poem index


Joyce James

Printer-friendly version

by this poet

                        Think on it!
                        In the beginning
            Had not occurred such thing as mortal Death.

Walked hand in hand our new Maide children the sweetest aisles of perfect earth 
Risen there its soil, spread holy stock organic membrane woven round.

            Devised his
Hiking of solitary again, gaited steady.
      Striding the bones of the coastal range.

Granite flesh unstable, piles wind-riven ocean skin magmatic, that
      Wrinkling; obscures foundation osseus age below.
      So clean Our Mother's bones.

      Isolate the sky retreated the world,
Reared towering