Another Shop On The Street With Mary Poppins

hard words with a candy center,

can such things be?

queried the wanderers fresh off the bus.

I went with them to see:

hard words with a candy center

and more, besides

in a sweet shoppe off the beaten way.

where egg whites were beaten

40 times a day to freshen the

peaks imaginations slid down

hard words with a candy center

lined up in apothecary jars

and here's a handful of the lemon

sunbursts

the caramel twirled the raspberry

indented shells overflowing with

hazelnut (reserved for the poets

or children after school.)

or blue ribboned ribbon candies

for the vocabulary builders

in the back of the books;

aurora bright, day long

lollipops and sundries

the sugar dusted conversation starters

glasslike, made with honey,

pink vanilla fudged

my and my again we sighed

taking some of each

till the last bell chimed

taking pink sackfuls back with us

and, at christmas time

red and green sacks of mince pie words

for those who never minced them

what a surprise 

ginger orange peeled snug under the Tree

"where did you get these?" 

(keeping the key lime answers for ourselves)

mary angela douglas 28 february 2014

And I Was Alive In The Cherry-Sprigged Day

and I was alive in the cherry-sprigged day

she said to herself, smoothing her rose taffeta-

before the recitals dissolved and just when

the sprinklers were on and we went out

secretly into the side yard

plucking the sunset gardenias

my shadow and I

in our familiar glade.

and will it lengthen 

in the blue blue grass

my soul's flounced dress

pink as the azalea shrubery

with God forever

taking out the hem.

and will the dusk settle

like a summer snow

like a summer snow

on all you know

tinting the ice cream

and the moonlight that

was then and can I live there

ever again

mary angela douglas 28 february 2014

Oh God Let There Be No More False Alarms

"underneath are the Everlasting Arms..."
-The Holy Bible

oh God let there be no more false alarms
ever widening the fissures of the surviving soul;
though flowers be massed on sudden graves
and the edged winds blow sharp frost around

quenching each radiant corner of the mind.
let your fierce kindness stand:
bearing the small injustices away that hurt
as much as the great- assay
Eternal Spring after the short winter of the world
that we live daily.

forgetting to turn the page
we are locked in it still
not seeing there is no door now
and no guard
the winds having blown it all away.

our backs to the ruins
we can just walk free

mary angela douglas 28 february 2014

It Is Astonishing The Princess Said

it is astonishing the Princess said

seeing the bent twig flower after all

through cool disdain

through monkey puzzle maze

through pea-soup rains and the

sticky sun; whole summers without

lemonade.

sipping the air of home I would

have run in pale green skirts

forever; not even in fairytales

that kind of freedom shines.

see how the bent twig flowered after all

perfumed as all the rest,

but deeply different.

I pick this one for my portrait

done in tearose chalks:

the center of the nosegay-

mainstay of my heart

through cool disdain.

mary angela douglas 26 february 2014

Bright As The Census Of His Golden Pears

bright as the census of His golden pears

about to glitter from the branch of moonlight

when all has been accounted for-

that bright the day could be.

or cherry deep in stories we've not

heard before, we'd wander and we'd wonder

why the colour red is so delicious

so that small girls dreaming Christmas dreams

imagine only cherry silk or velvet

trimmed with clouds

each lay me down to sleep

so bright the day that hasn't been yet

and the creek behind the house.

a casket of jewels, just found

the breaking apart of dewdrop hearts on

dawn spoked grass and ground

or on the vivid rose.

and clover perfumed

we would go, our baskets full

of pink cakes, fizzy drinks

and snow...

mary angela douglas 21 february 2014

Note on Poem:  There is a fairytale that begins with the King requiring, in turn, each of his sons to guard the pear (or the apple, or the plum, I can't remember which) orchard

because the golden fruit in the morning is always missing from some branch or other-and in childhood I used to be transfixed just by the beginning of that fairytale, never mind the rest of the story.

Also, the phrase "lay me down to sleep" refers to the children's prayer before bedtime:

"now I lay me down to sleep

I pray the Lord my soul to keep.

If I should die before I wake,

I pray the Lord my soul to take."

which does not seem to me like a bad prayer to pray as an older person, either.

Forgetting The Looking Glass We Left Behind

"for now we see through a glass darkly, 

but then, face to face."

