Tuesday, May 22, 2018

Half Answering The Phones, Then Hanging Up, Or Drifting Away

am I speaking to an empty room
sometimes, I wonder
though the room is full

is this delusion
do I speak to tombs
and the ghosts all out to lunch

or at the crystal punch bowl
drinking transparent punch
has all etiquette gone

the dodo's way
my conversation lingers in the air
like fine perfume perhaps

the angels wear or all the flowers in Spring;
so have I learned to speak
in a fragmentary way as if in asides

a mongologue from an out of the way stage
or only to God in prayer
oh broken modern circuit of the unbelievably contrary

the inherently rude
what were you given language for
I wonder

in a supercilious age
you deserts out of range;
only to cause more pain.?

mary angela douglas 22 may 2018

For Ireland Always

three silver stories have I kept
and the Trinity rising
the Trinity rising like spelled seas wept

the grey seas, the ceaseless seas
and the ones of fallow green 
the feather edged without flying,

the ragged seas of departing,
the inconsolable isles.

spell is my heart the colour of roses
the rose thorned overcome
the moon waxing in the time of diamonds

three stories and the silver branching
branching of the mysteries and of the
winter soul, the winter soul besides, abiding

the deprivation of maytimes.

the grey seas and the turning into the green wave spent
I have lent all our jewels out, sighed the princess in exile
the prince on the white road mourned and fallen into

three stories and they unchanging and more-
unchanging as God and the Trinity rising
and the rose road wept and the thorns overcome.

I have kept I have kept all the Kingdoms come
through the ageless days of the heart unremembered and
Time the trial extended through the reign of shadows.

all under the renegade; stars the feeling of who you are

who you were in the sainted beforelands
as you turn on the white road, flaring into diamonds

as the roses beckon you full in bloom
as the piper's tune returns and the silver of home
and all of it in bloom

and all of it in bloom.
and spelling forevers.

mary angela douglas 22 may 2018

Monday, May 21, 2018

Blue Light Scatters, Apart From The Rose Of Day

blue light scatters, apart from the rose of day
my angels chime, unwilling to go away
outside the bell jar Time where snows drift

faultlesssly.and then we pray, my darling ones remembered.
I pick up the sticks of childhood on the plum stained way
and suck the honey from the honeysuckle; stay,

cries something in the cupboards made for me.
we will dress in lilac remembering those springs
with shoes to match with little straps 

and the lemon drop sun shone on everyone then
when we were carried into Christmas
by those who loved us,

forever happy at the Matinees or
barely awake and dreaming it was Heaven,
the lawn done up in diamonds.

mary angela douglas 20 may 2018

Saturday, May 19, 2018

Shadows Are Beautiful (final version)

shadows are beautiful a something, someone said
deep in the recesses of my mind where there were;
shadows, forming the contrast in the pictures

framing a cinematic mood
or in the cool of april chilling the green
summer sought they are

who seem to be merely the absence of glittering
light, a dark violet stain on the brilliance of the
grasslands, the oasis.

How wearing is the light in the glaring of the day
then we need shadows, shade
and thirst for them then.

the homeland of breezes.
they sang to me
not in the game of let’s pretend we are something,someone

better
beautiful shadows whispered to me
you do not need to be seen to be who you are

and I have lived that way
and am not ashamed of it.

mary angela douglas 19 may 2018

Shadows Are Beautiful

shadows are beautiful a something, someone said
deep in the recesses of my mind where there were;
shadows, forming the contrast in the pictures

framing a cinematic mood
or in the cool of april chilling the green
summer sought they are

who seem to be merely the absence of glittering
light, a dark violet stain on the brilliance of the
grasslands, the oasis.

How wearing is the light in the glaring of the day
then we need shadows, shade
and thirst for them then.

not in the game of let's pretend we are something,someone better
beautiful shadows whispered to me
you do not need to be seen to be who you are

and I have lived that way
and am not ashamed of it.

mary angela douglas 19 may 2018

Friday, May 18, 2018

On The Removal Of Certain Statues (final version)

the ghosts of former statues drift
through public squares
unmoored we are,they wail
as if they could
twice dead and solid as moonlight.now;
once we gleamed near shade trees
sentinels of grief
to those who raised us
now are we razed
we who never dreamed but were
immemorial,so were we deemed once?
engraved, and left there, weathered, weathered
eating the air of time for lost sons remembered
and home shattered, shuttered, never to be repaired
lost mirrors now
of the,- the ships that reached port
too early. of the untimely frost
of the absurd cause ruined nd ruinous
dragged from our perch
and assailed , war criminals
rocks on trial
though we have shed no blood nor drawn it
where will the ghosts of war go now
we are banished from city and town
the widowed brides long past
of those whose line died out for nothing
we cannot ask, being but that
shadow of stone.
sentinels now of a grief expressed nowhere
because we were on the wrong side of
the question we never understood
for those whose farms burned down
or would have had they not stood in the breach
and we would weep if we could
slow tears of stone
but we have grown wings in a manner of speaking
scrawled over and stained as though we could be shamed
and from our exile dreamed did we? that
gone are the trumpets from our marble hands
the horses from under us so are we punished
who never drew breath
all snowy sunsets down!
but wished we could day after speechless day
unmoving in the college quadrangles
we might have stood in, being the semblance of men
for those who rode death down and drowned
for no resounding glory.the phantom son of their old age...
ghosts of ghosts are we
in perpetuity
now they have come symbolically to say
we must wrong the wronging brother his last image
that canceled equation of the brother against brother
the space at the supper table new defiled
a puzzlement before God.
and ever, the unwreathed tomb.
the marble mistaken child.defaced,
erased now.
mary angela douglas 17 may 2018

On The Removal Of Certain Statues

the ghosts of former statues drift
through public squares
unmoored we are,they wail

as if they could
twice dead and solid as moonlight.now;
once we gleamed near shade trees

snetinels of grief
to those who raised us
now are we razed

we who never dreamed but were
immemorial,so were we deemed once?

engraved, and left there, weathered, weathered
eating the air of time for lost sons remembered
and home shattered, never to be repaired

lost mirrors now

of the the ships that reached port
too early. of the untimely frost
of the absurd cause ruined nd ruinous

dragged from our perch
and assailed , war criminals, 
rocks on trial

though we have shed no blood

where will the ghosts of war go now
we are banished from city and town

the widowed brides long past
of those whose line died out for nothing
we cannot ask, being but that

shadow of stone.
sentinels now of a grief expressed nowhere
because we were on the wrong side of

the question we never understood
for those whose fasrms burned down
and we would weep if we could

slow tears of stone

but we have grown wings in a manner of speaking
scrawled over and stained as though we could be shamed

and from our exile dreamed did we? that
gone are the trumpets from our marble hands
the horses from under us so are we punished

who never drew breath
but wished we could day after speechless day
unmoving in the college quadrants

we might have stood in, being the semblance of men
for those  who rode death down and drowned

for no resounding glory.
ghosts of ghosts are we
in perpetuity

the space at the dinner table new defiled
a puzzlement before God.
and ever, the unwreathed tomb.

the marble child.defaced.

mary angela douglas 17 may 2018