[to William Allingham (1824-1889)
and to Camino Bakery where I hope to go when I've found all my books]
it's the moss green circumference of charming words
chimed the fairies, heigh ho! (from
another lifetime.)
or the scarlet of leaf-words, chill in their own sunset:
striped with a golden meaning.
almost.
painted words, echoing over canyons.
did they return to you,
lost doves from the ark?
eclair eclair eclair*
spun the fairies round my ring,
in love with the sound of it...
in peppermint time, on Jesu's birthday frosted
snow bright words began to float, to heap up in
the corridors where language falls asleep
like the princess beyond
the hedge of mere thorn, beleaguered
roses.
well you may ask
is it the moon over lavender waters;
the opal wing that fell from where?
the child behind you wanted to know
can we have opera cake in the morning and
are you skimming the foam from the cream of
how things used to be or, are you only-
waiting for the poem to breathe
mary angela douglas 26 july 2014
*No matter what never utter the word "spumoni" in front of a fairy ring or you will never hear the end of it.
P.S. There's a bakery near where I live that serves something
delectable called opera cake that somehow made it's way into this poem dedicated to Mr. Allingham who wrote delectable fairyland poems. Don't ask me what it tastes like; I spent my pirate money on books. Come to think of it, it was probably the fairies wanting to know about that cake. Here's the description from their menu in fairy handwriting
- Layers of a light hazelnut cake, coffee buttercream, and chocolate ganache.
- They could fling some raspberries over the top layer, ventured the shortest fairy. (That's the part from me, ahem...I mean, the fairies)
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