops to eat
with my hunger
Along the walkways of a
Furrowed homestead
meditates with the
whippoorwills in the
Summer fauna
all green against green
The infinite gesture
of life unfolds
I hold myself in this
cradle of thought
As the wise
abutilon sings to me.


© K. James Ribble

The Lake

The lake’s canvas of
Touch-craft seeks the foreign

Dignity of my weary steps
This my longing gait, motions

Toward your arms and bribes
The flowered shore of dusk –

Consumes the day, this day
Aligned askew to a lust-red sun

Resolving to an effortless
Musk of silence [approaching]

The hush of night as
Thistle cries weary on this

Occasion of my remembered
Softness of you – and I plunder

The night asking merciful stars
Please, please bring me to you

Your image glowing moonlike
Beside these imploring

Shores of my Alone:
That I can smell the day lilies

Above the floating lotus
Reminds me that I am still

Furlongs away from you
So, so far away
From you . . .


© K. James Ribble


Crystalline caveats mount
The vested blur of time

Awash in the reverence
Of reminiscence – this province,

This taste of your skin has been
Embroidered on my lips of memory

The afterburn so lost within me
I can only recall the moon-kissed

Glow of your heart as if redeemed
By the angels of nocturnal fires

As if all blatancy of emotion to
Suggest even the slightest ocean

Depth of searing want – and so
I’ve capsized inside of you

Exposed my soul adrift on
The nimbus waves of your

Soul to heal – let me heal,
Heal your heart in this time.


© K. James Ribble