To the Russian poets and all poets;the shimmering, undefeated "cloud of witnesses" who conveyed at great cost in their own way: the connecting idea between Heaven and earth. And most of all, to the poet from the former Soviet Union who, dying, in prison, wrote his final poem in his own blood on the wall: the single word, "Hope". Whole-hearted To the Triune God in memory of Mary Adalyn Douglas.
Copyright 2006-2016, U.S. and International Copyright all rights reserved by Mary Angela Douglas
Thursday, November 21, 2013
Ruby Throated Christmas At The Last
[to William Butler Yeats]
the sands run down your ruby-throated glass
and up and down the scales of words that
can't sit still, you sing:
the dulcet chords still stringed;prolonged,
the glass bells chiming in the Christmas air
though for not much longer
will the angels gather, as they did long ago
above the children, anxious to go home
and break the silver envelope of pain
surrounding the outer atmospheres again
and smash the harps of stone
and pluck the silver from the moon.
bright poets the brightest in the room how empty, empty is the loom how we've forgotten all that sings, that sang oh, that-
suddenly, in a tower's room
you'd start to hum a tune you
thought you never knew before
with the cabinet crystal shining. conspirational. and more, the violet figure at the door of Radiance returned.
mary angela douglas 21 november 2013;13 january 2016
Note on the poem: "glass" in the first line refers to