The Pure Lyric, Undefiled; Not Subject To Psychological Profiling Or Social Reformation

all words spoken on behalf of the
Revolution (any Revolution)
are suspect;

all words spoken against the
Revolution (any Revolution)
are suspect;

but most suspect of all by
those on either side of the Question

are the singing irrelevant words
spoken out of context to any
Body Politic at all,

the singing singing words
of the obscured Ideal the refugees
of Beauty undefiled the diaspora

of the Good and the True faithful to
God in your original intent the lovely
lovely words with no agenda like

angels sent at perfect liberty from any mind-numbing
unified field of we're all in this together
socialized psa-fractured fractured...

crystal are the words I'm speaking of,
pure crystal shining from shining in an
original intent soul words quenching the

soul's thirst in this programmable desert
who would want to ever walk through to any promised land
acknowledging,

how dare they? sheer poetry you still exist!
the charterless rose, the star the
branching lilac night, the single dew-drop
in the musical note of the nightingale the

nightingale the nightingale

mary angela douglas 7 april 2010

By The Light Of Flickering Words

by the light of flickering words

I followed the forward motion of Your stars

as a serious hour grew into years.

You stood beside me-

I always knew-

when the spent tygers of

the soul could

forage no longer when

wound on wound unfolded,

o inexorable Rose-

they have stolen in the dead of all nights

your shining language

and skewed it like a bow-

and the arrow lodges, day

and night, dead-center, as its poison flows and flows.

now the careful distancing begins

with the craft of State-crafted words in full bloom:

"In the beginning was the Word" they long to shove

falling and falling into radio silence...

and the covert word in fool's gold

leaps out from prepared speeches

to murder God, again-

and the honied word sells out to scattered applause

or only numbness on what seems to be

only a simple weekend in spring oh but

isn't this always the way that it begins.

through blinding tears I must cry out!

oh why

must they uproot the lilies the lilies of the mind

in full view?

but this thin flame can never illumine enough

it's you and you, alone cut down

through all Gethsemanes remaining

Remain.

then I will wander

from star to star,

not comfortless!

holding fast this music

holding fast this music

still

mary angela douglas 4 april 2010, Easter