-The Holy Bible

forgetting the looking glass we left behind

how will we pass through when the

moon slips by the open casement

of the fairy windows and

the Ship arrives?

take what you can carry on your back

even old fairy tales advise

but even they leave out, sometimes,

the caves of the mind where inner opulence 

survives, if at all and if

the fires are tended to

they will blaze up in the bleak counties

of the outside world when you are late to work

or cannot find your shoe at the right moment

to prove that you were there

where everything shone

when Eden was still Eden.

sad world, eating the candy hearts that

say "I love you" till nothing is left.

you cry you cry like a child bereft

and can't understand

the looking glass, the key to the Other side

where Love abides is

what you must pack

even more than the bread and butter

to be happy

mary angela douglas 21 february 2014

They Will Arise Parting The Dark Green Velvet Portieres

they will arise: parting the dark green velvet portieres

at first, on a vacant Christmas stage

with delicate stealth.

no longer adored.

still they pass muster to defend

their ancient playmate's children's children.

how rich their estate, with candy stripings

fresh cut boughs of pine of fir.

missing no starlight, candlelit and strange.

they will arise again and again

tucking into old sugarplums, nougat well

preserved, this army's provender.

splendid in scarlet trimmed with a gold

language barely spoken anymore.

in a flourish of bisque, rose-hatted

over the modern lawns they march

squashing the crew-cut dubious grass

where once were whole meadows

flower full. (and "cowslips" piped a little girl

in organza, colour of orangeade

"don't leave them out of the story.")

and it is spring in the techno-centric world

where fairytales hardly count anymore.

your shutters will not keep them out,

taking the babies by surprise and

bringing back the fairy gifts stolen

at cradle-side.

they will arise

heading over the violet hills to the metro areas

and taking charge of the scraggly grounds,

the fruitless enterprise and (after dark),

rattling the windows of the office park

dispensing lollipops all around.

mary angela douglas 19 february 2014

Old Poetry, Torn Pocket Where The Diamond Dust Is Seeping

old poetry, torn pocket where the diamond dust is seeping

on the trail and will the children nestle near the soughing trees, little dreaming no one will come for them.

still, cherry-cheeked and making the best of things.

old poetry. scraps of butterfly wings a little gilded.

seldom seen  by anyone now,

the buttercup light beneath their chins.

small dinner table games remembered.

here's the pink rabbit made of the damask napkin.

the Easter jellybeans in stained glass sticky melting;

in between the lint in the wounded pocket

sing your lost angels out of sight

all night she dreamed of a pink apron

fantastic with a blueberry thread.

white rolls sugared.

will they awake where there is singing

old poetry.  here's my apple tart for you

with cream. forgive all departures

from the the crystal stream.

I weep for your seeping diamonds, still.

mary angela douglas 19 february 2014

Etched In The Fossil Of Time Are The Tears

etched in the fossil of time are the tears

of those who went before on this

revolving stage-set; silver the vein

of laughter; caught, the gold of

kneeling on the childhood floor

fastened in a fleck of moonlight.

dear God. are You near?

I know you are.

because you were

on this revolving stage set

where we haunt their mirrors

and stand where others stood

the petal drifting springs;

the heavy rains at the bus-stop.

we tread on their amber shadows

on the train. in old apartments,

on cracked linoleum

or worrying about work

we stand at their windows.

even in the grocery aisle, 

it's already started.

how richly the fern and the rose

have darkened, held in Your hand

while the sorrows burned.

and You preserved,

a little sentimental

this crease in, the snows.

mary angela douglas 19 february 2014

The Mermaid Predictions, The Future of Snow

the mermaid predictions, the future of snow

is this my future thought the smallest one

a pearl dissolving only on the surface of the seas.

I have left everything and still, I am alone...

Hans Anderson dipped his pen in the foam

and thought of the future of snow.

how does it feel to melt not knowing

if anyone remembers

the fireworks over the castle

the whole of Denmark dancing.

am I the future of snow the poet mourned

and tempered her future.

she will glide on light into the chambers

of good children.

and that, forever

mary angela douglas 18 february 2014

Note on the Poem: I went to Amazon today to see if it would be possible to order a ten pound bag of pinto beans so I won't have to think about what's for dinner for a longish time and a momentary ad for Porter Fox's Book "DEEP: on Skiing and the Future of Snow" caught my eye - especially the incredibly poetic, evocative phrase "the future of snow".

The phrase did not originate with me, then, but it did trigger this poem on Hans Christian Anderson and his deep (as deep as the future of snow) fairytale on sacrificial love,The Little Mermaid...  Thank you Porter Fox for such an incredible phrase.

