Saturday, December 18, 2010


[to Emily Dickinson]

teaching the wind to speak
they make a name: the blue jay
feather's forced to float down

clouds like jewels - the rose
to scatter petals pinkly
on the crystal pavement

credited to who knows who;
they're sure to get the world's best prize-
they mine the gold out of the sun
and they will feed

on light forever after
so it seems they have to tell
the bird on the stark unboughten bough

what singing is for-
all things arrive to their own orbit
anyway, bearing a coded music-

bending no rainbowed
showy piano strings just
to prove a point at the concert

having no need of expertise the diamond worlds move on-

mary angela douglas 18 december 2010

Tuesday, December 07, 2010

Shadows Of Swans, Snow Tears Magisterial

shadows of swans, snow tears magisterial
in this white valentine enfolded are
framed at the window from
which I cannot turn

there are silver apples in the air

will I ever understand
your pure spectacles so soundless
re-enactments of lost stars as they are losing


oh what in your mind makes it begin again...

how your heart breaks off
little pieces from a distant
sky to say something, anything

filtered through lace and lace and
mystifying - so that I cannot hear-
but only feel it-

shred your clear crystal flowers from on High
for softest reasons known only to You-
and hush the shadows of swans in me
that want to sing only the ends of the stories, oh-

there are silver apples on the air
this winter in Shalott let the wind through the
syllables of trees

stand still-

mary angela douglas 7 december, 4 december 2010