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
Saturday, March 07, 2015
To Tulip Beds In All Colours
to tulip beds in all colours
we wanted to travel
as though the world were
page by page
and so we read.
and breathed in golden apples
fireworks flocking over the castles,
the orange blossomed things they said
by indefatigable fountains.
and hardly dared breathe out
because of beauty, clouding there
and all mapped out beside the
king's pear trees or we were revelers ever
of imprinted Christmas never
going away and side-by-side
our childhood's shelves displayed
the summer round-de-lays
the princess in her towers
the mystic hours, chiming we knew not how
faint music of all we felt before
yet could not name
left to our own rose see-saw bright devices
the wind-up, toylike scheme.
oh roundelay rose or roundelay Noel! when we stayed Home from school a little unwell
outside though thunder snows arose
mere History stirred
and barely gleamed. while we saw dragons in the steam above the buttered lakes of oatmeal.