Introversion

and if there's a shine like abalone

in rainbow puddles after rain

she will stoop down I know she will

and scoop the remnants with her gaze

and all the way to school walking slowly

her soft eyes contain the spokes of

many rainbows.

though she does not speak that often

nor is spoken to.

for this she is marked down in red

in the archives of the school

the ones that no one needs to dust.

the ones perused.

in later life and home from work

on any weekend you can't imagine

she will part the sunrise curtains slightly

and the same pink and blue

swirled with mint with mother of pearl

will appear to her:

as if in a waking dream.

mary angela douglas 17 february 2014

Attic On A Summer Day Dusting Off Old Catalogs In Disarray

sprigged are the clouds of the summer dresses

pleated down the front of the sky

pin-tucked with eyelet

tears of joy for the

poufy petticoats, crinolines of the rose

or layered sherbet stand-alone.

who will ever wear them again in lemon

grove paintings long ago,

done like the hats with mysterious veiling

discreet flowers

and will we watch their angels lifting off

with wings cut out by the serious children

from Simplicity Pattern No.

1 billion and one

mary angela douglas 17 february 2014

Maypole Dancing Dulcet As Spring

["Sweet spring, full of sweet dayes and roses,

A box where sweets compacted lie;"

-George Herbert, Vertue

maypole dancing dulcet as spring

streamers of pink, of green of lemon

like the sun, of violet, pale

cerise and candy spun and spinning

as if we are flowers flowers themselves

and first of the illustrations first of May

in a book of old stories inscribed carefully

in someone else's april handwriting

sloping, violet-fed. sighed the princess,

in every colour.

and she's in a dotted swiss, pale green

and a rose rose riband of velvet

because

it's green we are dancing holding onto

the sun (to a lemon drop one) and

taffy pulling the pink and the green

and the pale cerise, cerise.

compacted sweets she decided on

for a birthday in a silver box,

wide with a ribbon of lavender sheen and I

want that dress in every colour, please;

oh sheerly

pleasingly holding onto the light the Princess

dreamed: imploring the Flower Queen

getting lost in the spectrum and laughing.

and this is where wishes were granted-

pastel, with softest slippers to match...

mary angela douglas 16 february 2014

Floretti Of The Hidden Stars Who Has

floretti of the hidden stars who has

carved you into my heart

that the blue and the gold of you

should not be turned away

from the fine fair fairytale doorstep

swept clean of sorrows.

for all the fairytales are truth

down to the least detail.

This I learned to say.

let the debris of exile

castaway, on a ship of no devising

be only the ghost ship sailing away from you,

Beauty in exile,

even after Christ!

floretti floretti I murmured to

bright children sleeping

to the ghost of their tears

in the curve of your canticle, moonlight;

Your broken silver candle still not quenched

though many have thought otherwise:

stringing their Mays like pearls and

forgetting the Jeweler.

mary angela douglas 16 february 2014

Amaryllis Ah The Lily Light

[to Edgar Allen Poe]

amaryllis ah the lily light

when will the spent wing flame

lifting the sky that's fallen down

on those with sudden fame

rose was the colour of the sigh

before the bent knights came

flauting the codes that shone like stars

above the winter's plain

amaryllis ah the lily light

and, will you come down the glen

to shine like music in our hearts

and let us bloom again

mary angela douglas 15 february 2014

The Things They Think You Ought to Know

the things they think you ought to know

could fill a room of any size with

cloudbanks holding back the lies

they'll tell when you're not in the room

but you walk under a yellow moon

in a landscape of primary colours

and only hear the crystal angels.

fee simple what is owed and

fait accompli feeling more alone

ragtag mornings in school halls

are raveling still; who cares.

there's still a beauty everywhere

unravaged and

some of the sparkle won't wear off the starlight

in your mind and in your mind, walking away

from them still you'll start

mixing the yellows and blues

into the greenest day where

they won't find you

mary angela douglas 15 february 2014

A Cream-Coloured Sigh From God And...

a cream coloured sigh from God and

it began to snow.

oh my white valentine unscrolling

the only one

from pole to pole

yet just for me it's hushed its filmy

twirling in space, ballerina like

with the redolence of heavenly lace

vanished into the ballet blanc

and the chill parfait of a sky layered

pink and violet, light blue

a lemon curd yellow striped between

won't you stay for tea

I'll unwrap the Little Debbie cakes

frosted white (inside they're pink)

I was going to buy but I bought Tennyson

instead on abe books...the Complete Poetical

Works of...

now sleeps the crimson heart in a white

petaled border we'll have

snow cream instead

there's so much of it everywhere

mary angela douglas 14 february 2014

Pale Pink Camellia Addressing The Soul Of Dumas

to Alexandre Dumas, asleep over the manuscript of The Lady of the Camellias...

why of all flowers was I chosen for tragedy.

did I linger near your childhood

did your mama pick huge bouquets of me

or did you in a looking glass moment

overcast, decide against the rose:

too often used in allegory,

against the iris, too remote

God knows you couldn't pick a weed,

wild flowers are best, they really care less

what poet weaves them in and out of

the song or the chorus, only.

they're so folkloric.

thank God for pete seeger kindly

choosing the generic.

