Poetry With No Prizes

[for Landis Everson]

poetry with no prizes wouldn't really be
like the birds singing but minus their trees
like the wind through no harps

like the porch with no chimes.
no it wouldn't.
poetry without prizes

would just be
singing for itself and God
when he happened by or

for the bystanders waiting out vast Storms.
careless, filled with clouds

and wings
no need of microphones, megaphones.
well kept stages, brittle cafes.

but telegrams, at Sea.

only the faces of angels; all greenery
left in the woods to its own or
Christmas with the snows stopped

suddenly,

the holy hush.
just itself, and free.
asking nothing

the inordinate Star above.

mary angela douglas 2 november 2015