Cooling My Pies On The Windowsill Of The World

cooling my pies on the windowsill of the world

I pray that the earth won't shift even in the same breath

surmising the paper dragons will arise

and we'll go through it all again.

but blow the candles out on the cake you still

imagine silver beaded all over, thick with plums,

with layers of raspberry filling, custard, stars!

or fling the sundial's shadow out into space

my optimist

far from the garden where the roses bloom too late

is the tamarind forever you counted on.

still in the desert those cooling glades appear

known to the unknown poets before you,

age upon age in the shade of God

lengthening into our days:

the emerald flutes beyond Seeming and year on year.

sweet is the mind where this can't disappear...

mary angela douglas 29 may 2013

"WHATSOEVER THINGS ARE LOVELY...THINK ON THESE THINGS..."

"Finally, brethren, whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things."


Philippians 4:8
- King James Bible "Authorized Version", Cambridge Edition


please remember these words all your life.

What Will I Do With My Poem When It Grows Paper Wings

what will I do with my poem when it grows paper wings

will I fling it into space;

will violins break off apace from

shining, momentarily-

then?

or will it chirr in the shadows

making believe it’s crickets,

not fooling anyone.

what will I do

if it stands on its head and topples over

into the dewy grasses I remembered:

making the children dressed in peach and plum

laugh uncontrollably?

or gets by, in tatters, on a black cherry wind

incapable of fending, really, the aunts all said:

what if it never comes home for Christmas

with a rubied scarab pin

in flecked tissue paper with a

scattering of small stars?

or goes down the slide too fast, afraid of clouds?

what if it grows paper wings and sings and sings

itself into someone’s last summer on earth:

vanishing from one kingdom-

popping up in another-

froth of lemon and

freight of snow.

mary angela douglas 1 may 2013.