Saturday, January 19, 2019

While Filling Out Forms She Thinks Of Other Things

it's rhapsodic and it's built to last, my dream boat
veering into the shoals of the deeper Past
without apologies

oh I see said the agencies
seeing nothing at all.except-
the nothing fills out forms

and it is small
maybe they won't call it back
maybe they can sit on a tack it's

knowing it is not born for this.
that nothing is me
still in the dream of

used to be and should be now.
and stubborn in the quest
and fairy tale endowed; 

still, the guest of God.

mary angela douglas 9 december 2018; rev.19 january 2019

Friday, January 18, 2019

From A Strawberry Sky /Too Long At The Fair

I want an ice cream :come she wailed
the little girl in flounced pink at the end of her day
not knowing really what she wanted was sleep

and with only the one thing she could say
I want an ice cream come, I doooo
and I imagine her guardian angels

would have moved heaven and earth
not to mention all the moo moos in the field
just to scoop one out for her, double dipped,

from a strawberry sky.

mary angela douglas 18 january 2019

Tuesday, January 15, 2019

She Also Was True

who wouldn't love the die cut paper castles,
paper snowflakes snipped, the mirrored pond
reflections of a pink tulled dancer
on one leg standing in an old story;
one leaden soldier to wait upon.
being made of paper not much was left to chance
a misplaced wind, an uncertain dance
a gust from a hearth ablaze and
the end of storied days, snip snap.
these are the happenstantial ways
Hans Andersen furnished
for a paper valentine
to those farther down the line.
where the leaden soldier
never loses nerve
but is captive to a breeze
and the dancer at attention too
in the end
we rue.
though she also,
was true.
mary angela douglas 15 january 2019

I Smile Into Far Distances

why couldn't it be that way
the way we thought it would
that we would find our playhouse

in the woods like a fairy tale cottage
marked for us alone
and with the doll size baby tea set

done in small roses.
there we would remain the children
and mama the mama the mama

and grandmama grandpapa too
the worlds we knew at first
without the bubbles bursting

rainbow's sheen floating forever in the backyard
sunlight dappling everything.
I know somewhere it must be true

behind the gumball machines,
in the old shopping center
inside the nesting worlds forever new

inside the present, yet another
star flecked tissue Christmas
evergreen as before.

you think I am naive
and you deplore that in me.
maybe you do

but I smile into far distances, queen,
anthropologist of the faint gold thumb printed clues.

mary angela douglas 15 january 2019

The Pause In The Music: What It Means

there's a pause in music only one discerns
that one must endure through blizzards
gathering the shadows of violets

so that Spring may descend
after long Ages
so that children may turn

the fairy tale page in books
saying again, with wonder lit,
is this true?

mary angela douglas 15 january 2019

Sunday, January 13, 2019

Can The Wind Breathe

can the wind breathe
through ice crystal beading on the trees
when currents of air are stilled above the town

in an overcast dream, sparkleless and clean
the ground greening and window glimpsed,
we could say in a drowsy way

it's ice orchards, only resembling Spring or
may it be the trees' precognition settling the matter
or that we are here in a season we do not recognize

Spring from a tower window spied like the Snow Queen
sees Spring, as only the ice crystallized into flowers
still frozen are the hours

I guard; white roses too she said viewing the
petals melting into the ground
no honey for the silver bees.

no nectared music.

mary angela douglas 13 january 2019

Saturday, January 12, 2019

Different Than We Were Before

(to my Grandmother Lucy W. Young
and my very musical sister, Sharon...
and to Gramp, the best Gramp, Milton B.("Mutt" Young)

we may have planned to connect the dots in workbooks
or in purple mimeograph watching them become
flowers, leaves, constellations the dolls never heard of

this would be additional work but we were happy to do it
knowing it must lead us somewhere different
than we were before

outward from the penciled labyrinths
the simple crosswords, riddles just for fun
spelled out in languid Saturdays after chores were done

and mystical movies,that Hershey Bar
popcorn freedom,
trifling with sets and subsets off and on

clearly without the nets of the lady in strawberry pink
circus tutus using the sun
as a reference point, the northward moss on trees

calculating these: parabola, parasol, what you please by
sunset, moonrise gifts of the numbers, One in gold

meaning prime but we're in the after time
of school where the sundial rules the shade
with the metronome at home

and music runs on in the piano studio
twirling the stool
because Grandmother's pupils are diligent

and love their Mendelssohn.

counting the threads on the vivid spools
we occupy ourselves with her sewing basket
the tiny gold thimble tisket or tasket,

and we are the thieves of the golden eggs she says
when she is vexed 
scolding us through fairy tales so that beauty

is never a wasted opportunity nor

the stairs from note to note she taught us
that we will use long after she's gone
when they have wounded our once upons

hearing that music still, not missing
the northward moss on trees

on and on
connecting the dots from star to star
and not that far from it now:

from finishing off the last spinning wheel
in the last castle
thereby saving the Princess,

the Kingdom of whole notes replete with
beauty cascading everywhere
through the grace notes too

a few of them sostenuto,
the worlds we knew then

that still are new and

back to back and sidewalk crack to crack
with the narrow passage through
rose garden to Rose Garden.

when we're through
we'll bring her back the best bouquet
the intricate piece done well and

marked with a golden star, the memory
of who we are at the core Whose Music is
leaving us, somewhere different

fording the rivers of dream-
than we were before.

mary angela douglas 12 january 2019;rev. 13 january 2019