D. S. Jones

All alone in an enchanted land
Where before me grandly stands
Crystal walls and glistening strands
In Nature's winter garden.
...

White mums and green carnations
declare today a celebration
for one little boy filled with anticipation
when he left a picnic basket out under the moon.
...

Once I thought solitude was good
peace-filled hours to read,
to think, to count stitches.
Those were days filled
...

The day begins with a foggy morning;
light is distilled across the lake as
silhouetted trees surround a primeval scene.
The lake- slate blue as the fog lazily lifts
...

He calls me a bag lady- I have so many kinds
that lines the shelves, drawers and such,
and all of them are mine!
My lingerie uses one for wash day once a week
...

Escape with me these snow flocked trees
From down-filled quilts that warm,
To sunny skies where stories lie
In a palace of books this morn.
...

There are certain things that go missing
all around my house
Could it be a Gremlin that hid my favorite blouse?
Maybe it was something more
...

I held a moonstone in my hand
the color of the snow
and black
like sparkling coal.
...

Moody clouds hung low today
Were they angry with the sun?
I tried to read but the wind would play
Turning my pages all in fun.
...

Listen to the silence
The wind speaks through the tree
And birds call to the night
Where the sky meets the sea.
...

It was that time of day when cobwebs enter the brain;
Eyelids become heavy and thoughts begin to drain
That she began seeking the teapot- the one of China blue.
It had come from England, she had been told, when her
...

A finger pointed in the sky
to clouds and sky beyond my view,
and marks the seasons of the year
in varying penitential hues.
...

How high can you count?
Joseph lost tally in Egypt.
Like Joseph, so I
could never count the multitude
...

A leaf had fallen from a tree
With the help of a gentle breeze,
I turned from my work and gazed upon
A kaleidoscope of leaves.
...

I want to remember the times we shared
But Time holds lock and key
To peek within the keyhole now
Is the cruelest of all charities.
...

I love these days when Spring is near
When rooms are filled with promised sun,
And fresh green growth reappears
Such hope within me rises.
...

Tiredness fill every bone
From pulling weeds
From seeds long sown
Unaware.
...

Battalions of snowflakes are on the move.
Their presence covers the hillsides
Without a sound of command.
They wait while other regiments
...

One staccato note fell on my pane.
Then a timbrel three and four
Thus the overture begins
Its timeless measured score.
...

He strung the stars of heaven
Then hung them on her wrist
With gold and water from the deepest seas
Her heart he did enlist.
...