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
Monday, January 05, 2015
In A Tight Corner Lost At Work I Thought
in a tight corner lost at work I thought of meteors striking earth:
oh sweet reprieve and greatly to be desired more than
this subsisting in the honeycomb.
or suddenly, I thought, when scolded for what I failed to
bring to the table thinking it was already set:
may a small disaster come this way
and I will bring it pink bouquets and
whistle while I don't have to work
for those who think I cannot spell.
oh wishing well, where are you now?
I've got so much to tell you: how the days gleam shorter and
the shadows loom or 15 term papers are due
on the same Tuesday, not to mention the outlines.
writing the outlines after the fact was all
I could ever do in the land where, even when I was widely ruled,
thoughts hit me randomly; the earth tilting only
slightly when the clock chimed early and pumpkin-rattled, coach unglued, they told me
I was overdue and the crystal slipper didn't matter