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, May 29, 2014
Peach Swung In the Vernacular, Day After Maya Died
"Do I dare to eat a peach?"
-T.S. Eliot, The Lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock
[to Maya Angelou and those who loved her]
go ahead on and eat that peach, Mr. Eliot
it's clear you've been away too long
from all the Peach Streets of America
and those old orchards raining their thick golden rains
it's positively Providential:it's our
hard turning of the ice cream stile;
we make our own miracles with the help of Sweet Jesus.
my oh my my my
peachalicious-charming in her Sunday hat
her caftans, gowns, long strands of beads
was she was all that and more?
whisper the children with round surprise
in their church silk voices.
every day of the week she's gone now,
from our small town.
I'll never sit down to her caramel cake
a fantasy of mine on my dessertless days.
it wasn't her poems that mattered the most
just like it wasn't the peach that really mattered to T.S.
it was the goldenness in her oozing out in a voice,
a dusky goldenness, a dark lily shining
insisting you notice something - Life!
and sit up straight.
a voice fit for Shakespeare's queens, a tragedienne's dream