Wednesday, January 28, 2009
carving words from this thick mist
no one will reward you.
sometimes the song
will dazzle you sometimes dissolve
even as you are singing it
won't distinguish your lament
from the clouds reforming
and reinhabiting without invitation
your clear castle of light while neighbors on every side
can only complain
they blame you for being the victim of miracles.
the victim of miracles.
will echo there, your only nation,
as on the stairs, coming down after breakfast
through any window's glaze
you recognize the outline
of a desert you did not choose-
mary angela douglas 28 january 2009
Tuesday, January 06, 2009
[...the One has far to go
Past the mirages and the murdering snow.
Edwin Muir, The Incarnate One]
I carried Your universe in my mind
through long years'
walking in winter's shade.
the winter sun shone
like icon gold whenever the cadence
of icicled stars so brightly sounded.
but veneration slept
and could not be wakened.
I saw the tears of angels freeze,
their stunning incapacity-
and seraphs of every nation
leave the room, too brokenhearted
when the chrism of sheer poetry
was voted down by those
who should have known better.
I saw the altar of numbers
and how nothing was
accounted for there
and scant children crying
for a loveliness departing,
kissing the outstretched
hands as though for the last time:
"come back...", mourning.
there were warriors
who fought from a cold and
and could not win.
now ice has settled
over all of them
as in the Snow Queen's parlour
and we are wasted, waiting there
for one more performance review.
counting on You, just you to know:
the fugitive heart still
scanning- after all this snow.
mary angela douglas 4 january 2009;rev. 5 september 2014