Friday, November 17, 2017

To the Poets of the First War, An Epitaph

[for Rupert Brooke]

they wanted to win so much
the Golden Fleece for a new age
the trellised rose and more

for rhe fair lady and in verse
the mystical intonations of
the waved shores lapping.

for this they gathered all their wit,
good cheer, the fables of the years
and marshaled all their soul

fit to a singular radiance

and trained themselves so secretly
from valorous study shelf to shelf to meet
life with their version of

the chivalric codes.
then lost, lost, all lost
to the call of a dubious war

a generation lost and Poetry
lies dying in a trench the blood flow unstoppable
and even now bears the wounds

not yet, the scars, of the
hemorrhaging rose of their hearts

the letter left unsaid.

and the sweet heart moon, lacking the old compliments
is blanched
and over their silent tombs

cannot depart.

mary angela douglas 17 november 2017

Incoming Weather

what have you forgotten that you used to know
did you ask blue windowpanes
snows have drifted through the night

dream noting the flight of drifting birds
are you their current have you heard
sad angels ask

being somewhat far from home
their weathervanes in a whirl

small diamonds rage and is this snow blindness
your prisoners ask you in the freeze
the orange groves lost

but its all on a need to know basis.
if you see in the middle or on either side
the optometric slides

presenting to you the view or what's left of it.
this is where visions died the marker says
but the snows cover it all.

mary angela douglas  17 november 2017

Thursday, November 16, 2017

I Will Be A Diamond

I will write on the wind in invisible ink
cutting the foil stars out of the sky
making the paper snowflake chains

for the evergreens to which the bright birds fly
and gilding the pinecones
I will remember my first homes

and it will become so real
it will be all I feel and
Christmas to the fingertips

you will say how did she get that way
so that she doesn't know where she is
what day

if you say anything at all

you will say so small how would anyone notice
if she left the room
you will mean

if I leave the world
but oh, in the hand of God
I will be a diamond.

mary angela douglas 16 november 2017

What To Do When The Trail Disappears

sit down and eat the last of the gingerbread.
watch the map grow wings and rise up into the clouds.
set your watch.
sing lullabies to the leaves.
take the white pebbles out of your shoes
wash them in the stream
make an altar
I remember you Bethel
I remember you Lord God
how often you showed me the way
I am lost so lost even my shadow is misplaced
no one is coming to look for me
except the angels
and written in gold:
I will see You soon.

mary angela douglas 16 november 2017

Someday Redux 1950s

I want to live in candy box pictures
maybe old valentines
and live on lemon drops

tootsie roll pops
pop soap bubbles
with a golden pin

and play the record again
the way I played it then
the nursery sing a long song

when the world could hold no wrong
but the throng singing
cobbler, cobbler mend my shoe

this won't do said alice
frowning in a gown of Alice Blue
you've got to grow up, not down

but we sang all the way to town
we're going to buy ribbons
and lilac perfume

and someday man
will go to the moon

mary angela douglas 16 november 201

The One With The Patio

in my dream there is a baby
i try to pick the baby up
but it's heavy as a mountain

the baby
the way children can be
when they don't want to leave

they don't want to be picked up
picked up and deposited 
like trash on the sidewalk

cut the grass
before the historical society
faints from the eyesore of it

being  two inches longer than
is allowed
the baby is loud

it thunders like Paul Bunyan
the legendary baby
and blue oxen come to graze

in my veritable backyard
or did I get the unit
with the patio

it's not that clear
it's hard to remember
remember, it's still a dream

there is no baby

there is no backyard
there's miniblinds
and a sky stained like

raspberries crushed
and then I'm on the bus
going to work

it's temporary again

my daydream folds into a desert
the living desert
while all the flowers bloom

at the same time.

mary angela douglas 16 november 2017

Wednesday, November 15, 2017

We Watch The Monsters File Below

we watch the monsters file below
from all our towers made of snow
and know what we know.

the Sovereign God our keeper is
the watcher o'er the sleepers Is
and all the bubble and the fizz

of life means nothing here
where those once friends
can disappear

into the mire down below
we tearless watch
from towers of snow.

mary angela douglas 15 november 2017