The Princess Missing Poetry At The Sold Out County Fair

I hemmed the handkerchief of the moon

and pure moon glow was in every stitch

and smooth as a lozenge of gold or a loggia

on moon bright waters floating,

the perfume of it;

no blue ribbon.

I made quilts out of sunsets, on raw silk

in colours of the ultraviolet and beyond it-

fantastical threads of the neglected spectrums,

mysterious dresses of a rose velour you would swear

were the very rose itself and I made jam

that tasted of the shade in summer; or sorted gem starred

berries washed in cream in layered cakes between

the king cried for;

no blue ribbon.

I wonder what their contests mean,

I mean, in the general scheme of things.

what kind of gardeners are they?

who pick the weeds for best of show,

and leave the orchids no token.

and think that poetry should be

plainspoken while tossing out bright ores

of all the unbidden languages to come-

and those that went before.

I'm not complaining; I don't deplore

my dresses for the everyday...

regarding the plainspoken,

I thought that's what our

common speech was for-

who left the charlatans in charge of it

mary angela douglas 2 july 2014

Note on the poem: well, who thought all this up anyway,

this way of separating out the wheat from the chaff in poetry, of sorting the major from the minor poets and the poets who are left standing with their "recycled" manuscripts not in their hands the poetry contest runners could not even be bothered to return to them (not even if you send them a SASE).

At least they could say they regretted not being able to return the manuscripts- knowing that, for aspiring poets, generally, no one wants their work thrown out! (what they really mean by "recycled" as in "all manuscripts will be recycled").

If I ruled the poetry world everyone would get a blue ribbon for even trying to write poetry and no one would be rejected. I feel badly not only for myself but for anyone who has ever been subjected to these kinds of systems of deciding who gets published and who, not.  However, I think in many ways the Internet may help in solving this.

Or maybe we can all go up in balloons with sheaves of our poems and just rain them down randomly on earth for whoever finds them and picks them up.

We need every poem and every poet, at least, I think we do. It is stupid to me that things in the arts are set up in this way that people who are probably among the most sensitive of human beings are subjected to this nonsense of contests, competitions, prizes, etc.  Maybe those in charge are doing the best they can but that shouldn't block us from finding a new, happier way to proceed.

In a perfect world everyone's voice would be heard and never ridiculed.  Thank God (and I do) for every person who from a sincere heart has created anything in words, plainspoken, lyrical, anything. But I take the Princess' side in the poem that there is a tendency now (at least, in the U.S.) to slam the door on the lyrical.  By these kinds of rules I doubt Shakespeare could be published now.

I do believe there are whole libraries in Heaven that include the works of all the rejected poets on earth.  Think of it this way (if you wish): there are more people there (in Heaven or the afterlife) than there are on earth.

Therefore, a much larger audience. So don't be discouraged; nothing is wasted in God.  If you want to sing, sing. Someone will hear you. Even if it's only the angels.

And maybe the poets only the angels hear are the purest poets of all.

Plus, there is the fun of writing anyway just to capture something for this moment as if words were bright butterflies.  And you, in an endless beautiful field where they abound.  Dibs on the rose butterfly with the golden spots. And the milky jade one!

And I love plain speech too like plain bread and butter and weeds as much as flowers. Don't you? But, hey, let's be inclusive of all colors, shadings, variations, poetic modes past and present or does inclusive only apply to what's here and now that fits the bill of whomever's in charge?

P.S. I am secretly grateful for every poet who does get published because at least, there's someone who got behind the lines, so to speak, and for the innocent sake of beauty, truth, and goodness, hopefully.  May they flourish.

And it is so comforting to find and read the poets of the past, and so rich!  And to know they all went through this, too; though some - more than others.  It's not a numbers game and it's definitely not for profit.  It's because the heart and mind require it and for each poet, it is a sacred endeavor.

And so much more deserving of respect for the mere attempt at it.