The Blue Skied Books Of Andrew Lang

the blue skied books of andrew lang
I longed for as the colour of rain
if rain were the colour of violets.

I lost my way in the bookshop
taking the wrong turn
but I'm still learning

the ballades of blue china: blue, bluer, bluest
blest the book of poetry or is it the book
of chimes, the book of bluebirds

before your lily eyes

will they fly out of it with a tissue
frontpiece covering the stars the stars
Andrew Lang, where are you?

are you near the lint covered sapphires
of the years you left behind a long
time ago as your stories

may begin so may you, again
since they're made of may  times, many times

if I surmise, correctly; where did
they put the twilights the last
time I was in here

if I am permitted to say, to tell you
that, in this present age
we need your blue kingdoms

illustrated, and with clouds
and sighs and mystically
alive in the extreme, they seem,

even for books of this caliber...
the bookman says.

mary angela douglas 20 december 2015