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
[to the people of Korea for the loss of their children on a holiday ferry-april the year of Our Lord, 2014]
I know they will be singing.
you will hear the singing before the ship is sighted.
long before. the upright ship holding precious cargo.
you will wake up in broad moonlight
thinking you heard the ripple of waters disturbed.
it will not be the waters of sleep.
they will be self-assured.
with aureoles around them
golder than the gold of the Florentine masters.
or of their angels.
rubies will no longer flow from the wounds.
the wounds will close.
as the wounded waters once closed over them.
the beautiful on starry waters.returning
no longer the turgid stillness
you will see the opposite shore
where they were welcomed
even as you wept.
the one made of pure crystal.
you will know it's true.
your tears will dry.
the tears of a thousand aprils away from home.
your tears will dry in the salt air
for the beautiful on starry waters
mary angela douglas 28 april 2014
Note on the poem: maybe somewhere there is a language with two distinct self-contained,words,needing no modifiers but derived from the same root but with a subtle difference in the vowels that would settle the heart and the matter of grieving for those who have gone before us in death. And one word would mean, home on earth and the other would mean home in Heaven. As it is in English though, it is the same word for the same heaven so that those leaving us are still returning Home.
icicle music when you turn on the dark blue pea under the mattresses.
you need a few things to lessen your hunger
so you bite the juniper tale in two
and they won't ask for a sequel or measure
where your footprints wet with sleet went
as if they cared
they wouldn't fool small animals
foraging in the Easter grass or perhaps-
the Easter baskets a little taken
with the violet bow,
pale purple violets under the snow
and your best premonition
more than halfway through
this juniper tale for you
or whoever finds it first shining chocolate in gold foil
mary angela douglas 19 april 2014
Note on Poem: You may think I mean will o' wisp and that I mispelled it but I didn't. I just changed key from folktale to a wisp of the willow song in Shakespeare in Othello as this is a hard scrabble poem and yet with a hint of the desperately, even more long-ago lyrical recalled in extreme circumstances. But if by sound association you would rather it be will o'wisp, feel free to think it is and it will be.