Dear Monsieur, your heroine was great.

I am a waxen pale pink flower in distress.

where is my story?

mary angela douglas 13 february 2014

Poem In Deep Winter/Dream Of The Baker's Daughter

white chocolate shredded snows enhanced

the Cake of her dreams

but it tasted like pink and green

with a hint of the orange

you drew out of the Christmas stocking toe

thinking gifts were over now.

oh may it snow in candied wonder

for those who are famished

over long time

who yearn for the trumpets and the silver

flourish: their names in silver (edible) beads

across blue silks of a summer sky

mary angela douglas 13 february 2014

Goodbye, Shirley Temple In The Lollipop Ship Absconding

goodbye, Shirley Temple, in the lollipop ship absconding

(it may be) with the last elusive charms of childhood

oh goodbye I remember you best

grown up and hostess of the Fairy Tale Theatre

in gold and pink frothy gowns delineating

"this magic space" before my 8 year old eyes

(they had to be pink: I decoded the black and white)

the diplomat of faerie and

your storybook with its border of roses, birds,

and crowns on pages I lived in like a

secret house within a house. 

or in Heidi, happy at home with the Grandfather

singing and making your bed of straw already

golden, no need for spinning then.

or in sweet replica, my sister's doll in pink and blue organza

I threw one day in a fit and then repented

I was so untrue but true again God heard

me say: I love my sister truly and we

were colouring again the day in which

our living room tv zebra striped and then

working again would show (and we'd drop

everything)

Little Miss Marker, Now and Forever

forever, honour bright and later Bluebird bright,

many years after you acted your heart out

missing the ruby slippers by a mile

but stalwart.

what is art but the blending of lollipop colours

seen through the long ago at best? goodbye, Shirley

Temple, be at rest

amid many flowers

and my small bouquet

mary angela douglas 11 february 2014

Blue Starred In The Blue Grass Spring Lullay

[to e.e. cummings]

blue-starred in the blue grass

bell floating are the flowers

in the land of before not after

blue starred is the laughter

of the small clouds above the

sunlit,

violet strewn and is the moss

beside all else in green velveteens

right up to the small oak door

of the fairy queen invisible?

so it seems in

the blue starred in the blue grass

in the cream of the day frothing over

the rim the deep blue rim

of the before not after

of the wafting of the white rosed

in the bubbling of forever just

starting to be

a little blue starred (sleepy, aren't you)

in the blue grass almost

tumbling over into april

that can't exactly walk yet

floating with little stars and dreams

toppling over into the

pink mysterious

mary angela douglas 11 february 2014 

I Saw The White Knight Shining In A Farther Dream

to Lewis Carroll

I saw the white knight shining in a farther dream

said Alice, over the turnstile and he was not

as broken as before mused Alice.

I have no defense, he said.

and bowed his head where the silver birds

had nested forgetting how to sing oh so

at home.

have you wandered too? he asked me.

how could I say when I saw the castles in the distance

not that far away

mary angela douglas 8 february 2014

I Want To Find The Gold Lining Of The Lines

I want to find the gold lining of the lines

thought Ellen Terry while the world is mine-

and do blossoms fall down the balcony scene

or is it the shadow of snows to come

freezing the heart suddenly?

I could turn to other things

housekeeping, the stars,

keeping the galaxies in order

except that the draperies of odd speeches

will not leave me until I dream them all aloud.

forgive me Shakespeare:

anyone at all caught sliding down the banisters

of the fustian stage should realize

Time cannot be cheated of

the best role in the end

who puts to sleep

ah very deeply through negligent ages

oh dearth of merriment and the greenwood

rhymes-can no one hear?

the golden lining of all the lines

I have ever found on earth.

mary angela douglas 5 february 2014

Leading The Children Home Through A Blue Washed Twilight

leading the children home through a blue washed twilight

I wished that I could be

their fairy godmother at the very least perhaps

the founder of the feast.

as it is written.

it was lily painted on the moonlight, covers

of a book I used to know that

wishing was a possible thing

the only career I ever wanted.

so God, too, when he tipped the roses

melon coloured, baby pink in dew 

must have realized how it would feel

because he wished it so

the first time we breathed roses

all by ourselves

when the world was spanking new

mary angela douglas 5 february 2014